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Have you saved the date yet? The beautiful city of Pittsburgh, PA, will host the next DrupaCon North America from 5th through 8th June 2023. I know it feels like just yesterday that DrupalCon North America 2022 zipped by, and we’re already talking about DrupalCon 2023!
Famously known as the “Steel City” (the largest steel-producing city in the world) and “City of Bridges” (a staggering 446 bridges!), Pittsburgh is one of the top most liveable cities in the United States. When you’re here, you will be surrounded by warm and kind Pittsburghers (as they like to call themselves), world-class breweries and distilleries, green spaces, and some gorgeous views. Need more reasons to visit Pittsburgh?
Due to rising prices, regressive attitudes toward pay raises, and my 2002 Honda Civic’s engine exploding, I’ve had to come up with creative ways to pay the bills. That’s why I’m announcing my Patreon.
I know what you’re thinking. “Pay for education? That’s not what public school is about!” But I want to reassure you I’m not putting your child’s education behind a paywall. I’m merely offering more to those who want to help me afford rent, groceries, and a used scooter for getting around town. Think of it as Education+.
To further assuage your fears, here are my Patreon levels.
$10 a month: Thank you for being a supporter. I’ll give you a personalized shoutout during roll call every Monday.
$50 a month: Pressure is poison to education. So let’s give your student an extra five minutes on every spelling and math test. Plus, three “phone a friend” lifelines to use throughout the semester if they need a little extra help.
The simple history of the pre-Civil War era in the US is that the slave states wanted the non slave states to return escaped slaves to them. The free states did not want to do that, and it eventually led to war.
There is something similar going on in the US today. Anti-abortion/Anti-Trans states are making it illegal for people to go to other states for abortions of trans related medical care. Part of the mechanic of that was punishing people who helped slaves.
In Jorie Graham’s hands, form is a kind of method acting, an inspiriting habitation. Breath, more than ever, is momentum in her new book, To 2040. As always in Graham’s oeuvre, the lyric explodes experience, stretches time—seems to—expanding the line’s possibilities, whether in short or long lines. To 2040 can seem both an address, an intimate but public apostrophe to a year that’s not so far away, and the title can also suggest a movement toward that year, a movement that might be fatal. The future the book is gesturing toward is the almost near future, and the poems point at a moment in the timeline of our global climate catastrophe that will be in many of our lifetimes. Apocalyptic possibilities of the near future, but in the poems, she’s also written brilliant strange renderings of VR, drones, the pinging world of phones and endless information—our very present strangeness. Meanwhile, as ever, the self who speaks and acts is slightly fugitive in Graham’s lines. The self moves in this book from splintery quatrains intermixed with one-line stanzas to a freer—but never entirely free—verse that bristles from the right-hand margin.
As a millennial, I often feel my life is just a little behind schedule. I graduated high school into the Great Recession and spent my twenties finishing a graduate program that led to little but a series of low-paying teaching gigs. As I approach thirty-four, single, childless, with no prospects of ever owning a home, I still don’t feel like a full-fledged adult. It’s hard to imagine that at my age, my dad was just a couple of more chapters away from finishing that Tom Clancy novel that he’d been keeping on his bedside table for years.