Why hello there, dearest Filthy Dreams readers! Are you sick of reading words?! I realize that the last few Filthy Dreams essays have been rather…ahem…lengthy. And just before the holidays! Surely, your eyes are too caked with that impossible-to-remove glitter from opening too many Christmas cards and your fingers are too red and sticky from eating too many candy canes to scroll. Well, you’re in luck—this time you can just listen. No, this isn’t a revival of Filthy Streams, though maybe… someday.

Eight years after my first appearance on Michael Shaw’s The Conversation Art Podcast, Michael asked me to return to cohost an episode of OLD NEWS to chat about art-related stories dug up from Jeff Weiss’s prolific OLD NEWS newsletter. I was delinquent in posting our first two episode go-arounds here on Filthy Dreams. However, this new episode overlaps so much with a few essays published here on this very website that it’s worth sharing. This includes my attendance at Trump’s boring Madison Square Garden rally (Note: this podcast was recorded the day after that strenuous MAGA marathon if I sound stuck in “Dream BIG Again!” TrumpaMania) and my hatred of Nan Goldin’s exhibition-ruining sticker at Gagosian. I ramble a bit more here about writing negative reviews and how I really do respect Nan Goldin’s art and activism, but the sticker is still bullshit. Beyond familiar topics, Michael and I first tackle the ole reliable cancel culture debate as I reportedly upset a few listeners by blathering unprompted about how I still like Louis CK in an earlier episode. Use it as inspirational fuel for YOUR firey and awkward Christmas Eve dinner discussion!

For those salivating for more, The Conversation Art Podcast also posts the second half of the episode on their Patreon, where we take on other topics such as a tribute to my filth elder, Cunanan biographer, and art critic inspiration Gary Indiana, kooky rich lady Libbie Mugrabi’s legal woes over a Warhol Jackie that includes plastering a Missing poster for the painting around the Upper East Side, and whether art can give you chills (probably not).

So grab a revolting wintery chocolate martini, try to swallow your upchucked minty bile, and take a listen: