Wait... what?

By writing this, I run the risk of sounding whiny and ten years younger than I am. But I'm going to put it out there anyway, because it's something that's been on my mind all semester.

Where did I come from, and what the hell am I doing here? I live with my parents and sister in the epitome of white, middle class suburbia. All three of them smoke. Though they deny it, they're pretty racist. They drink as much Pepsi as I do coffee and don't consider a meal complete without a decent-sized portion of red meat. They don't believe in turning off the TV-- ever. They each own a car and drive everywhere-- even to visit friends who live around the block in the middle of summer. Neither of my parents went to college and my sister's dropping out of community college after this semester.

Don't get me wrong, they're pretty accepting of my feminism and lesbianism and commie/hippie tendencies, even if they'll never understand any of it. I even got my mom to jump on the organic food train with me (although she says she only did it because I literally refused to eat anything she cooked and lost about ten pounds).

But I just don't understand where I got any of this; they're different from me in every way possible. I want to say that I came to believe what I believe because of outside influence: friends, teachers, whatever. But that's really not the case. I grew up here, in Grosse Pointe, and moved to Saginaw for three years before moving back into my parents' house.

For me, it's always just been a matter of common sense (emphasis on the word always). Maybe all kids are born with this mentality and most outgrow it, but I just didn't? I don't know. But I remember being a little kid and feeling totally floored when I learned that my parents paid a water bill. I didn't understand (and I still don't understand) how anyone could put monetary value on a substance that makes up about 70% of a person's body. And I've applied that mentality to food, too, or anything people need to survive. Like a place to live. Around the age of nine (fearless little thing that I was), I told my friend's dad that I thought it was wrong of him to own a vacation home on Lake Charlevoix, because it was vacant most of the year. What a goddamned waste.

I don't know. I've always surrounded myself with like-minded people, of course. That's what we do. And it's made life bearable-- even enjoyable. But I can't say that I grew up thinking one thing and then went to college and met people who changed my way of looking at the world. Because, as illustrated above, that just didn't happen. I've always felt this way. And then I got to college and was disappointed because I still didn't really feel like I identified with anyone.

I've been kind of angry at myself lately, mainly due to my lack of involvement in things like the Occupy Movement. It's right up my alley and yet I'm utterly absent from it. I justify this to myself by pointing out that I live near Detroit, and Detroit is vastly different from Wall Street, where this protest originated. But that's really no excuse; this isn't the only thing I've (cowardly?) shied away from. There's also some other activism that I'm not as involved in now as I was just a few months ago. And although I'm generally pretty good at following the news and being aware of what's going on, I'm certainly not posting witty commentary on everything the way many of my friends are.

And yet, I know that I've always expected way too much of myself, so I'm trying to look at the whole picture. Given my upbringing and current living situation, I'm pretty strong. I may be taking a million years to get through school, but I haven't quit. And even though I get really effing overwhelmed by the news and my readings for class and the harsh realities of the kind of stuff I'm drawn to, I haven't turned away from it. I can't.

Here are some of the things I've got going for me: I'm more aware of things than I've ever been; if I wasn't, I wouldn't be reading almost compulsively, and working so hard to drag my family into the twenty-first century. I'm on track for a straight-A semester, so I must be doing something right, something productive. I have a job for which I earn money. I get out of bed every single day.

I realize that by writing this, I'm beating myself up for not doing this and that and the other thing, which tells me that I'll be back to it eventually. As Audre Lorde said, "Caring for myself is not self-indulgence. It is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare."

We all do what we need to do.

"The world spins madly on."

Yesterday was weird. Really weird. I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and got online. The first thing I saw was a tweet about Occupy Oakland, and my immediate reaction was to just start sobbing. This inevitably led to more of that-- half an hour of it, exactly.

Then I made a pot of coffee. After I drank it, I attempted to start my day over again, so crawled back into bed for a bit and pulled my four-month-old kitten close to me.

Back on the Internet: Read, cry, rinse, repeat. So much for starting over.

One of the things I found was an article in USA Today titled As NOW marks 45 years, is feminism over the hill? Never mind that Shelby Knox, now 25, was the subject of a documentary on the importance of comprehensive sex education. Or that Katie Stack, 23, who won this year's Speak Out for Choice Award from NARAL, is the president of a chapter of NOW which consists mostly of young women. Or that my good friend Stephanie Sutton, 22, was one of the main organizers of SlutWalk Chicago & then traveled to New York City, where she bravely shared a poem she wrote about her sexual assault in front of ~4,000 people gathered there for SlutWalk NYC. And if I may connect this to the subject of OWS, my friend Stef--who lives in Brooklyn and can't find a job even though she had a master's degree by the time she was 22--has been actively involved in OWS and sent me a text message yesterday that said, "I'm running Occupy Student Debt on FB and @OWSDebtDay on Twitter to help have a Generation Debt rally on 11/12 at all OWS events!"

So here's the thing: I actually think that the USA Today article is directly linked to what happened in Oakland earlier this week. If people truly think that no one really cares and it's all just a game, then yeah, cops are going to get away with sneaking up on people and beating the shit out of them. It's not that no one's working hard to change things. It's that it's simply more convenient for people to say that no one gives a shit so that they can continue to uphold the status quo.

Anyway, by that point it was well after 10 a.m. I decided to get some homework done. I actually tend to do better on schoolwork when other stuff is stressing me out, because I use it to keep myself distracted from reality. Except um, I'm a women's studies major. So basically, I'm getting a degree in not turning away, in caring too much. "Distraction" really isn't part of my vocabulary these days.

I had to babysit at 3:30-- pick up the girls (ages five and eight) from school, help them with their homework, feed them dinner, bathe them, and put them to bed before their mom got home. So on my way out the door, I went to grab a book to bring with me; I'd have time to read it after they fell asleep. And I have tons of reading to do for school, but I couldn't decide on anything. My options were to read about this kind of oppression or those other people over there who are being discriminated against or all this other heartbreaking shit that's going on in the world.

And that's when I lost it. Sat in my car outside of the elementary school and cried until the dismissal bell rang. During that time, I used my cell phone to post the following to Twitter:

I really can't cope with shit today. I don't know what my deal is, but I feel like all the work I'm doing will amount to nothing. #mope

Between my women's studies classes & the news & other activism, everything is disheartening. Idk. I don't feel very strong today.

Other thoughts that were running through my head: Why do we bother? History just keeps repeating itself; this obviously is not the first time that there's been news of police brutality at a peaceful protest. And not only that, but it turns out that if we do care and we do work hard and we refuse to give up, PEOPLE WILL STILL FAIL TO ACKNOWLEDGE US.

And then I think of the kids I work with, and how I can't deal with the fact that they're growing up in a world like this-- where they're told that they can be anything they want to be when it flat-out isn't true. The government doesn't give a shit about them. They can grow up and work their asses off and, like Stef, have master's degrees by 22. But then what? They could, like so many already have, realize they've been lied to all along. And then they could protest and raise hell but it won't matter. They'll just be ignored.

I'm posting this because I think that if you deny that you feel helpless and desperate, you'll never be able to work past those feelings and make something good out of it. And, if I'm going to frame this as a response to that USA Today article I read yesterday: Maybe people are failing to recognize that we're here because they're looking for burning bras and rage but THERE ISN'T ANY LEFT RIGHT NOW because feminism has changed over time and currently takes the form of despair.

I'm a young feminist. And I'm angry. But I'm also profoundly sad. The problem isn't that young people don't know what's at stake. All you need to do is take a brief look around to realize that. Instead, I think that because of the current political climate, compassionate people who believe in equality are, in some cases, shamed into keeping their mouths shut. And those who are brave enough to speak out just aren't being heard over the noise of those who insist on holding all the power.

On living honestly

"I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood." - Audre Lorde

I'm very tired. Partly because it's 3 a.m. and partly because this week, I've come to a very important (and scary) realization.

I'm still living in the closet.

I say this even though I told my parents that I'm a lesbian nearly a year ago. And I say it even though a quick glance at the tote bag I carry everywhere will tell you what my political views are; it's covered in buttons and pins.

Last year, I transferred to Wayne State from SVSU. And because my parents live about six miles from downtown Detroit, I decided to move in with them (because hey, not having to pay rent = win). I was pretty miserable growing up in Grosse Pointe. But I justified moving back by telling myself that because I'd no longer be enrolled in the school system, it'd be different. Easier.

But then I got a regular babysitting job.

I've written a little bit about it before. Three days per week, I pick up the kids from school, feed them dinner, bathe them, pack lunches, help with homework, and put them to bed-- all before their mom gets home at 9:15.

I have to admit that early this year (February, March, and April, especially), I started to feel really down about it. Because I'm a transfer student, I didn't have any friends at Wayne State. Living and working in Grosse Pointe (especially on Thursday and Friday evenings) made it damn near impossible to meet anyone.

And yet I was taking these 5000-level English and women's studies classes that were completely blowing my mind. It was damn near impossible for me to keep what I was learning contained to a classroom setting. And I think the whole point of classes like that, if I may say it, is to bring that knowledge beyond the walls of the classroom and into the real world.

I had all this energy and nowhere to put it, no one to share it with. And I was angry with myself because I'd wanted to transfer, but it wasn't working out. I was optimistic, hopeful, and somehow, mysteriously, profoundly unhappy. But I was afraid to admit that to anyone because I didn't want people to think that I regretted my decision to leave SVSU.

So I kept it mostly to myself, which only made things worse.

The feeling caught me entirely off-guard. It was very overwhelming and strange; even now, it's hard to write about. I've always been a bit of a hermit, and had not expected to need people that much.

I somehow managed to pull myself out of my funk, reach out to people, and make a couple of friends. And I even decided to keep my babysitting job. After all, I need to make money, and this sure as hell beats working some bullshit dead end job for a corporation. By being a reliable babysitter, I'm helping someone-- a single mother who's on welfare, at that. Every feminist bone in my body tells me that I've made the right decision by sticking with it.

But it's not enough.

The other night, the kids' mom came home complaining about an argumentative writing class she's taking at a nearby community college.

"This kid tried to tell me that homosexuals are oppressed in this country," she said incredulously. "Can you believe that? I think it's celebrated; everywhere I look, I see rainbows."

I stood there feeling stunned, offended, and unsure of how to respond. My internal monologue, meanwhile, had plenty to say: Well, maybe if homosexuals weren't oppressed, your babysitter would feel comfortable telling you that she's gay.

Not that my sexual orientation matters all that much in the context of my relationship with her. But it'd be nice to be able to feel like I can the truth when she tries to make small talk with me about my plans for the weekend, you know?

I'd also like to explain to her kids that it's okay for women to fall in love with other women, and men with men. Recently, the five-year-old declared that she's "in love" with a little girl who lives down the street. The eight-year-old piped up with, "No. You can love her, but you can't be 'in love' with her, because you're both girls. Girls can't fall in love with other girls."

I should have said something, but I didn't. Because for some reason, I was afraid to, even though something I believe very strongly is that the world isn't going to get better unless we teach kids not to believe everything that Disney tells them.

Looking at those incidents, I realize just how much of myself I'm hiding from them. I spend three evenings per week with those kids, and have been for over a year. And yet neither they nor their mother knows that I'm a lesbian, a feminist, a women's studies major.

And what's wrong with any of those things? Why the fuck should I hide the most important aspects of my identity, especially when I'm also trying to build a career out of it?

And I deal with this shit all the time. A few weeks ago, I took the girls to the park. They made a new friend on the playground, as kids often do. At one point, the little girl's mom had to go to the bathroom, so approached her daughter and said, "Come with me for a second." Then she pointed to me and said (loud enough so that I could hear her), "I don't trust that punk."

I'm just so very tired of keeping my mouth shut. Why the hell should I? For one thing, I seem to be the only one in this town who doesn't feel comfortable enough to speak her mind. And secondly, I act only out of love-- always. So why should I be ashamed of what I think and do? My wish is not to "get back" at the people who have hurt me. I'd just like to feel like it's okay to express my opinion in the town where I live and work and spend most of my time.

I've been using Facebook as an outlet. I don't really know where else to turn, and besides, most of my friends are there. Yesterday, I posted a pro-choice "vlog" update from Katie Stack. Not surprisingly, it sparked a debate between a few of my Facebook friends.

Afterward, I had a long discussion with the person who had originally objected to the post. It went well; I'm going to post some of what she said here, because it meant a lot to me.

If this is what you're passionate about and what's on your mind, you shouldn't feel guilty about putting it on FB-- that's what it's for. I'm just having a hard time dealing with hyper-focused Amelia on this topic. That's my problem, not yours, if I'm honest.

If these are your genuine beliefs and you feel strongly about them, you shouldn't have to cater to other people being offended.

Repression causes reactions. I get that. Be you, Amelia. You deserve to be heard, partly because you're my friend and I love you, and partly because you're a sensible person who can engage in a discussion without being a complete ass, and partly because you're level-headed and thoughtful, and those people deserve it most.

That's all I really want people to understand. That I don't want to hurt anyone. That I'm not a bad person. That yeah, I'm angry. But it's healthy to get angry.

And I have to add that it was nice to be able to try this out on someone I respect, and know respects me, even if our views differ.

I just want to talk to people and feel like they're listening. And since I'm here, I really ought to make the most of it instead of hiding in my room and feeling miserable and lonely.

If moving back to Grosse Pointe has taught me anything, it's that I need people a lot more than I ever thought I did. And it's pretty hard to interact with anyone when you're afraid of what they might say and/or do to you.

Happy birthday to my tote bag. :)

If you've seen me at all within the past year, you've undoubtedly also seen my tote bag. It has become a staple of my wardrobe and therefore deserves its own blog post. It celebrated its first birthday this week.

I bought it last summer in Yellow Springs, Ohio because I thought it was cute and I love tote bags.

No, really. I fucking love tote bags. I own about a zillion of them, and until this time last year, switched them out pretty frequently.

Some of my favorites:

• the white one covered in spoons
• the mustard-colored one with a record on it (love both mustard & music)
• the Chantal Kreviazuk one (as I said, I love music)
• the Theodore Roethke one (because I also love poetry)

This tote bag, though, has topped them all. I'm not sure how this happened. Maybe it's that it fits over my shoulders in such a way that I don't feel like I'm carrying it; instead, I feel like I'm wearing it. Or maybe it's that the straps are so wide that there's plenty of room for me to add personality to it with buttons.

Some buttons that have lived on my bag within the past year:

• a pink breast cancer awareness pin
• a pin that says "I <3 pro-choice girls" on it
• a pin with one of my favorite Audre Lorde quotes on it: "Your silence will not protect you."
• an LGBT pride ribbon
• a pin with the original cover of _Beloved_ by Toni Morrison on it
• a silver ribbon "Trust Women" pin

Or maybe I just love it because I don't have to worry about whether it matches my outfits-- the damn thing doesn't even match itself.

It looks a little more tired than it did a year ago, but it's still goin' strong. The zipper's broken and there's a little hole on the front of it. My cats decided that the tassels make good cat toys, so those are pretty frayed, too. And the inside is filthy, thanks to the frequent explosions of mini lotion bottles.

But I still manage to get compliments on it pretty frequently, in strange places to boot. A few months ago, I was walking to work. And I was crossing the street in front of a car parked at a stop sign. The woman driving the car rolled down her window, told me that she loved my bag, and asked me where I got it.

This question often leads to interesting conversations, because Yellow Springs is yarnbombed and wonderful.

I work as a nanny, basically. I avoid using that word because it makes me feel a lot older than I actually am. But it's a more accurate term than "babysitter," because it's a regular, structured gig. I take the four-year-old with me to pick up the seven-year-old from school, feed them an after school snack, cook them dinner, bathe them, and put them to bed-- all before their mom gets home at 9:30.

The tote bag has come in handy on multiple occasions-- usually on trips to the playground. People seem to think it's hilarious that I've pulled juice boxes, children's books, and toys from a bag that's so weird-looking and, thanks to my buttons and pins, loudly political.

Especially in a town like Grosse Pointe, MI.

Maybe this is my way of yarnbombing a town that really needs some color and life and fun and ridiculousness. I do my thing and it's fuckin' weird but people seem to like it.

It's strange, the things that'll end up making your day.

Or entire year, in my case.

Pro-choice is pro-life.

The other day I read an article in the Michigan Messenger about how Thaddeus McCotter--a Republican congressional representative running for president in 2012--signed a "Pro-life leadership pledge." This means that if elected, he'll "nominate pro-life judges, select pro-life cabinet members, de-fund Planned Parenthood and support legislation that would ban abortions after 20 weeks of pregnancy."

That news didn't exactly surprise me, but it still pissed me off, especially given the fresh batch of anti-choice news that has popped up in the US this week. The Executive Council in New Hampshire just voted to de-fund Planned Parenthood. And yesterday, a federal judge blocked a law that would have required Crisis Pregnancy Centers, or CPCs, to disclose particular information about themselves, such as whether they employ licensed medical personnel.

CPCs pose as abortion clinics, but do not provide abortion or contraceptives (nor do they refer women to organizations that do). As the Ms. article points out, CPCs are notorious for providing false medical information about abortion in order to scare women out of considering it as an option that might work for them.

I'm really uncomfortable living in a country whose government damn near shut down over an argument about de-funding an organization as necessary as Planned Parenthood. And it hurts even more to learn that people are actively working to ensure that the nation's laws stay on the side of CPCs that flat-out lie to women who come to them for comprehensive information.

As someone who cares deeply about reproductive justice and people in general, I'd like to take a moment to explain--to Representative McCotter, Judge Pauley, and everyone else behind all of the legislation that has come up since the last election--that pro-choice is pro-life.

A lot of people will be surprised to hear this, but I didn't always identify as pro-choice.

Yeah, really. Because let's face it: the rhetoric sounds great. Don't kill babies. That's something I could totally get behind, you know?

Neither of my parents are US citizens, so they can't vote. Therefore, politics just weren't discussed in our house when I was growing up. I've read that statistically, parents have a great deal of influence over their children's political views. That wasn't really the case for me. I had a few opinions, but those were based shallowly on what I felt to be common sense.

So, when asked for my views on abortion, I would proudly declare that I was pro-life and thought abortion was wrong.

But once I got to high school, I noticed that a lot of people I respected were especially passionate about their pro-choice views. And important things were going on at the time that forced me to seriously reevaluate my stance. In 2006, when I was a junior, my school district considered adopting an abstinence only sex education program, to replace the comprehensive one that was in place.

People went apeshit. Friends of mine spoke out against the proposal at school board meetings. Medical professionals came in from out of town to voice their opinion, too. And in the end, we stuck with a comprehensive program.

I was pleased with the school board's decision not to adopt an abstinence only program (because even though I didn't believe in abortion, I wasn't quite that conservative; I've always fully supported birth control). But I still could not understand how or why my friends felt so strongly about the abortion issue in particular. And because I knew my friends to be intelligent, compassionate people, I wanted to understand their point of view. So I started researching the topic.

I don't remember a specific moment when I "became pro-choice." I do know, though, that I kept finding instances where I could concede that abortion was an acceptable option: rape, incest, poverty, etc.

But what won me over fully in the end were the personal anecdotes. By reading tons of stories about women's experiences with pregnancy, I discovered that it was impossible to put them into boxes marked with the aforementioned labels. It hit me that I couldn't call myself pro-life without taking women's lives and diverse experiences into consideration.

The Supreme Court's upholding of the "partial birth abortion" ban in 2007 is the event that both tested and solidified my new pro-choice views. I was furious with the decision, even though when GW Bush signed the bill four years prior, I hadn't had a problem with it. That's because on the surface, "partial birth abortion" sounds awful; it evokes images of selfish women who, after 35 weeks of pregnancy, suddenly freak out and realize that they don't want to have a baby. So instead, they decide to have an abortion.

But for one thing, "partial birth abortion" is not a medical term; it was coined by right-wing politicians. And secondly, come on, there have to be reasons for women to get an abortion that late in the game.

And damn good ones, at that.

One woman's story has really stuck with me over the years. It appears on page 14 of _The War on Choice_ by Gloria Feldt:

We were awaiting the arrival of a son. I'm diabetic, so I had more prenatal testing than most women. At twenty-five weeks I had an ultrasound and the doctor's exact words were, "Vick, you are disgustingly normal and so is the baby." At thirty-two weeks I went in for another ultrasound and my world came crashing down. They discovered that [the fetus] had not grown past twenty-five weeks, and further testing revealed that he had nine major anomalies, including a fluid-filled cranium with no brain tissue at all. He could never have survived outside my womb. My body was the only thing keeping him alive, and I chose to remove my son from life support. I'm a mom. I had three beautiful children, and in fact I have a new baby boy who's here with me now. Who are the people on the anti-choice side to judge me? They've never been in my shoes. I never in my wildest dreams thought something like this could happen, but it happened to me.

The abortion she had in 1996 was made illegal under the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act. Her experience reminds me of the woman in NE who, earlier this year, was denied an abortion and forced to watch her baby die in her arms shortly after giving birth.

So this is why I feel so strongly that lawmakers should not get between a woman and her doctor. As NARAL's Speak Out for Choice Award recipient Katie Stack said earlier this year during her acceptance speech, "Women's experiences with abortion are nuanced and complicated. But... if [we are] given the opportunity to share these diverse realities, we can begin to challenge the stereotypes and falsehoods that are promoted by the anti-choice movement."

Pro-choice is pro-life. That's something I firmly believe and discovered simply by being curious and open. By reading. By trusting/caring about people, and respecting their personal opinions and choices.

I don't think that's too much to ask of humanity.

Victim blaming is bullshit. Also, the personal is political? Advice, please.

Yesterday I was sitting in the backyard with my parents, telling them about the various events I plan to attend in downtown Detroit next month: namely Motor City Pride and SlutWalk.

My dad made a comment that, for reasons I'll explain in a minute, was both racist and sexist: "You know I don't like you going west of Alter Road."

It was about the twentieth stupid comment he'd made all weekend, so I finally told him that if he isn't going to change his way of thinking, he needs to at least have the decency to keep his fucked up ideas to himself.

My mother, ever the peacekeeper, intervened. But instead of supporting my stance, she told me (for the zillionth time) that I need to accept that my dad's not going to learn/change, and ignore his comments.

Now, let me back up a bit and explain the context of my dad's remark:

The thing about most Detroit suburbs is that they're not actually very close to Detroit at all. Royal Oak, for instance (where I was born) is in Oakland County. Detroit, meanwhile, is located in Wayne County.

But Grosse Pointe--where I have lived most of my life--is one of the few Detroit suburbs that's actually in Wayne County. We even share the 313 area code, made famous by Eminem and Faygo ads such as this one.

Which is funny (read: sad and embarrassing) because Grosse Pointe, in stark contrast to its neighbor, is both affluent and overwhelmingly white.

Our house is a block from the border.

And so that's why my dad's comment was both racist and sexist. He was basically saying, "You know I don't want my pretty little girl to venture into the ghetto." Never mind that I'm twenty-two years old and in the process of earning a degree from a university in downtown Detroit. BUT ANYWAY.

So, here's my dilemma: In some cases, I do accept that certain people just aren't going to change. It depresses me more than I can express. But I'd rather focus my energy on people who might come around to the idea of equality. The kids I babysit, for example. They're young (four and seven). I see them three days per week, so hope to have some positive influence over their lives.

But in the case of my dad... it isn't easy to place him into the category of haters that I ignore. I share his genes. And we live together. I actually think it's healthier (for all parties involved) for me to speak up--and release all the pent-up energy I have--rather than keep quiet while he makes comments that upset me to the point of needing to email the people I know who care about the same things I do just to thank them for being there. (I've done this a couple of times, most recently, this past April.) My energy has to go somewhere, you know?

Another example of my dad's outlook: Last week there was a story in the news about a woman on the campus of Wayne State who "says [that a] campus cop pulled her over just after midnight and demanded a sexual favor in exchange for letting her go." She reported the incident; he was taken into custody and suspended without pay.

Upon seeing the story on the 5 o'clock news, my dad rolled his eyes and said, "That woman probably just wants money and came up with a creative way to get some."

Do I even need to explain why that's the worst thing anyone could possibly say? I know firsthand (as I'm sure many people do) how hard it can be to come forward about something that fucks with the whole power structure.

Secondly, I know that if I were to tell my dad that something like that had happened to me, he'd stop at nothing to make sure that the cop in question got his balls chopped off.

I babysit just a few blocks from my house, so I ride my bike or walk to and from work most of the time. I get off work at 9:30, by which point, it's dark outside. The first time I walked home from work, I entered the house to find my dad standing in the entryway. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again," he snapped. "I know you don't see yourself as a girl anymore, but you're still my girl."

*Headdesk*

I'm not an idiot. People know where and when I'm walking. But the idea of "some big burly black man lurkin' in the bushes" isn't enough to make me drive the three blocks to and from work instead of walk. This is my world, too, and I'm sick of being part of a culture that teaches women not to get raped instead of teaching people not to rape. Which is why I'm such a vocal supporter of the SlutWalks that have been popping up literally all over the globe.

I digress.

So, what to do? Part of me just feels helpless, heartbroken, and exhausted because if I can't get through to my dad of all people, how can I possibly expect to have any influence over people who aren't related to/don't live with me?

I believe in living honestly. That's why I don't eat red meat or drive if I can help it, openly identify as a feminist, and told my parents that I'm gay, among other things. My mom, though she disagrees with me, knows that I'm adamantly pro-choice. So I find it really difficult to just shut up while my dad makes racist/sexist comments. I don't understand why I'm the one who's expected to shut up and let him say his piece. Because if I make a feminist remark, he's able to tell me stop because he's my dad and therefore, trumps me in terms of authority.

Furthermore, because I know my dad to be a pretty good person overall (or at least, someone who tries to be in the ways he knows how), I think it's unfair to him to act as my mom does. I can't just say, "Well, he's from Poland. And he never went to college. So he's just never going to get it." Um. He accepted the fact that his daughter's a lesbian, so I like to think that he can be a little more open minded if I do a little bit of work, you know?

Or is my mother right? Am I just wasting my energy?

Lemme know, Internet.

No Excuses!

I just finished reading Gloria Feldt's latest book, _No Excuses: 9 Ways Women Can Change How We Think About Power_. And I've decided to blog about if for a couple of reasons:

1) She offers some great advice for aspiring feminist activists. _No Excuses_ definitely motivated me. But I knew that simply reading the book wouldn't be enough. I had to think about how what she was saying affected me personally; I read very slowly, and (nerd alert!) took a lot of notes. How many times have you read a book full of good advice, but then acted on none of it? I know I have. And I didn't want that to happen this time.

2) Likely because it was published so recently, this book contains a lot of information about how websites and blogs are changing the landscape of feminist activism. I'll elaborate on that in a bit. But suffice it to say for now that as as someone who considers herself a feminist blogger, I'd be wrong not to mention this book here.

Feldt's book _The War on Choice: The Right-Wing Attack on Women's Rights and How to Fight Back_ (published in 2004) totally blew my mind, so when I heard that she was coming out with a new book, I was eager to read it. But I have to admit that at first, I wasn't sure how I felt about the idea behind this one. From the inside front cover: "In _No Excuses_, [Feldt] argues that the most confounding problem facing women today isn't that doors aren't open, but that not enough women are walking through them."

It sounded a little like victim blaming to me. But given that Gloria Feldt isn't exactly the victim blaming type, I decided to read it anyway.

And I'm glad that I did.

She offers a lot of solid examples to back up her claim. For instance, women fought hard to win the right to vote in the US. But many stopped short of using their newly gained right as a vehicle through which to make further progress. Alice Paul, meanwhile, understood that winning the right to vote, though tremendous, was only one step along the road to equality. So she drafted the Equal Rights Amendment.

Feldt does not generalize about how women "aren't doing this" or "aren't doing that." Rather, _No Excuses_ is full of stories of women who, like Alice Paul, walked through the doors that were open to them. A huge part of her argument is really that those women aren't bringing enough people with them. And without a whole lot of us, we won't be able to achieve much.

She illustrates that by focusing on the idea of "power to," which she explains in contrast with "power over." The latter is force. Bad news bears. The former, however, inspires the solidarity that social justice movements are made of. So naturally, I was all over that.

Feldt does a really good job of emphasizing that everyone, regardless of age, race, gender, education level, party affiliation, or any other factor, can and should do their part to make the world better. I was particularly impressed with what she said about my generation of feminists.

There has been a lot of talk in the past couple of years about how "young feminist don't exist." The very first blog carnival I ever participated in addressed this very issue. More than forty feminist bloggers (myself included) posted in response to negative comments made by Gail Collins and Stacy Schiff in the New York Times.

But on page 276 of _No Excuses_, Feldt (who, at age 69, is a couple of generations ahead of my 22-year-old self) says, "Younger women's involvement and leadership in advancing women's rights to equality and self-determination are crucial because that's the only way the movement for equality will continue to flourish and grow. I fear for our future unless young women step up to lead a new wave of civic engagement--and indeed, one of my greatest delights is seeing how many young women are doing just that." She goes on to highlight work by young feminists such as Shelby Knox (24) and Courtney Martin (31).

But where to start? Feldt emphasizes that the best way to gain self esteem is to stand up for what you believe in. The first thing I did when I read that, of course, was compare myself to the activists highlighted in the book. And then I proceeded to beat myself up over what a shitty job I've been doing of standing up for what I care about. But I also realized that there are already things I'm doing correctly.

Like "wearing the shirt," for example, or, in other words, putting your beliefs out in the open. One need look no further than this blog to see that I'm already doing that. In the "about me" blurb, I say outright that I'm a feminist. And below that are badges to all the blog carnivals in which I've participated. From those, you can tell that I support LGBT rights, Planned Parenthood, and pro-choice/feminist issues in general. My Facebook and Twitter feeds are littered with similar posts.

And then there's my tote bag. I carry with me everywhere I go. There's an Audre Lorde quote ("Your silence will not protect you") pinned to it. And there's a "trust women" pin on it as well. And to support LGBT rights, I wear a "gayclet" that my friend Angela made for me out of rainbow-colored pieces of string. I've been asked about all of those. It's not scary to me, because those are topics that I love to talk about--even with people who give me dirty looks.

And in some cases, my vocal habits have paid off. A couple of years ago, I was driving with my friend Kevin from Saginaw to Kalamazoo, MI. As soon as we got onto the freeway, Kevin, who had been following my Facebook posts, asked me why I identify as pro-choice. Because he knew me to be a kind, compassionate friend, he wondered why I was so incredibly passionate about something with which he so adamantly disagreed.

And so, in our three hours on the road together, I explained why I care so much about it. I had all the time in the world to offer up examples and answer his questions. Neither of us were hostile about it; he was genuinely curious and willing to listen. In the end, he told me that he could see that there was good reason for supporting pro-choice issues. I realize now that the conversation would not have happened had I not been spouting off online.

Despite my confidence about certain issues, however, there's still this discrepancy between how I see myself and how others see me. If you use Twitter, you know that you can organize your "followers" into "lists." Followers of mine have categorized me this way: "feminist," "feminist bloggers," and even Gloria Feldt's favorite word, "power."

But in my head, it's a different picture entirely. I've always said that I'm a "feminist with a blog" instead of a "feminist blogger" because although everything I write comes from a feminist perspective, I don't write exclusively about feminist issues. Furthermore, although I've identified as a feminist for a number of years now, it was only a year or so ago that I got active in the feminist blogosphere. I make the mistake of comparing myself to women like Feministing's Chloe Angyal or Shelby Knox, the subject of a documentary on comprehensive sex education. And I get discouraged, because they, like me, are in their early twenties. And they are doing some pretty amazing stuff.

But just because I don't write for Feministing, doesn't mean I'm not a feminist blogger, right?

This got me thinking about all the times that I've underestimated myself, or backed off when I shouldn't have. Here's just one of many examples: A year or so ago, a "Facebook friend" of mine posted a status in which he declared that "feminism has gone too far." Obviously, it really pissed me off. But instead of responding to his post with reasons why feminism actually hasn't reached far enough yet, I just blocked his updates from my feed and got on with my day. Because I didn't want to deal with the inevitable backlash.

I regret that. And I don't know why I constantly talk myself out of speaking my mind when I know that I'm pretty well-versed on a lot of feminist issues. In _No Excuses_, Feldt refers to quite a few books--among them _When Everything Changed_ by Gail Collins, _The Means of Reproduction_ by Michelle Goldberg, and _Manifesta_ by Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards--all of which I've read. She also refers to a lot of things that have happened recently in the blogosphere. She spent several pages on "abstinence porn," which is a term coined by Chrstine Seifert of Bitch Magazine to describe the genre of YA lit into which the Twilight series fits. I didn't need a refresher course from Gloria Feldt to understand that, because I read the Bitch article when it was published several years ago. To this day, I cannot think about Twilight without my internal monologue going, "Abstinence porn! Abstinence porn! Hahahahaha!"

So clearly, I know my shit. There are doors there. Gotta open 'em.

And I see this blog as the key to doing that. From page 331: "There are many reasons to keep blogs or maintain websites. To advance our professional lives by displaying portfolios of our work; the thrill of the open confessional; documenting a hobby, talent, or obsession; or simply as a place to document our daily lives. Just as my T-shirt is valuable real estate to proclaim my convictions, so is your online platform--you can wear the cypershirt. You can tell your story uncensored and find a community of people who share your problems and your passions."

As I mentioned, I'm already doing that to some extent. But there are still a few things that have kept me from having much of an impact. So I hope to use this blog as a vehicle through which to change that. I'm part of something great, and need to fully embrace it. This means recognizing that I too have a voice in the feminist blogosphere.

Now stop reading this. Go find a copy of _No Excuses_, and read it if you haven't yet already. Then figure out what your strengths are, and go get shit done.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 25

A photo you took.

I'm no photographer or anything, but here's a picture I took with my cell phone of some anti-choice propaganda I found in a bathroom stall at SVSU in October of 2009.

People should be able to urinate in peace, you know?

Needless to say, I added this to my list of good reasons for transferring to Wayne State.

Summer plans and other random things

Hi, Internet.

I haven't blogged too much this month. And if I may be perfectly honest, t's not because I've been busy with end-of-semester stuff. It's because I've been really down about a lot of things, and everything I wrote sounded whiny. So I just didn't post much.

The political climate in this country is really, really upsetting me. Earlier this month, governor of Michigan Rick Snyder declared the city of Benton Harbor to be in a state of crisis and appointed an "Emergency Financial Manager," who stripped all elected officials in BH of their duties.

Giant democracy fail, I know.

Furthermore, the Detroit Public School System sent layoff notices to every single one of its teachers. We can blame Rick Snyder's budget plan for that, too.

My mom is Canadian. She was born in Sudbury, Ontario, and moved to Detroit when she married my dad (24 years ago yesterday). So I have a lot of relatives in Canada. And one of them--my mom's older sister Kerrie, who lives in the Yukon--offered to let me come live with her for the summer.

I thought it was a pretty neat idea. And not surprisingly, I've been fantasizing about getting out of the US for a while. So Kerrie talked to a friend of hers about getting me a job. I didn't tell too many people about it, because I wasn't sure whether it was going to work out.

And in the end, it didn't work out. I'm oddly not too bummed about that though, because a fear of mine is that a summer in the Yukon would make me lonelier than I already am here in Grosse Pointe.

So, my summer looks like this:

• classes at Wayne State
  
• babysitting/searching for another job
• the release of Bonnie Jo Campbell's novel _Once Upon a River_ at Kalamazoo's Bell's Brewery in July
• my friend Rose having a baby
• Lollapalooza in Chicago with my friend Toni

That last one is sort of a big deal. The day tickets went on sale, Toni wrote on my FB Wall, telling me that I should come with her. As much as I liked the idea, I did not at first intend to say yes. Shit's expensive. Gotta plan a purchase like that in advance.

But then she followed up with a lengthy FB message, detailing how much it would cost. I appreciated the gesture and really like Toni. Besides, I wanted to go.

So I told autonomous adulthood to suck it, asked my mom to loan me some money, and bought a 3-day pass to Lollapalooza.

I just paid it off a couple of days ago, and will spend the next few months being a huge tightwad in order to be able to afford to spend three days in Chicago. But it will be a fabulous end to the summer. :)

Also: Summer would not be summer without summer reading. Recommendations? Here's a(n unrealistically ambitious) list of books that I'm thinking of reading (in no particular order):

• _Sexing the Cherry_ by Jeanette Winterson
• _The Golden Notebook_ by Doris Lessing
• _Midnight's Children_ by Salman Rushdie
  
• _Breeding a Nation: Reproductive Slavery, the Thirteenth Amendment, and the Pursuit of Freedom_ by Pamela D. Bridgewater
• _Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and For Those who Want to Write Them_ by Francine Prose
  
• _The Way We Lived_ by Audrey Jacobs
• _When We Were Saints_ by Han Nolan
  

And speaking of books (especially that last one): My inner 13-year-old is jumping up and down, turning blue, and squealing over and over, "AMELIA, TELL THEM YOUR NEWS!" So: I learned today that HAN NOLAN WILL BE RELEASING A NEW BOOK IN THE FALL. I love her books so much: reading her work has made me a better person. I've blogged before about how much I love her.

Anyway. This post has been all over the place. I apologize. They'll soon go back to being more focused. I've decided to participate in a 30-day blog challenge. Let's see how closely I can stick to it.

I'll leave you with a really great NYT article I read last night, which I think sums up everything that matters to me. Virginia Woolf once wrote about what it would have been like if Shakespeare had had a sister. Well, Benjamin Franklin did have a sister. Her name was Jane Mecom. And she didn't do so well.

And this is relevant today because, as the article states:

"Tea Partiers dressed as Benjamin Franklin call for an end to social services for the poor; and the 'Path to Prosperity' urges a return to 'America’s founding ideals of liberty, limited government and equality under the rule of law.' But the story of Jane Mecom is a reminder that, especially for women, escaping poverty has always depended on the opportunity for an education and the ability to control the size of their families."

Failure to launch

I haven't posted much to this blog this month, even though there's so much going on in the world and just as much I could say about it.

I've actually sat down at my computer several times in the past week or so to write about all of it: the devastating earthquake in Japan (and the YouTube video from a crazed Catholic who saw it as some sort of "beautiful" sign from God); the Wisconsin loss; Governor Rick Snyder's plan to destroy my home state of Michigan; the victim-blaming piece of bullshit I read in the New York Times about the gang rape of an eleven-year-old girl in Texas; and the news that a woman in Nebraska--thanks to her state's anti-choice legislation--was forced to watch her newborn die because she had not been permitted to terminate a pregnancy that doctors told her would result in the death of her baby.

But each time I've started writing, I've gotten too overwhelmed/tired, given up, and gone to bed. Lately, I've felt too deflated to accomplish much of anything.

I feel as disappointed in the world as I did in the first grade, when a classmate called and asked if I'd like to come over and play Candy Land with her. I envisioned her house--which I'd visited many times--transformed into a castle made of candy. I pictured the two of racing through it, sugar adding to the energy I already had just from my level of excitement. And I eagerly said yes.

But Candy Land turned out to be just a board game.

I read a really great Between the Lines article last week called "The kid aren't all right," about how my generation isn't going to stand for any anti-LGBT bullshit. One part in particular gave me some much-needed hope: "This generation is often ridiculed for having a sense of entitlement. But these kids show that they feel entitled to basic human rights. And if those rights aren't there, they're going to organize, ask, demand, and fight to have them."

If that's true, then I need to find a way to join in. Part of why I'm so down about things lately is that I feel like I'm the only person who gives a shit about anything (even though from reading my friends' posts on Facebook, I know that I'm not).

But I feel so terribly alone because my current living situation and babysitting job make it really hard for me to go out and pursue my interests. I live with my parents twenty minutes from campus, don't have a car of my own, and work on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings. And because I'm a transfer student, I don't really have any friends in the area.

So, woe is me. I keep telling myself to be strong and stick it out until June, when the kids I babysit will be done with school for the year and I can think about moving on to something else, freeing up my evenings. But that's not real strength.

When I transferred to Wayne State, I moved in with my parents because doing so would save money. I knew that transferring would mean taking longer than four years to finish up my BA. So I thought that by moving in with them, I'd be making them happy. Because if there's one surefire way to make my parents happy, it's by saving money.

But it just hasn't turned out that way. My parents, though they mean well, are stuck in some kind of time warp, and are waiting for me to "launch." Their word choice scares me. I'm afraid that by their definition, I'm never going to "launch." I got my driver's license three and a half years after it was legal for me to do so. I won't finish college in four years. And to top it all off, I'm gay, so even if I were in a committed relationship, it's not like I could get married anytime soon.

I mean, it's understandable for my parents (like any parents) to want to watch their kids grow into successful adults. But what they don't understand is that for so many reasons, they can't hold me to the standard to which their parents held them. For one thing, there are obvious economic obstacles to making it through college in four years (thanks, Rick Snyder, for slashing state funding to Michigan colleges/universities by more than 20%).

And more importantly, there are so many ways to be successful. And success, to me, is happiness. We can agree that I've failed. But I'm not a failure because I got my driver's license three and a half years later than my peers. I'm not a failure because I won't graduate from college on time. And I'm not a failure because I have no desire to marry and have children. Instead, I am a failure because I've settled for living in Grosse Pointe. I'm a failure because two hours from now, I'm going to leave the house for an evening of babysitting instead of leaving it to go after what really inspires me.

Life has told me to settle for board games. Living, however, has taught me that if I have any hope of doing something good for this world during my time here, I need to build a candy castle--even if right now, it only exists in my imagination, and no on else can see or understand my need to create it.

Why I stand with Planned Parenthood

This was written for the I Stand with Planned Parenthood blog carnival, hosted by Fair and Feminist. For a list of participating blogs, click here.

--

I haven't written about reproductive rights since NARAL's sixth annual Blog for Choice Day over a month ago. And it's not because I haven't been paying attention. It's not because there hasn't been anything to write about, either. The GOP has been up to all kinds of no good lately. MoveOn.org has referred to their bullshit (accurately, I think) as a "war on women," and published a list of things that the GOP has done recently to destroy what matters most.

Notice that a few things are missing from that list. Like the Georgia rep who announced that he wants to investigate all miscarriages (to make sure that women haven't induced abortions--talk about demoralizing). And the House's recent vote to bar Planned Parenthood from federal funding. Neither of those things made the list because they came up after it was published.

So see, they're not stopping. I've hardly been able to keep up. that's why there have only been a few brief mentions of all this on my blog: Holy shit, look what the Republifucks are up to now...

It's all so overwhelming. So I'm grateful to Fair and Feminist for hosting this blog carnival, and providing a prompt, therefore forcing me to focus.

So! I stand with Planned Parenthood because really, it'd be stupid not to. What kind of person would I be if I didn't? Everyone should stand with Planned Parenthood--even those who voted to bar it from funding.

Yeah, that's what I said. Because what gets me about this bill is that it works against what the GOP says it wants: no abortion. If you really want to eliminate abortion, you shouldn't cut funding to the very thing that prevents women from having to seek one.

As fellow feminist blogger Katie Stack so eloquently stated on her Facebook page, "You can't have an ideology based on the idea that abortion is murder without taking away pregnant women's autonomy entirely."

And that's what the GOP wants to do. They may not say it (because hello, they know it'll piss us off), but they sure have jumped at the chance to act on it. And regardless of what they say, this bill isn't about protecting anyone--not fetuses, and certainly not pregnant women.

This bill isn't even really about abortion. Public funds aren't allotted for abortions (I think they should be, but that's another rant for another day). So many important services would be barred from funding under the Pence Amendment: Birth control, cancer screenings, HIV testing, etc. So really, what the fuck is the GOP doing, then?

And that's why I consider what happened in the House last week to be one of the most blatantly anti-woman acts I've encountered in my lifetime. If the members of the GOP were really true to their convictions, they'd look more closely and be a little (um, okay, a lot) more careful. But no. Instead, they just want to destroy the one thing they associate with what (or who?) they don't like. Because they see Planned Parenthood as nothing more than a giant baby killer.

(And we're the ones who are labeled extremists?)

In other news, Michigan governor Rick Snyder is busy trying to turn my state into a third world country. So naturally, I'm pissed. But what makes me even angrier is hearing people say, "Well, whatevs. It sucks, but I didn't vote for him." Neither did I. but I do live here. And I don't want to see my home go to shit.

Same thing with what's happening to Planned Parenthood. It's unfair that we have to work this hard, especially since we didn't vote for the people who are causing this to happen. But the reality is that the GOP isn't messing around, and neither should we. The term "forcible rape" was removed from the HR3 bill because we spoke the fuck up and demanded that it be removed. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't the biggest victory in the world. But it's something--proof that if we fight, we can win.

So we must. My mother worries about me, because she knows that the things I care about don't lie on neutral ground. She supports me until I start to piss off a certain group of people (read: the religious right). This is because simply enough, she's a nice person who wants everyone to get along. And I do, too. But the GOP has been pissing me off for a damn long time. Not just pissing me off, actually, but hurting me, and hurting those I care about. So if by voicing my opinion, I'm going to piss them off, then that's good. Because at this point, they need to know how it feels.

I know this blog post has been all rage so far, but know that I am hopeful. Seeing what erupted on my Facebook page and in the blogosphere within minutes of the vote in the House was pretty inspiring. And the Democrats still have control of the Senate. We have a pretty kick-ass president, too.

But that doesn't mean I'm 100% confident. Because it's still hard for me to believe that despite the efforts of everyone I mentioned above, the GOP has managed to do as much damage as it has--and in such little time! If I wasn't worried about anything, I wouldn't be so angry, and I wouldn't be writing.

Hopeful and angry is a good mix for me, though. It makes me do things, makes me act.

So, act. Sign an open letter to Congress. Contact your representatives--see how they voted, and send them a message. See if there's a walk for Choice event going on in your area. (There's one in Detroit on Saturday!) Share your Planned Parenthood story.

And whatever you do, don't fall for the rhetoric.

38 years of Roe vs. Wade

This post was written for NARAL's sixth annual Blog for Choice Day.

--

Whenever this time of year rolls around, I’m reminded of an argument I had a while back with a former college roommate about Roe vs. Wade.

After I explained to her why the state of reproductive health care is still such an important issue--even thirty-some years after Roe vs. Wade--she looked at me and said, “Chill out, Amelia. Abortion isn’t going anywhere.”

“You’re right,” I replied, surprising her. “Which is why it should remain a safe and legal procedure for women who need it.”

At the time, I was a nineteen-year-old freshman at Saginaw Valley State University--a small school in the middle of a cornfield. (Now in my fourth year of school, I’ve since transferred to Wayne State University in Detroit.)

I was frustrated as hell. Tired of conversations like the one I’d had with my roommate, I wanted more than anything to know that I wasn’t alone in worrying about the state of Roe vs. Wade. The 2008 presidential election was just a few short months away.

So I picked up a copy of Gloria Feldt’s book _The War on Choice: The Right-Wing Attack on Women’s Rights and How to Fight Back_. All I had expected to get out of reading it was a much-needed affirmation of what I already believed in. But I got much more than I’d bargained for.

Feldt offered so many examples (some without even realizing it) of how women’s reproductive rights are jeopardized. Her book was published in 2004, one year after then-president George W. Bush signed the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act. Hopeful, Feldt had hypothesized that the US Supreme Court would fail to uphold the ban. Reading her words four years after they were published, I knew that she was wrong. For on April 18, 2007, the Supreme Court had indeed upheld it.

_The War on Choice_ made me angrier than I’d already been when I first picked it up off the shelf. It also made me feel 100% justified in being so vocal (arguments with my roommate be damned), and inspired me to keep fighting.

And there’s still so much to fight for. Recently, NARAL graded each state on its support of a woman’s right to choose. My home state of Michigan received an F. Classy. Illinois, meanwhile, received a B-. I have friends in both states who have had abortions, and know that the friend in Illinois had to deal with a lot less anti-choice bullshit than did my friend here in Michigan.

If we’re ever going to succeed in eliminating all of the bullshit, it’s especially important to put faces of real women on the issue. And because of the recent shift in Congress, we’ve got no time to lose. Props to the three women who recently shared their abortion stories on MTV’s episode of 16 and Pregnant, “No Easy Decision.”

Reproductive freedom has long been on my radar, but is now more than ever. An anti-choice governor was recently elected in my state, and the new Speaker of the House is anti-choice as well. And people like them are wasting no time checking things off their to-do list. (Repeal of health care, anyone?)

But the election this past November wasn’t a total loss. What about that huge pro-choice victory in Colorado? Such victories can (and must!) happen elsewhere. (And isn’t Colorado the birthplace of the Purity Ball? Come on, people. Anything is possible!)

Michigan may have gotten an F from NARAL, but that doesn’t mean everyone in Michigan is anti-choice. I’m sure as hell not. There are brilliant, dedicated feminists everywhere--including schools like SVSU. (Hi, Dr. Rich!) If you’re stuck in a cornfield somewhere (like I once was), speak up! Our silence gives fuel to the anti-choice movement.

Roe vs. Wade is in greater danger than most realize. I wasn’t “wasting my energy” on worrying about it during the 2008 presidential election. And I’m not wasting it now, though I really ought to be spending that energy on actually doing something about it.

Women who, like me (and ahem, my former roommate), were born in the US after 1973, have never lived in a time/place where abortion was illegal. And I hope we never will. But that’s really up to us. Just because we were lucky enough to have been born with the right to a safe and legal abortion, that right may not always be there for us. (If you’re not convinced, do some research on abortion laws on individual states. Michigan’s not the only one that got an F from NARAL.)

While I plan to drink myself stupid in celebration of Roe vs. Wade on its 38^th anniversary tomorrow, I recognize that I have a responsibility: not only to those whose efforts made the passage of Roe vs. Wade possible 38 years ago, but to to my peers and to future generations of women who, I hope, will always have the freedom to choose what to do with their own bodies.

Vote!

Just a reminder that tomorrow, Tuesday, November 2, is election day! I'll be voting. And you should, too.

If you live in Michigan, you can view a sample ballot here.

And if you, like me, have a slightly vulgar sense of humor and lack of tolerance for those who don't vote, click here.

See ya at the polls!

Life, love, strength, and other abstractions

The Senate broke my heart on Tuesday by falling four votes short of the 60 needed to overturn "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." It's really depressing to realize just how far we have yet to go on the road to achieving equality. Even more infuriating is the fact that most of what upsets me politically can be filed in my brain under "violation of common sense."

Personally, though, things have been going well. I got 100% on my first quizzes of the semester in both English and women's studies, which made me happy. And even though I miss my friends in Saginaw, I don't doubt that transferring colleges was the right thing to do. And I've been able to maintain a balance between the life I had there and the life I have here.

Last winter, while I was still at SVSU, I started talking to/spending time outside of class with literature majors. I had been a creative writing major, so hadn't interacted with them much previously. And I'll confess that after I made the decision to transfer, I was wary of making new friends in Saginaw, for fear of losing touch with them as soon as I moved back to the Detroit area.

But not only have we maintained contact, we've also had some incredibly honest, intense conversations since I left.

There are a lot of things I'm still ashamed of in regard to what happened while I was a student at SVSU. I wish I had handled certain things better (or handled them at all, for that matter). And because I can't go back in time and change things, I've just been trying to live my life as honestly and unapologetically as possible.

So, while we're on the topic of living honestly/unapologetically:

Confessions:

1) I always leave women's studies class full of rage and usually spend the next little while wishing I had been born male. This is particularly scary to me because I've always been so proud of/embraced who I am and what I do as a woman.

2) I also occasionally wish I wasn't gay. Like being female, it's something I love about who I am. But part of me still wishes I could rid myself of it for entirely cowardly reasons. My gay friends are the strongest people I know. And I've taken until just recently to even begin the process of coming out because I've been scared and confused and still doubt whether I'm strong enough to live as honestly and openly as they do.

But these little internal battles I'm having with myself wouldn't even be taking place if part of me wasn't trying to embrace these challenges, and be strong and explore.

What I've discovered has been (and continues to be) eye-opening. The honest/intense conversations I've had with my friends recently have all caused me to question things I had never thought to question before. It really hurts, but ultimately, processing/accepting those things makes me feel really good about everything. And lately, more and more, I just feel like life will be life, I will be me, you will be you, and everything will be okay.

And somehow it'll all be worth it.

Those books you read in fifth grade? They're a bigger deal than you thought they were.

Right now, I'm about 450 pages into _A People's History of the United States_ by Howard Zinn. It's been on my to-read list since my junior year of high school. And after Zinn passed away this past January, I decided that I needed to get with the program and read it already. And so, here I am.

It's making me want to throw things (which means its doing its job). Thing is, it started to make me feel so sad/angry/anxious that today, I decided to take a break and read a couple of YA books.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I have a huge soft spot for YA literature. My favorite YA author (perhaps my favorite author of all time, actually) is Han Nolan, whose writing I admire because not only is she unafraid to tackle political topics, but she does so very subtly. And although she writes for a younger audience, she does not underestimate her readers. Her books have really made me a better person.

Another favorite YA author of mine is Ann Rinaldi. I started reading her books when I was in the fifth or sixth grade. She writes historical fiction, and occasionally borders on nonfiction: One of her novels, _Hang a Thousand Trees with Ribbon_, tells the story of Phillis Wheatley.

Reading one of her books today, I began to think about what I read now, and how it isn't all that different from what I read when I was younger, and how all of that has ultimately played a huge, huge, HUGE role in the decisions I've made in regard to my education.

English was always my favorite subject in school. And I rocked it. At the eighth grade "graduation" ceremony, I was presented with an award from the English department (I still have the plaque in my bedroom). In high school, I took honors/AP English classes, and worked as the editor-in-chief of my school's art/literary magazine. And then I got to college, majored in creative writing, and worked as the editor-in-chief of the art/literary magazine there, too.

And then I started to question whether it was really what I wanted to pursue. It was a really difficult question to ask myself, because my love of English/writing was the one thing I had always been sure of.

I couldn't deny my other interests, though. As much as I loved most of my English classes, the best class I've ever taken at SVSU was a 100-level history class I took to fulfill a gen ed requirement. I hadn't expected to get much out of it. It was just a history of the United States, post Civil War to the present. I took it because I thought it'd be a blow off.

But it blew my mind. It made me question capitalism, which was a real ground-shaker for me, having grown up in Grosse Pointe. I got a B in the class, and I had to work my ass off for that B. I was glad to work my ass off for that B. I had so much fun.

That same semester, I took a literature course called Great Lakes Writers (also to fill a gen ed requirement, actually). I figured, "Okay. We'll read some books written by people from Michigan." And that's exactly what happened. But what I really loved about it was the that it was the first time I was conscious of putting what I read into a larger, more political context. We read _them_ by Joyce Carol Oates, which led to a discussion about social class. We read some Hemingway, and I got to rip him to shreds for being a misogynist. And to top it all off: We watched two Michael Moore documentaries. Sha-zam.

That was the best semester ever. Afterward, I went back to taking writing courses. It went well for the most part, but I couldn't shake my desire to delve into politics/history. I continued on as a creative writing major, figuring that since English had always been my favorite subject, that was the right thing to do.

It wasn't. By the beginning of my third year at SVSU, I was unhappy, mostly because I was doing well in my field, and therefore felt like it was too late to tell anyone that I didn't think it was the right field for me anymore. I lacked the ambition I'd had before, and couldn't afford that, because by that point, I was in charge of the art/literary journal.

So I kept on, and it made me crazy. My heart just wasn't in it, and it really began to show.

A lot of electives for the creative writing major are literature courses. So I wound up enrolled in quite a few of those. One class in particular was awesome: When one of my friends looked through my notes, she actually thought they were for a history class. It had the potential to surpass History 100C as the best class I'd ever taken, but by that point, I was in the midst of a full-blown freak out, and therefore, was too distracted to get much out of it.

I still love English. I love it so much that I couldn't bring myself to major in anything else once I decided to transfer to Wayne State (even though a huge reason for my transferring to a school bigger than SVSU was the chance to take more specialized classes in other fields).

But what I failed to realize--until earlier today, as I was reading YA books--is that literature is what gave me my interest in politics/history in the first place.

I didn't know what feminism was--let alone identify as a feminist--when I first picked up an Ann Rinaldi book ten or eleven years ago. But I know I loved her strong female protagonists.

And I wasn't aware of what was going around me politically--much less have an opinion about any of it--when I started reading Han Nolan's books. I just agreed with her humanism. It affected me, and stayed with me. It had a tremendous impact on my outlook.

I find this little epiphany of mine hugely comforting. It was really hard for me to accept that I might not be as in love with English as I had once been.

I still am. It's just a bigger field now, and I'm a bigger person.

Hear me roar. :-)

"Hold your head up, you silly girl."

I have a lot on my mind lately, and don't know where to start. That said, this post will likely be all over the place. You've been warned. Proceed at your own risk.

I'll begin with some good (albeit belated) news: On August 4, California's Proposition 8 was deemed unconstitutional by Chief Judge Vaughn R. Walker.

As I think I've mentioned before, I'm a total news junkie. I watch both CNN and the local news every day, follow various news sources on Twitter, and read whatever my friends post to Facebook, as well as articles in the papers I find lying around the house/campus. But the day Prop 8 was overturned, I happened to be out of town with a friend (more on that later), and therefore, wasn't near the TV or computer. I didn't hear about the ruling until the following day.

Figures. I tune out for a grand total of twenty-four hours, and just look what I miss!

But I'm so happy about this. And hopeful. Incredibly, incredibly hopeful.

And I guess this leads me to something else:

Despite the good news, I don't feel like I have much of a right to celebrate. I'm not contributing enough to the effort to better the world. I keep finding myself in situations where I can't decide whether it'd be best for me to shut up or speak out.

I'm pretty opinionated, but I know that trying to discuss particular topics with certain people would be futile, and choose not to waste my energy on such interactions.

And yet, as someone who believes deeply in diversity, and knows that achieving it is impossible without communication, I find it tremendously difficult to be quiet. By shutting up, I'm going against what I believe in. Yet by speaking out, I'm only pissing people off, because so many of them don't want to listen to what I have to say.

I think people are afraid to communicate because they assume that by accepting what I have to say, they're agreeing with it. That's not what I'm asking for. (We wouldn't be very diverse if we all thought the same way.) All I want is to be able to speak as loudly as those who get away with spouting off every day as if theirs is the only opinion that counts.

Earlier this month, I went to Memphis, Tennessee and Cleburne, Texas with a friend who wanted to visit some of her friends and relatives. Being in the South was one hell of a weird experience for me: Every little thing got on my nerves. I heard a song on a radio station down there that began: "Our houses are protected by the good lord and a gun." And all the way through Arkansas, I made a game out of counting bumper stickers that mentioned Jesus and/or Glenn Beck.

So here I am, telling people I believe in diversity, and yet, whenever I find myself surrounded by people whose mindset is different from mine, I want to be with people who think like I do.

And I've found myself in this situation many times: My decision to leave Saginaw was largely based on the fact that I felt like I was wasting too much of my energy defending what I believed in, instead of actually accomplishing anything.

And yet, I even find it difficult to communicate with members of my own family. My mom gets all up in arms whenever I mention that I'm not a fan of capitalism. My grandmother refuses to accept that I don't believe in God.

It's frustrating, because all I want is to be accepted, and yet how can I ask for that when I can't seem to accept others for who they are?

It's all way more complicated than it needs to be.

Go vote!

I'm voting in the Michigan primaries today. :-) So should you. If you need to know where to vote, click here.

See ya at the polls.

Reasons to smile

I watch a lot of news (local, national, global--you name it). It makes me want to throw things. Oil spills (in the Gulf and right here in Michigan) and stories like this make me think I'd be happier if I didn't care to be an informed citizen.

So I thought I'd post a few reasons to smile (both personal and otherwise, in no particular order). Because I really do have quite a few good ones.

• My friend Victoria found this quote and posted it to my Facebook wall the other day: "If anyone tells you that you can't achieve your dreams, or puts you down, make your hand into a claw and tell them you're a little monster and you can do whatever the fuck you want." - Lady GaGa (I'm so happy to know that someone like her has so much influence over people these days. It's refreshing.)
• My friend Meredith has been in Germany for the past year, and will finally be returning home on Saturday.
• Judge Susan Bolton blocked some of the most troubling parts of Arizona's new immigration law just before it went into effect today. And although her ruling will be appealed, it gave me something to be hopeful about.
• I came across this video on YouTube today. The gist of it is this: Target donated $150,000 to Republican Tom Emmer's gubernatorial campaign in Minnesota. Emmer has connections with anti-gay groups, so a woman announced she would boycott the store. She's been criticized by some who argue that Target likely donated the money not because they're anti-gay, but rather, because they endorse Emmer for other reasons. But I'm really happy that this woman took a stand, and brought this to the nation's attention. More of us need to make some noise. If we don't, we won't make progress. Mega props to her. I won't be shopping at Target any time soon.
• The other day I was driving through Grosse Pointe, and found myself behind a car with a "Power to the peaceful" bumper sticker on it. I don't see too many of those around here.
• I recently found out that my friend Patric, who just got his BA from Western Michigan University, will be attending Wayne State for grad school starting this fall. And because I've just transferred to Wayne State, this means brilliant company and great conversation are both in my near future.
• I'm employed. Given some of the financial situations my friends are in right now, I'm really lucky.

What are your reasons to smile?

January 22, 1973

Today is the 37th anniversary of Roe vs. Wade, the Supreme Court case that legalized abortion for women in the US.

I received an email today from Cecile Richards, via Planned Parenthood's mailing list. In her message, she mentioned that "...this anniversary is always tinged with gratitude and immense responsibility." I feel the same way.

During the 2008 presidential election, I was freaking out over the prospect of John McCain winning for many reasons, one of which was the fear that Roe vs. Wade might be put into greater danger than it was (is?) in already. A friend of mine told me to chill out because, as she put it, "abortion's not going anywhere."

And she was right: it's not going anywhere, which is why I'd prefer that it remain a safe, legal procedure for those who seek it out.

I'm grateful for the progress we've made: when Obama was elected, he overturned the global gag rule and cut funding for abstinence-only sex "education" programs.

But we can't take this freedom for granted; I certainly don't, even though I (like many women I know) am too young to remember a time when abortion was illegal in the US. And that's where my huge sense of responsibility comes in. This is still relevant: the recent death of Dr. Tiller and the Stupak Amendment both serve as proof of that.

So today I'm celebrating Roe while reminding myself (and anyone who might read this) that the fight isn't over, even 37 years later, and if we take what we have for granted, we might lose it.