DAY ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN

A horribly depressing, but truly fantastically written story about a boy named Lance Butterfield, a football career, and an abusive home life. And can I say that I seriously hope that the prosecutors have evolved a bit more in their beliefs regarding domestic violence and defenses for survivors. Here's another story with a few additional details, including more about the entire family and community supporting Lance.

The tale of a Sotheby's girl. Insight into the art world - galleries against auction houses, strategies for selling art, objectification and a confusing refusal by the company to meet with labor demands. From the article:

In my interview, I told my future boss that I had never been able to imagine an idea that could be best expressed by painting it. “But,” I added, making exaggerated eye contact, “appreciating art doesn’t mean you can send effective emails. I can write. I can make your job easier for you.” This is the best thing to say in an interview if you are young and unqualified to do anything other than maintain a personal blog. I started three weeks later...
“Oh, good. She’s blonde,” said the photographer. I made a face at him. “For the contrast.” He sighed. “You’ll stand out against the purple.” I followed his instructions and approached the painting, gazing up at it from a few feet away at a quarter-angle to the camera. I shifted my weight subtly from one hip to the other and pretended to see things on the canvas that I hadn’t before. Standing next to the painting, I was a live specimen of powerlessness: in service of sums of money too great and too senseless for me to comprehend. “Back up a little,” the photographer instructed. “No, that’s too much. Yeah, stay right there. I need you to look diminutive.”

As far as I can tell, here's a cached image of that shoot.