I live in Pennsylvania. When I’m not sporadically updating this blog, I’m an adjunct at a community college, or I’m teaching design and writing workshops for kids from eight to eighteen. Betsy DeVos gave a lot of money to the campaign of my Senator, Pat Toomey, and for weeks, I’ve called his office every single day to talk to him about it. (Well, not always Betsy DeVos. Sometimes I want to talk about the Affordable Care Act, or the Muslim Ban, or any number of issues that I’ve noticed that my Senator doesn’t seem particularly interested in discussing with the people that he’s allegedly representing). I’ve talked to his very polite staffers, I’ve sent faxes, I’ve left voicemails, I’ve shown up in large protests. My Senator doesn’t seem to want to listen to me, and the voices of other people who have actually set foot in our public school system. He hasn’t ever held a town hall meeting in Philadelphia. His last one was in 2013. And I’m really tired of sending faxes if he’s not actually reading them.
So I made this. GoBribeToomey.com. All the proceeds benefit organizations that support education initiatives in my state.
Look, do I think my actions are actually going to change the way that my senator votes? No, probably not. But I watched all three hours of the Betsy DeVos confirmation hearing, and I became so incredibly enraged at the fact that I could answer some of those questions and the woman who is about to run the Department of Education could not. (And may I again stress that I’m not even a full-time teacher. I’m an adjunct at a community college. I’ve never taken a formal education course in my life. There’s something seriously wrong with this picture).
Get involved. Stay involved. And when the system gets you down, use your voice to protest in a way that lets you laugh and keeps your sanity intact. We need laughter more than ever.
I was casually scrolling through a slideshow of “Obama Throughout The Years” this morning trying to remember a time when I felt even the slightest bit okay about my country, saw this file photo of Michelle, and just about fell over. #MichelleWoreItBetter #MichelleWoreItFirst
In case you hadn’t heard, Amal Clooney, prominent human rights lawyer and also beautiful wife of Hollywood movie star and also prominent human rights lawyer, has lately been subjected to a totally batshit media circus just by showing up to do her job. There’s some good stuff out there on the internet about the whole Twittersplosion, including this thinkpiece that makes me want to cry — not because it’s wrong, but because I honestly just don’t know what the answer here is anymore.
look, i’m aware that i’m having a very emotional reaction to all of this.
but you know? i won’t apologize for that.
bonus: here is some text from an article on forbes.com about christine lagarde:
Wearing a Pink Scarf to a Press Conference
Lagarde has a certain je ne sais quoi — this unidentifiable quality that makes her look confident and completely unselfconscious at all times. (It’s something that a lot of French women possess.) Part of this is her hair — short, silver, tossled just enough to make it look like she doesn’t care without making her look sloppy. Part of it is her perennial — natural! — tan. And part is the panache and flair she brings to conservative business dressing.Who else, for example, would have worn a bold pink scarf for her first press conference as managing director of the IMF?
jesus christ i can’t even.
true story: I met Kirsten Gillibrand in 2006, when she was running for office against John Sweeney. I was getting a haircut in a salon in Saratoga Springs, New York and it was just me and the stylist in there, after the store had already closed for the day, just hanging out waiting for the foil in my hair to do its thing. This panicked-looking woman with a bluetooth and a clipboard knocked on the window and asked to be let in. She explained that she was the assistant of a woman who was running for office, they’d been asked to do a last-minute live TV appearance, and she’d left the house without wearing makeup that day; could we help? Five minutes later, Kirsten Gillibrand is there, extremely polite and charming and gracious, but — and this part I remember — clearly a little annoyed that she had to take time out of her crazy schedule to deal with her hair and makeup, and blow a bunch of money at this salon — instead of reviewing her talking points on the way to this event.
If I had been smart enough in the moment, I would have told her that I was sorry she had to deal with that bullshit, but I wasn’t. Instead I just told her that she had my vote. Which she did.