On Thursday afternoon, the world found out that Carolyn Bryant Donham had died. Donham was the white woman who accused 14-year-old Emmett Till of whistling at her, leading her then-husband Roy Bryant and his brother J.W. Milam to brutally kill the child. They would be acquitted by an all-white jury, but later confessed to their horrific crimes. She was the last direct link to the racist killing of a Till, whose brutal death was a catalyst for the Civil Rights Movement.

Donham is one of many white people who thought their crimes during the height of the Civil Rights Movement were gone and buried. Veteran journalist Jerry Mitchell spent his career making sure that wasn’t the case. In his book Race Against Time, Mitchell relentlessly tracks the white supremacists responsible for murders of civil rights workers. It’s one of those non-fiction books that reads like a novel, because how can this all be true? And yet, it is. His work helped to put away the killers responsible for the Mississippi Burning murders, the assassination of Medgar Evers, the firebombing of Vernon Dahmer’s home, and the bombing of the 16th Street Church. —Caitlin Cruz

Daisy von Scherler Mayer’s 1995 cult classic Party Girl, a major work in Parker Posey’s ‘90s indie oeuvre, is back in theaters this week, and it’s safe to say that it never looked better after its recent 4K restoration. (It’s also on the Criterion Channel looking almost just as spiffy, and you can stream the unrestored version various places.) In her book, Posey—the subject of a recent Jezebel Q&A pegged to her work in Beau Is Afraid—writes that the Party Girl fans who approach her always look like fun people, so now’s your chance to join the fun.

The plot, which follows Posey’s clubgoing Mary as she attempts to go legit by working in a library, is light and frothy—the real substance of the movie is its style. Namely, the mid-’90s New York vibes (it was a different time!), Posey’s wide array of costumes, and the killer ‘90s house music (Deee-Lite, Ultra Nate, and Chantay Savage all feature prominently; here’s a playlist of some of the movie’s tracks). In our interview with von Scherler Mayer, the writer-director told us that while making the movie, “Everything just was from a more joyful place. I’ve spent my whole career trying to get back to that level of joy.” Go bask in it. —Rich Juzwiak

Well, I’m obsessed with beavers now, and it’s because of this account @__animaruha__, where a Japanese zoo employee posts clips of the fluffy guys and gals carrying—or attempting to carry—various fruits and vegetables back to their dens. Yes, there are also videos of the beavers dragging tree trunks and branches to build said dens, but I’m much more interested in the adorable clips of them, say, clutching an enormous carrot or apple between their teeth and a kabocha squash in their front paws and needing to pause to adjust their grip. The beavers sometimes employ a sliding technique while waddling home, and I’m equal parts impressed and on the verge of heart explosion. The clips remind me of when I lived in a walk-up and was determined to make a single trip up the stairs. Relatable queens and kings. —Susan Rinkunas

On Friday, Kesha released two (fantastic) new singles, “Fine Line” and “Drink the Acid,” both off her forthcoming album Gag Order, which she announced out of nowhere on Tuesday (the best kind of new music announcement). So after you listen and inevitably find yourself needing way more Kesha, go back and listen to her 2017 Grammy-nominated shining star of an album, Rainbow. The heart-wrenching lead single “Praying” got the attention it deserved, but this is a zero-skips album. (I’d argue all her albums are, but that’s a post for another day!) “Let ‘Em Talk” has been one of my top five most-played songs since its release, “Rainbow” is “Praying’s” gorgeous little sister, “Finding You” might be one of the most underrated love songs of all time, and “Hunt You Down” is the most unhinged love song of all time. “Hymn” is perfect, “Woman” is perfect, “Spaceships” is perfect.

Just, make your weekend better and listen to Kesha. (And when you’re done with Rainbow, you should probably go listen to High Road and Warrior; “C’Mon” is one of her best-ever songs. And then Animal and Cannibal, too.) Watch the music videos! Shake your ass! Brush your teeth with Jack Daniels! Kesha is back again, baby. —Lauren Tousignant

I am an absolute slut for Scorsese, therefore, as soon as it was announced that he was adapting David Grann’s 2017 bestseller Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI, with Robert De Niro, Leonardo DiCaprio, Jesse Plemons, and Brendan Fraser to lead, well, I had to sink my teeth into the source material in preparation.

Equal parts procedural and personal, Killers of the Flower Moon tells the shocking true story of an onslaught of suspicious deaths in Oklahoma’s Osage Nation in the late 1920s. At the time, the richest people per capita in the world were members of the Osage Nation, after oil was unearthed beneath their land. But because the notion of indigenous people accumulating wealth posed a threat, the federal government appointed guardians charged with assisting them in managing their financial affairs. Naturally, corruption ensued and resulted in the deaths of dozens of Osage people. What the FBI—with the help of a former Texas Ranger—uncovered in the aftermath is one of the most egregious American conspiracies in history.

Injustice! Tragedy! Truly gag-inducing greed! This is an exposé that will stay beneath your skin for a while. Like, even longer than the three-and-a-half-hour film. —Audra Heinrichs

When I was an editor at my college newspaper, before I started to watch basketball more religiously post-grad, I found it grating how often sports writers referred to seemingly everything as a “Cinderella story” and tried to edit the term out as much as possible. Well, today, I’d like to extend an apology to those writers after a fairytale week for the NBA playoffs: upset after upset, with the eighth-seed Miami Heat (who barely qualified for the playoffs) almost sweeping the first-seed Milwaukee Bucks thanks to the heroics of a certain Jimmy Butler; and the Sacramento Kings (who hadn’t made the playoffs since 2006) in a dog-fight with the reigning champion Golden State Warriors.

We’ve just about finished the first round, with a couple straggler games remaining for the weekend, and it has been practically a live-action, basketball-oriented Cinderella reboot. Whether you peg yourself a basketball fan or not, if you grew up enamored with the classic story of a servant girl who becomes a princess, I can’t recommend enough tuning into the play-offs this weekend. It’s practically the same thing. —Kylie Cheung

If you text “squid” or “bug” to 1-833-724-8394, you will receive a random squid or bug fact. Now I know squids have beaks! You’re welcome. —Laura Bassett

Surely you watched Josie and the Pussycats when the campy film starring Rachael Leigh Cook, Rosario Dawson, and Tara Reid hit theaters in 2001. You’ll remember the perfect shag-trimmed jacket Dawson wore on the DVD cover, the monochromatic blue cheetah-print ensemble Josie wears in the film’s conclusion, the Carson Daly cameo, and all the genuinely catchy music (“Pretend to Be Nice,” “3 Small Words,” “Backdoor Lover” !!!). But have you seen it lately? And have you really stopped to appreciate indie darling Parker Posey in her role as evil record label owner Fiona? Yes, it is apparently unofficial Parker Posey Week here at Jezebel Dot Com.

I re-watched the film this week while on my sickbed and found that my love for Fiona eclipsed anything else in the satire. Fiona is a deeply insecure villain, which makes her incessant peacocking all the funnier, with an over-the-top wardrobe to boot. In a deleted scene, Fiona makes her grand entrance at a party she’s hosting for the Pussycats by performing a solo dance flanked by buff men set to a Pussycat song re-recorded with Fiona’s vocals. Plus, we get to see Posey riff off of her henchman as played by Alan Cumming. I am begging you not to sleep on the comedic genius here. —Emily Leibert

“Luna de Xelajú” is a lovely and sad ballad—the only kind of ballad—about a Guatemalan city and the moon that rises above it, helping along the lovelorn and lost. (A translation of the lyrics for non-Spanish speakers is here.) Guatemalan singer-songwriter Gaby Moreno has performed this classic for years, but she recently took the stage with her friend Oscar Isaac, who has Guatemalan roots, to duet it. (It’s on Spotify as well.)

Moreno has one of those voices that transports, and transportation to someplace romantically and beautifully melancholy is what I want right now. I will also note that it is quite nice to hear Isaac sing—almost as nice as looking at his face—a treat I don’t often enjoy because I can’t stand Inside Llewyn Davis. —Sarah Rense