Local voices chime in on a variety of topics.
Much has happened during this time I’ve been down, some of which I’ll be able to share with the world shortly. One thing is that I’ve had meals with six (6) (VI) of the 14 folks I named on New Year’s Day as people I wanted to reconnect with. The resolution continues.
I discovered a serious blow to my solitary life, a slap to my hermitic face, a forced attack on my writer’s retreat. Some bastard left a bushel of progress at the Tiny White Box, and I didn’t have the opportunity to refuse to sign for it. Let me explain.
A quick chat with the man himself, Dusty Gray from Concord – country singer, midnight brooder, former radio host, one-time Nashville cat, a
I’m no legal expert. But when I hear “act of God,” I think about hurricanes and tornadoes, Noah-level floods, plagues of frogs, stuff like that. Especially here in New Hampshire, snow and cold temperatures don’t strike me as an act of God. More like the cold hard latitude and longitude of living in the northeast. We prepare for it. We allow for it when it comes to things like buying a year’s worth of road salt, or setting aside enough money to pay plow drivers overtime during a snow storm.
This week the nations largest employer made national news by announcing they would raise their minimum wage to $11 an hour and provide a $1,000 bonus to 1.5 million American employees. A closer review of this announcement shows that it is all a publicity stunt.
So, even though the grid didn’t fail when the temperatures went negative, that sensation from watching electricity markets – the one that falls somewhere between curiosity and panic – well, it’s still there. This is no time to roll over and go back to bed.
If I’d known he was really going to come, perhaps bearing weapons and bad intentions, I would have used those extra hours for more than hanging out with Sam (is a dog), reading and eating lunch. I was stuck choosing between thanking Adam for postponing my murder, berating him for being tardy or improvising.
I don’t often write these things in real time, but today I must. It’s 10:08 a.m., Monday, January 8, I’m sitting inside the Warriors@45North* bunkhouse, a space I’ve never been in alone. After talking with Doc and Chief this morning, I came in here, started the fire and now I wait. For what? I don’t know.
An ally is someone who, though they may not be queer themselves, will do what they can to promote a positive and affirming environment for their queer peers. They are the people who educate themselves, correct themselves, and practice empathy every day.
As the House Finance committee begins its work and SB 193 approaches its next hurdle, we continue to ask this question:  Is SB 193 good for NH’s children and for NH education? Â