Mara Wilson, writer and performer who made her name as a child actress in Matilda and Mrs. Doubtfire, is sitting in front of a gray screen, hair gathered in a messy bun, wearing a sweatshirt with a stylized cat face on it and a big blue pin that says "UROK." In a casual tone that previous generations could never have conjured for such personal subjects, she is talking about anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder and the arc of her life from "anxious kid" to "anxious adult."

"I wish somebody had told me it's OK to be anxious, that you don't have to fight it," Wilson says. "When you face anxiety ... when you understand it's just this false alarm in your body, then you can work with it, then you can overcome it."

Wilson is one of the celebrities who have recorded videos for a new video platform, Project UROK, which stands for "you are OK." The month-old nonprofit features candid videos with comedians, actors and other public figures talking frankly about their mental health and how they came to accept themselves.

"We're trying to think of ourselves as a sort of mental illness destigmatization network," Jenny Jaffe, founder of Project UROK, tells Mashable.

The aim is to use the force of the Internet for good — a vast departure from the texting, bullying, shaming minefield of social media that can, and has, driven teens to suicide from a sense of isolation. Project UROK aims to give teenagers struggling with mental illness a sense of community, an assurance that they aren't alone and permission to see mental health as a subject that can be mentioned out loud.

<snip>

On the campaign trail, Hillary Clinton has been pushing hard to overhaul of the country's broken campaign finance system. "We need to fix our dysfunctional political system and get unaccounted money out of it, once and for all, even if that takes a constitutional amendment," Clinton said during one of her first official speeches in Iowa last month.

Clinton's campaign finance rhetoric appears to be aimed at super-PACs, the quasi-independent organizations that bolster campaigns by buying ads. But when it comes to the major funders behind her own presidential campaign, the Democratic front-runner has yet to answer questions about how transparent she's willing to be. When Mother Jones questioned the Clinton camp about whether it will disclose the names and fundraising totals of the key supporters—known as "bundlers"—who raise vast sums of cash, a spokesperson declined to provide an answer, saying only that the campaign was still figuring out its plans.
The Clinton campaign plans to reward supporters who bundle at least $27,000 with an invitation to a special campaign confab.

What exactly are bundlers? Donations to campaigns from individuals are capped at $2,700 for the primary election and $2,700 for the general election (meaning donors can give up to $5,400 to a candidate over the entire cycle). In theory, these restrictions limit the amount of influence that individual donors can exert over a campaign. But bundlers get around these caps by raising tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars from their wealthy friends and colleagues and channeling these massive sums to candidates. Even in an era when a few superrich donors can give as much money as they please to independent super PACs, bundlers are essential to most presidential bids. Super-PACs might be able to fund expensive ad buys with million-dollar donations, but it's large bundled contributions that allow campaigns to hire staff, conduct polls, and carry out the rest of their day-to-day operations.

Because of the outsize role that bundlers play in paying the bills for would-be presidents, advocates for campaign finance reform have long called for a robust system of disclosure. But under current law, it's up to each candidate to decide whether the names of these fundraisers will ever become public.

Kelsey Schindl, a senior at Lincoln High School in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, knew the prom poster was wrong when she first saw it a few days ago.

The poster features a black-and-white silhouette of a young lady in formal wear, her body made up of words in large print: fearless, honest, decisive and charming. Other words appear in smaller font: classy, polite, tidy, quiet, dependable, potential.

Above her head dangles the slogan: "A night to protect her character."

What appears to be the principal's signature sits below the figure, alongside the logos for The Crossing of Manitowoc County, a non-profit, Christian-based pregnancy services and counseling organization, and Holy Family Memorial, a regional Catholic healthcare provider network.

Over the past 24 hours, Maryland politicians have been referring to angry citizens as “thugs” after the mostly peaceful protests over 25-year-old Frieddie Gray’s death became violent yesterday.

Much of the media attention has been focusing on the destruction of property, which was what Fox News reporter Leland Vittert wanted to discuss when he approached City Councilman Nick Mosby on the street last night. Mosby would have none of it.

When Vittert asked Mosby what the looting means for Baltimore, Mosby replied, “What it is is young folks of this community showing decades old anger, frustration, for a system that’s failed them. I mean, this is bigger than Freddie Gray. This is about the socio-economics of poor, urban America.These young guys are frustrated, they’re upset and unfortunately, their displaying it in a very destructive manner. When folks are under-educated, unfortunately, they don’t have the same intellectual voice to explain it the way other people are doing it and that’s what we see through the violence today.”

Vittert appeared to have taken none of this in, and then asked Mosby about the looting and a burning store near them and said, “Is that right?”

The councilman gave a poised response.

<snip>

Baptist pastors ranted, whooped, and stormed across the pulpit before a cheering crowd last week at a teen camp meeting.

The event took place April 11 at Middle Tennessee Baptist Church, where the fired-up pastors bellowed gibberish and ran into the crowd, where they slapped hands with the congregation.

Others chanted like auctioneers, danced jigs, or strutted around in exaggerated fashion, swinging their jackets over their heads.