Today’s a happy day, readers. Today I’m marrying the assistant girl, which marks the beginning of spring. Every fall I shed my old assistant-wife, and every spring I marry the new one. It’s an old Vermont custom – as old as sinking your mother into a vat of fresh-churned butter and storing her in the jam-cellar for freshness – and it makes for a good harvest.
Gentileschi was a female painter in a time when it was very largely unheard of for a woman to be an artist. She managed to get the opportunity for training and eventual employment because her father, Orazio, was already a well established master painter who was very adamant that she get artistic training. He apparently saw a high degree of skill in some artwork she did as a hobby in childhood. He was very supportive of her and encouraged her to resist the “traditional attitude and psychological submission to brainwashing and the jealousy of her obvious talents.”
Gentileschi became extremely well known in her time for painting female figures from the Bible and their suffering.
Surfing enthusiast Ken and graphic designer Miranda are looking for a house with beach views and American-style air conditioning for less than $800 a month. Miranda throws herself face-down on the kitchen floor of the second house after she realizes there is no garbage disposal installed under the sink. She refuses to move as a form of passive protest. Her common-law husband Ken looks nervously at the camera and says “It’s always been my dream to be a stay-at-home dad” four times. He’s starting on a fifth when on off-camera production assistant asks him to stop. Real estate agent Brian is doing his fucking best, and loosens his tie as he walks through the door of his own apartment every night before putting a careful smile on his face. Brian never lets his work interfere with the way he acts at home. His kids think of him as a happy man. His wife thinks of him as a tired but happy man. Brian feels like nothing in the world.