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Last night I co-hosted a fundraising house party for the kick-ass feminist media organization Women in Media and News. I've been involved in the organization since its planning and launch, and am proud to be its founding board chair.

During the mid-'80s, my political education came almost entirely from Bloom County, to which my brother introduced me and to which I immediately became attached. Really, what's not to love about a preadolescent Bob Woodward type, his feminist elementary-school teacher, and a neurotic penguin with an unhealthy Caspar Weinberger obsession?

Here are a few of the amazing, insightful, powerful, not-to-be-missed things I've been reading over the past few days.

On some of the work that is cut out for feminists committed to making anti-racism and anti-imperialism central to our movements: Diary of an Anxious Black Woman on International Women's Day, She Who Stumbles on tactics and privilege.

On how white feminists need stop fucking up: An Open Letter to White Feminists. (Though I have to add how sickening it is that this essay is even necessary.)

A coda from Brownfemipower.

And one thing that you can act on right now in a small but concrete way: Diary of an Anxious Black Woman on rape in the Congo and the corporations who benefit (with addresses for your letter-writing ire).

Thinking so much about so many things that I don't really have anything to say just yet.

But one of the things I've been thinking a lot about is knowing when to stop talking and listen.

In that spirit, and because it has a lot to do with the thinking, Jessica Hoffman's open letter to white feminists absolutely must be read. (And for good measure, here's a link to make/shift, the magazine she coedits.)

The title of this post is the song title of another provocatively-titled entity (or problematically-titled entity, depending on whom you ask), 3 Leg Torso, a band I saw perform tonight. I've never been good at describing genres, but I'll call it a mashup of Klezmer/Chamber/Gypsy/Circus/Carnival/(see, this is why I don't write music reviews). The point is, it was one of the best shows I've seen in years. My mouth hurt afterwards because I had a perpetual smile through almost the whole show. Equally impressive was the opener, Fish Tank Ensemble. Please check them both out.   

Earlier in the day, I let my friend Ben convince me to accompany him to a professional basketball game between the Portland Trailblazers and the San Antonio Spurs.

Allow me to set the stage (even though really, you had to be there to understand)... 

Sometimes I find it difficult to keep up with my reading pile, especially now that I've inherited a coffee table so enormous it almost begs for piles and piles of magazines, books, and zines to be stacked atop it.

But I set aside some time this weekend to catch up. A few things I enjoyed. Maybe you would, too:

In a tiny bit of synergy, I read this excellent piece by Katha Pollitt only an hour after sitting at my ob-gyn's office next to a pregnant teen gabbing on a hot-pink cellphone.

Perhaps my love for the short story is due to my sometimes short attention span, but if you, too, adore them, you should consider subscribing to One Story. A nonprofit literary magazine, they publish one writer's short story every few weeks. That's it—literally one short story per issue in a stand-alone chapbook, a different writer each issue. The companion website includes interviews with writers, short story events, and audio recordings from past readings.

For the third time this year, the word bitch has made national headines. Read cofounder and editorial director Andi Zeisler's take in the Washington Post.

Is it a bad word?