Gossip Wolf, early edition: Steve Shelley joins another Chicago band, Implodes signs to Kranky, Salem sucks and everyone knows it, Plastercaster runs for mayor, Ian Svenonious comments on the Nation of Ullysses reunion rumors, Kinsella gets his own pretentious burger.
If you are a feminist, a breastfeeding mom, a working mom, a dad, someone who cares about maternal health and/or you were breastfed by a working woman please sign this petition. Because evidence of the patriarchy is everywhere and no one gives a fuck about new moms and nursing babies. GO FUCK YRSELF, IRS. ("That is because the Internal Revenue Service has ruled that breast-feeding does not have enough health benefits to quality as a form of medical care." = acne sufferers can write off prescription zit cream, moms cannot write off breastpumps which run $150-$1000--and are needed if you are returning to work before your baby is weaned.) This makes me so mad.
William and I went to the museum today, for his first time, to see his dad play. White/Light only stayed in quiet mode for about 4 minutes and so we wandered off into the Luc Tuymans exhibit and up on the fourth floor they had some early Leon Golub. Early Golub, pre-radicalization/shitgotreal-ization, not my favorite but still real neat and the paintings seemingly entranced the baby. Once we got up to the Tuymans exhibit, we were close to the mezzanine right above where W/L was playing and when the big, mechanical self-opening doors would open as people came and went, it had an almost wah-wah like effect--releasing the guitar solos and the the crabby pump-organ moans of whatever the thing is that Jeremy plays out and up through the museum. About a third of the way through the Tuymans exhibit, just as William was passing out and drooling on my shoulder, we got stuck within the talking radius of an insecure girl, perhaps early college or mature high schooler, on a date with a man who could not have been more indifferent. He was blazingly indifferent. No show of displeasure or care. The girl was like the interior monologue plot of Dorothy Parker's "Telephone Call" being acted out--well, same desperation, different words.
(girl reading info on painting) "Ooh, Ghent. See."
"Ghent. And Amsterdam." (looking at dude)
"I know spring is a long way off. And after how I am acting tonight you might not even want to see me again."
"Obviously, I am annoying you so much that, well..."
"You might not even still like me then."
"But we could go. See Antwerp..."
It went on like that for two galleries. Her fishing, desperately, for some sort of affirmation that he either did or did not think something of her, prodding him for some sign of interest, of future commitment. I vaguely remember having monologues like that with an ex when I was like, 21. When you know he's a dick and there is no fixing it and he doesn't care and it just makes you act totally annoying and desperate for validation. So the worst. Hearing it made me feel ishy and nervous. I wanted to turn to her and stage a spontaneous intervention, interrupt their date and tell them "Seriously guys, fuck it. Dude, go home. Save yourself the resentment. Lady, go to Ghent on your own, it'll be a better time." It's hard to go out in the world when you run into the hungry ghost of your most desperate moments at the museum.
Also, apparently the new Claire Denis movie is going to have a national release: