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I get it. Pickleball ruined your neighborhood. Tennis courts are completely booked, people you once called friends now go “dinking,” and that incessant popping sound from a plastic ball echoes off suburban walls like circling birds of prey waiting to close in on your sanity. But look, pal, you’ve got it easy. You think pickleball is bad? Try living next to an eighteenth-century warship.
It was like it happened overnight. One day, we’re all living in a regular neighborhood, participating in usual landlocked recreational hobbies, and then, boom—a massive wooden barge is anchored outside our cul-de-sac. Now, all anyone wants to do on the weekends is sail the high seas and join a press gang. Can’t we just stick to charcuterie and Bunco?
I’m not one to typically tell people what they can or can’t do. You want to man the oars during doldrums while chanting along to rhythmic sea shanties? Be my guest. But when your newfound nautical interest resuscitates a modern scurvy epidemic, now we’ve got a problem—a vitamin-deficient, gums-bleeding-out problem.
When COVID struck Rebecca Saltzman’s family, the virus unmasked a life-changing discovery: her husband and two of their kids had genetic heart disease. The kind where people drop dead. As their healthy wife and mother, Saltzman had a new role too—guiding her family through what Susan Sontag called the Kingdom of the Sick. In this column, she’ll explore the anthropological strangeness of this new place, the mysteries of the body, and how facing death distills life into its purest form: funny, terrifying, and sublime.
Read Part I, Part II, and Part III.
The ‘moons and the days’ have brought us round again to the anniversary of the greatest tragedy of modern times, the Commune of Paris of 1871, and with it the recurring duty for all Socialists of celebrating it both enthusiastically and intelligently. By this time the blatant slanders with which the temporarily unsuccessful cause was […]
We’re like the early seasons of Great British Bake Off, where everyone helped each other and drank tea while they waited for things to finish baking and occasionally got berated by an older white man who is creepy toward some of the women.
We’re like a group of high school friends who went out one night and accidentally killed someone and then hid the body because they were scared of the consequences, and now we’re forever connected by the shared guilt, fear, and shame.
We’re like a group of people constantly eating at Olive Garden.
We’re all bound together by our fervent belief that our god-like CEO will rescue us from the apocalyptic visions of a dying Earth by taking us to a terraformed paradise in space. Also, we’re not a cult.
We’re like a fictional soccer team with a folksy yet wise coach who is determined that we all should grow into the best versions of ourselves. He also somehow never feels the need to replace anyone because of poor performance or financial realities. (Please note: we do have at-will employment.)
Last year the Drupal Association brought me onto the team using a special board vision fund to help kick off our first steps in increasing our focus on innovation.
This phase is coming to an end in May with the end of my contract, and right in time for Drupalcon Portland. I am incredible grateful for this past months, for all the people and friends I've met inside and outside of the Drupal Association, for all the work we've done together, and for all the work that is still to come.
But before I wrap up my work with the team I want to report on the progress we've made so far, what we're still working on until May, and what happens next.
Alex took on a herculean task when he joined us for this special engagement to help determine our strategy for accelerating innovation in Drupal. I'm extremely grateful for what he's accomplished and proud to have had him join our team.