The Artforum diary is underwhelmed by Cat Power at MOMA, and bored by a visit to The Pompidou. To the editors — hire a diarist or two with some sitzfleisch. Closer to home, Jennifer Maerz scoped out Christopher Tallon's weightlifting show, Six Pack, at Steven Wolf Fine Arts, a show I couldn't miss. I'm a sucker for lightweight workouts. At the opening the gallery sitters told me I could have a free sweatshirt if I did 10 one-armed push ups. I gave it a shot and collapsed quickly after assuming the proper position for a one-armed push up, a wide-legged stance (in an unforgiving skirt), grounded by a centrally located stiff forearm (the lodge pole). It's always nice to provide entertainment for less than ridiculous (boring) onlookers.


The Millions takes a futuristic look at Pynchon's latest tome, Against the Day.


Hungarian Rhapsody is featured on 8+, a weekly Ear Farm offering of songs lasting longer than 8 minutes. Via Boing Boing, Ethnomusicologists draft a statement opposing the use of music as torture. I'd fess up to cannibalism if psy ops forced me to listen to Beat it or You're No Good in my cell. On a more serious note, Laila Lalami quotes from an op-ed in today's Washington Post from a man experiencing first hand the real-life karmic effects of torture, not as a victim, but as a tortured perpetrator.


Ed, in his post Man Boobs Live Up to the Sobriquet, points to a Scientific article on spontaneous male lactation.

No comments: