“Just what the hell’s a guy got to do to get a chicken calzone and a f**king Harpoon UFO around here?” —Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec during the painting of a poster of Aristide Bruant, 1891.

“Oh, thanks for the beer and the sandwich.” —You, while painting some kind of moon-over-a-body-of-water landscape sometime this week.

This dueling dialogue was brought to you by Muse Paintbar, a place where you learn to be a fine artist while being fed and drinking alcohol, which is the way that’s supposed to happen. It’s finally open now in the city you live in, specifically Tribeca.

You’ve heard of such things before. They’re in Bushwick or some such, where some dude comes in with a case of PBR and some brushes and says, “Paint.” But these are pros. You check the calendar for what they’ll be painting on any given night, and you sign up. They’ve got a full bar and their own kitchen, and they teach you enough to possibly impress the date you smartly took here with your gentle, subtle strokes.

Is a joke even necessary after that?