The fire in our hearth will beckon the thaw

Stocking stuffers!

• Brent Burton writes in the City Paper about the influence of Cormac McCarthy, author of Blood Meridian, on bands like Boris, Isis, and Sunn O))). Burton writes the piece as an update, sort of, on Jon Caramanica's NYT profile of the dark, shriveled, lit-loving heart of art metal, so be sure to read that, too. Heart-warming holiday fare.
  
• Meet the D'Angelo Bros., who operate the game counter in Philly where I bought the goods for game night, and from whom I just ordered a 12-lb. goose for a rich, pre-UnfoggeDCon holiday feast.
  
• Paul Schmelzer writes an update on the absurd obscenity charges that may be levied against Henri-Claude Cousseah, former director of the Centre d'Arts Plastiques Contemporains, and curators Marie-Laure Bernadac and Stèphanie Moisdon for displaying allegedly "paedopornographic" images in a 2000 exhibition. None of us is safe, if you can't get away with that stuff in France. (Art—I mean art.)
  
• Neighbor and G.p-pal Julian Sanchez thwarts a burglary (the, what, third burglary of his house this year?). Neil the Ethical Werewolf asks, "When libertarians manage to ward off criminal activity through their own efforts, do they feel a special pride in usurping the function of the state that other people do not?" Who's got a monopoly on violence now?
  
• Courtesy of one very drunk arthegall: Jeu Chiant, which is just as the name suggests.
  
• Pictures of some guy wearing decent suits. Merry Christmas, Catherine.
  
• The Scream, recently returned to the Munch Museum in Oslo, appears to be damaged beyond repair, according to the NYT.

Finally, a holiday miracle: Eakins's The Gross Clinic will remain in Philadelphia. Better still, it will be jointly owned by the Philly and the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, giving the painting even greater presence—all in all, fantastic news, and Philly art phreaks have reason to celebrate. Thanks, Uncle Wachovia! It's disconcerting how much energy and money it takes to stop the Waltons from squirreling away the art history of America to Bentonville, Arkansas—but, fuck it, I'm going to eat a candy cane.

Posted by Kriston at December 23, 2006 7:31 PM