Gabi Gregg may not have invented the term “fatkini”—an amalgam of the words “fat” and “bikini”—but she can certainly be credited for taking the burgeoning trend to new heights.

Last May, when the plus-size fashion blogger, better known by her pen name GabiFresh, created an online fatkini photo gallery of 31 voluptuous, bikini-clad women for lifestyle website xoJane.com, the two-pieces went viral.

I could really use a Forget-Me-Now.

The fourth season of Arrested Development, the cult sitcom about the dysfunctional Bluth family, premiered at 3 a.m. ET May 26 on the streaming-media service Netflix.

It’s not good.

On Monday night, America was introduced to 25 new eligible bachelors on The Bachelorette, all vying for the affections of Desiree Hartsock, a bridal stylist (you can’t make this stuff up) from Colorado. She was greeted by a wide array of personalities when her dates stepped out of their limousines, attempting to make a memorable first impression: a tanned, shirtless hunk, a bachelor who brought his son, and even a contestant dressed in a full suit of armor—because isn’t that what every girl dreams of?

But what would The Bachelor franchise be without its iconic roses, its fantasy suite dates, and its private jets flown to exotic locations? (Just like any other dating show on television, that’s what.) But exactly how many of these signature ingredients have been put to use over the past 25 seasons? The Daily Beast breaks down the numbers.

If you have an Internet connection, you know Arrested Development returned from the dead on Sunday, with all 15 episodes of the show’s fourth season available on Netflix on the same day.

This strategy falls in line with the other original series rollouts that the streaming platform has launched this year, from House of Cards to the abysmal Hemlock Grove, given the belief that Netflix wants to offer the viewer “choice” as to how it consumes content: will you watch just one episode or will you binge on the entire season, watching anywhere from eight to 13 hours of television in a single day or weekend?

“I’m always interested in making people look up [because] they almost always never do,” James Turrell told The Daily Beast.

The prolific artist—who just turned 70 this month and has a fittingly huge, fluffy white beard—has made a career of making light the focus of art in the simplest and most complex fashion. People who have physically entered his illuminating and immersive installations describe the experience as bathing in hues of light. In his oeuvre, he’s created a series of “skyspaces”—enclosed spaces with openings in the roof that give people an enhanced perception of light through the combination of the natural sunlight and LED lights. Collections of Turrell’s artwork have been represented and sought out around the world, from the Tate Modern in London to Garage Centre for Contemporary Culture in Moscow. Even the entire fourth floor of the Louis Vuitton store in Las Vegas’s high-end CityCenter is currently dedicated to one of his immersive and perception-altering Ganzfeld installations.

In terms of sheer cinematic craftsmanship, Roman Polanski has few living rivals. He always knows precisely where to place the camera, consistently elicits fine performances from actors, and, although most of his recent films have been trifles, is probably incapable of making a genuinely bad movie.

Like his previous film, Carnage, based on Yasmina Reza’s God of Carnage, Venus in Fur (which was the last competition film screened at Cannes) is a theatrical adaptation. Finagling with David Ives’s two-hander (an off-Broadway success that eventually transferred to Broadway)—the setting is changed from New York to Paris and the dialogue is now in French—results in decidedly minor Polanski. As in Carnage, he appears to be posing a technical conundrum—can a filmmaker transcend the limitations of theatrical claustrophobia and produce something other than mere canned theater?

Not long after he took the stage Friday at the Gorge Amphitheatre's Sasquatch! music festival in Washington state, the lead singer of Father John Misty began making love to himself, in front of all of us.

Not literally, of course. No, Joshua Tillman was just gyrating and twirling and making up his own weird sign language to punctuate what is, without any visual accompaniment, fantastic music.