The Stranger

Hard Times is a new weekly Weimar era–style night of polyamorous mindfuckery—the flyer folds out into grainy black-and-white seminude photos of (among other people) that hot bartender Jacob from the Eagle, along with a whole list of things Hard Times is into, including "adaptive-creative mutant sexuality," "starving artists with a price," "DIY bisexuals from Portland," "hot farm girls from Chehalis," and "innocent bystanders with a nice package." Rotating DJs include LA Kendall, Mathematix, Curtis, Pony Boy, and Naha. Get there early for a free barbecue on the roof from 7–9 pm. (War Room, 722 E Pike St, 328-7666. 9 pm, $5/nuns in habits get in free, 21+.) by Christopher Frizzelle

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Photographer Alice Wheeler has been the premier chronicler of gorgeous Northwest freakery for the past two decades, and her new solo show at Greg Kucera Gallery is devoted to the most gorgeous freaks of all. For Women Are Beautiful, Wheeler shot an army of females who couldn't give a fuck about "the male gaze," from punk honeys and she-Juggalos at Hempfest to a pregnant woman wandering around Butte, Montana's Evel Knievel festival. (Greg Kucera Gallery, 212 Third Ave S, 624-0770. 5:30 pm artist talk, 6–8 pm, free.) by David Schmader

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Interbay is the smelly pit between Queen Anne and Magnolia, right? WRONG! Interbay's got beer and mini golf, motherfuckers! For eight bucks, you can roll up to Interbay Golf Center and play 18 holes of fun-as-fuck mini golf while throwing back pitchers of beer from the golf course's cafe. And it's open on the Fourth of July! But watch out for hole 9—the ball goes up the hill and straight back down the other side EVERY TIME. I hate that goddamn hole. (Interbay Golf Center, 2501 15th Ave W, 285-2200. 6 am–11 pm, $8.) by Megan Seling

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If you despise a thing, shoot it. If it doesn't die, you will never be set free. That's what we all learned about painting, anyway. But what invigorating exercise all those tortures and attempted homicides were. Seattle Art Museum curator Michael Darling has put together a major loan exhibition—and published a full hardback catalog—bringing together classic works (Rauschenberg's erased de Kooning drawing, a Warhol piss painting, Lucio Fontana's sliced canvases) with lesser-knowns to create a monumental portrait of 20th-century existential distress. (Seattle Art Museum, 1300 First Ave, 344-5275. 10 am–5 pm, $15 suggested.) by Jen Graves

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"All the songs should be a picture you can look at with the aim of screwing with your perspective," Charlie Saufley of Assemble Head in Sunburst Sound told The Stranger last year. At that, these San Franciscans succeed. Like fellow NoCal astral travelers Comets on Fire, Assemble Head unspool serpentine, fuzz-intensive guitar, bass, and keyboard riffs laden with a hallucinogenic payload. Their music doesn't reinvent the psychedelic-rock wheel, but polishes its spokes to a brilliant sheen. (Comet Tavern, 922 E Pike St, 322-9272. 8 pm, $6, 21+.) by Dave Segal

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Moon is a thoughtful sci-fi film that follows a lunar miner (Sam Rockwell) approaching the end of his three-year contract. He's been on the moon all by himself for this time (except for a creepy HAL-like computer voiced by Kevin Spacey), and he's starting to seriously lose his shit: Who's that guy who looks just like him? Does the computer have a malicious agenda? Moon is a shot of pure simmering suspense, and Rockwell turns in the best performance of his already-formidable career. (See Movie Times: thestranger.com/film.) by Paul Constant

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