In Which I Realize Deadlines Are The Reason I'm Not A Journalism Major

I know, I know. I set a deadline on the presidential candidates series and didn't meet it. I'm sorry, you five loyal fans, I've been busy. You can check out some of my work over at my school's blog here, the wonderful MCLA webmaster Amy has put up a slide show I made for an event we were both involved in about language and stereotypes. She was also kind enough to let me have a mini-blurb on my feelings about the subject, as well as a plug for the WMST/social justice courses I love oh, so much.
I'm in a course on Stigma and Disability right now (I highly suggest our requied reading, My Body Politic by Simi Linton), and I'm starting to think that social justice courses need to be a requirement instead of elective, or we should at least learn what being transgender is during college orientation. I've heard plenty of people my age that just don't know. Sure, one could argue that an understanding of racism, sexism, ableism, classism, homophobia, transphobia and so on is not essential to creative writing (though I could/would certainly counter-argue that), but it's essential to understanding human experience (a.k.a. essential to existence).
Rep. Sally Kern, of course would disagree with me on that one. Speaking of language mattering:


via Feministing, that lists the Representative's contact information for the convenience of the outraged.

And here's a direct link to the slide show, in which I draw from Ellen, Dennis, and Mikhaela Reid, amongst others.

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Surprisingly didn't think to post this for Valentine's

I joined a writer's group on my campus, and our very first prompt (oh, how I do prefer writing groups that give prompts instead of writing groups where I sit there reading something I wrote six months ago and listen to people tell me they liked it) was to write a love letter to make the recipient swoon. You may remember that I've been swooning (for over three years now) over a wonderful boy, but I thought it would be awfully cheesey to write to him, and I didn't want to be too personal for the first prompt of our first meeting. He's off to Argentina until July very soon, and I might tear up if I tried to put words to how that feels. So I wrote it to my other main man, and thought you would enjoy the results.

My beautiful and dear Dennis Kucinich,
You have never met me, and I have never met you, yet I feel our connection. It is as if you are the wind, all around me, gently pushing my turbine to create a raw, hot, renewable energy source. I know you are a married man, but I can’t help myself. You get my blood pumping, like a life-saving transfusion made available to me by universal health care. Forget your wife- but value her equality and preserve her reproduction rights- spend just one night with me, let me take you to places you’ve never been- like vegan restaurants. You know as well as I that they’re hard to come by, but oh, so enticing- and so worth the danger.
You broke my heart when you dropped out of the race, Dennis, but I forgive you. Come away with me, let us escape this humdrum two-party system and do something really radical. We could protest for troop withdrawal... or if you’re feeling really naughty, impeachment. After we get a Department of Peace established, you and I can work on a special project- the Department of Love. Let me be your vegetable-eating vixen, your granola-crunching girl, your sexy leftist. Is that a copy of The Constitution in your pocket, or is this love?
My heart (and vote) will always be yours,
Raechel

Also in Dennis-related news: I had the brilliant thought today to seek out Dennis 08' merchandise, because, duh, the prices must be cute way back! Sure enough, everything at his official store is 50% off! As much as I hate to encourage unchecked consumerism, I'll say again what I said on V-Day- GET SHOPPING!

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