This cover image for the upcoming edition of The New Yorker has a lot of people talking. And saying a lot of things. Rather than discuss my thoughts, I am going to just present it in an exercise in critical thoughtful reviewing not only its substance but its effect, to see if you have any interesting reactions. Does the image say one or a number of things to you? Is the fact that the image is on the cover as important as the content of the image? Anything else?
Please leave any of your thoughts in a comment if you like. I am going to only reveal them to general view later Tuesday if any have been left. Until then, you can just consider it... what does it say to you...?
Update: OK, comments reveal time 24 hours later. Nine comments were left here and another four over at the Facebook group. Stan sent me a link by email that he captioned as the flip side to beery analysis of the New Yorker cover, an article about the use of wine in current TV dramas. Tandleman also posted a similar question without all the manufactured dramatic suspense. A very telling range of questions from the chippily emotional illiterate to those who speak of "we" as if we were. I am not in the picture even if am wearing flannel plaid at the moment. I am, after all, Canadian. Me, I wondered if the central two characters might even be a tableau, playing characters for the benefit of the girl. Mocking the people around them. After all, they are eating burgers and fries, not some precious beer pairing. But no one looks and no one cares. The glasses are not stemware though some full-sized goblets appear in the back. The last thing I take from it are the happy faces arcing around the head of the bum tattooed girl. Hard to draw stinging rebuke from that unless you are looking for it.
Which is a bit of the point of the exercise. A neighbour at the family cottage once was complaining about that particular neck of the world. Someone overhearing suggested that he probably disliked the last place he lived too. When the neighbour asked why, he was told "because you are such a miserable bastard." We bring our passive aggression, doubt, desire to fit in, dipsomania, joy and curiosity to good beer. Its co-existing intensifying and subduing effects can bring out what we each are in ourselves for better or worse. And as a mood affecting drug, why wouldn't it? And, often, how good beer folk perceive it being represented back to them speaks as much or more about them as anything else.