Another Great PyCon
I might be the last to leave Pittsburgh. PyCon US ended days ago, but my suitcase is still half-open, like a stubborn clam refusing to let go of its pearl. Every year, this conference feels less like a tech event and more like a reunion—part code, part campfire.
Ned Batchelder said it best: it feels like a summer camp. You hang out with old friends and meet some new friends. Elaine Wong, this year’s conference chair, curated a full runway of t-shirts knowing she’d be lit by stage lights. Loren, now Deputy Executive Director, brought out her full-color jumpsuit artillery.
Monday, May 12 – The Early Birds
I arrived early. You’d think I’d be first. But I wasn’t.
Olivia Sauls and Jaime Barrera had already claimed the sunrise. These two don’t just arrive—they arrive prepared. The lights weren’t on yet, but the show was already underway.
Ee swept in next, calm and quick, booting up the badge printing system like they’d done it a hundred times. Maybe they had. The machine hummed, smooth as the Allegheny. The PyCon app and the web schedule? Also under Ee’s wing. Probably nested there.
Salt returned too, wearing his signature quilt skirt that looked like a celebration in motion. He combed through the schedule, catching glitches before they had a chance to grow. He helped Olivia double-check program flow, volunteer slots, the whole orchestra.
Tuesday, May 13 – Pens, Panic, and Dot Painting
The Staff Office opened. The air smelled like coffee and mild panic. Familiar faces peeked in—some shy, some loud, all ready.
Each staff member found their corner and settled in.
Watching the signs and swag I created turn to life from my laptop always feels like magic. Budget was tight this year, but we still managed t-shirts that popped and stickers that stuck.
Phyllis and Laura set up their accounting corner like seasoned quartermasters. Spreadsheets, receipts, and the sacred task: making sure everyone gets paid. Grants, reimbursements—no dollar left behind.
Multiple stacks of thank-you cards appeared, and we sat down to sign. Real pens. Real ink. A small ritual, but it mattered. Each name written out is like a quiet nod—thanks for showing up, thanks for building this thing with us.
Jon Banafato, the new co-chair, sat beside Elaine. Observing. Listening. He will chair in 2027.
Then the dot-painting kit, one of the activities for the PSF booth didn’t show up on time. Panic punched the room. Marie and I switched to emergency mode. She’s the mastermind behind the booth, and I’m the one with Adobe Illustrator and panic reflexes.
Step one: convert to black and white
Step two: resize and race to FedEx
Two hours later, we had a new print. The crisis passed. Heart rates normalized.
Wednesday, May 14 – Registration, Tutorials, and Summits
Registration opened at 7 a.m. sharp.
Infrastructure was ready. Ee had backup this year—Jacob Coffee had joined the team, running on real caffeine and quiet competence. Maria, PyPI’s support specialist, joined too. Salt, Olivia, and Jaime were already up before sunrise. Sleep seems optional for them.
The Language Summit kicked off. Closed doors. Python, raw and real. Tutorials too. No walk-ins—pre-registration on dashboard with limited seats.
My phone buzzed. Time to set up the PSF booth.
Boxes everywhere—Marie had prepped everything with the precision of a stage manager. The booth looked just like the mockup. Bright colors. Clean lines.
Noah and Abigail joined in, and somehow inflating props turned into a full-blown competition. We lost. The inflatables won. But we sank into the bean bags laughing.
A couple more boxes waited patiently in Marie’s trunk, waiting for their time. We’d complete the setup tomorrow.
There’s Something About the PyLadies Auction
The PyLadies Auction is an event people wait all year for. Programmers become artists. Some dig up forgotten treasures. Some get creative. Like Greg P. Smith donating a packet of googly eyes. Every item has one goal: raise funds for PyLadies, future PyCon travel support.
I flew in with a 1978 Philips Videopac G7000—also known as the Magnavox Odyssey 2 in the US. One of my donations for the auction. Bought years ago from a retiree in the Netherlands. It still worked.
But ancient tech meets modern problems.
- Europe runs on 230V. The U.S. on 120V.
- Europe speaks PAL. The U.S. listens in NTSC.
- Modern TVs speak HDMI. The Odyssey speaks… coaxial grumble.
So, to get it problem solving:
- Step-up transformer, EU to US power.
- Demodulator to translate PAL signals into HDMI.
I didn’t make my life easy. I definitely didn’t make Doug’s easier. Doug, our seasoned auctioneer, also a long-time Pythonista stared at the thing with equal parts curiosity and dread. We googled. Doug clicked buy. Problem solved. Or is it? We shall see.
Thursday, May 15 – Cardboard Guido, Booth Fairies, and Pac-Man Gaps
More summits joined the party. Tutorials too. Sponsor presentations slipped into the schedule.
The PSF booth came alive. The whole booth fairy squad showed up. Mario tested the selfie station by doing what he does best—being… Super Mario.
Joe fired up the Super Mario console.
Then Chris received the buzz: Guido had arrived. Not that Guido. The life-sized cutout. The real Guido was somewhere in the building. He doesn’t do selfies. Unless it’s something special.
Enter Cardboard Guido. This year, printed full-size. Last year, he showed up… short. Like, Python 2 short.
We picked him up at FedEx. Even boxed, Guido drew stares. Honestly he got as much attention as the real one. Maybe more. Even Guido smiled.
At 4 p.m., it was time. Kojo, Trey and Sumana gathered the newcomers for newcomer orientation. They do it every year—herding first-timers, making the maze feel less like a trap. I still remember mine in 2022. The Pac-Man trick stuck: always leave a gap in the circle so someone new can join. Simple and kind.
5 p.m. hit. Booths officially opened. The crowd surged. Drinks flowed.
- Meta brought a barista—latte art and all.
- Capital One had a retro arcade with 30,000 games.
- Hudson River Trading? Ice Slushies. They knew what they were doing.
People came in empty-handed and left with stickers, swag, caffeine, and sugar highs.
Dinner plans formed. New friends, old ones. Drinks followed. Hours slipped by. The bars near the venue buzzed. The Westin lobby turned into its own kind of conference. Talks became stories. Stories became ideas. Ideas became the start of something that might just return next year. I ended the night with the PyLadiesCon crew—past, present, and future. What a day. What a night. And the real conference hadn’t even started yet!
Friday, May 16 – Cameras, Talks, Chaos
May the talks begin. But so did the chaos.
The Speakers Green Room needed backup. Philippe Gagnon had to jump on a business call minutes before the opening keynote. I ran over to cover. He hadn’t actually watched a keynote since he became Program chair back in 2019. I told him to go. Go see Cory’s talk. Go check out the awesome opening started off by Elaine.
Then we checked the signup board. Trouble. Not enough session chairs. Not enough runners. Panic, again. A call for help went out on social. Community helped the reposts. Within the hour, volunteers signed up on the dashboard. Just like that. Crisis averted. And that’s the power of this community. Show up, step in.
The Canadian tech team, Altitude C, was busy untangling a sea of cables and prepping cameras in every corner. Without online platform this year, we need fast post-production. The goal: get videos online fast so folks at home don’t miss the talks. Back in the office, Molly sat quiet and steady. Eyes on screen. Click, play, scrub. One video after another. Sharp eyes and quick judgment, vetting each talk before it hit YouTube. Silent work, but without it, people who cannot attend the conference in person will not be part of it.
I got to meet the keynote speakers—Dr. Kari L. Jordan from the Carpentries, Tom Meagher, and Geoff Hing from The Marshall Project—at the PSF booth meet and greet. Up close, their work hit harder. You could see the conviction in their eyes. You could feel it.
This year, Open Spaces and Lightning Talks went digital. We lost the nostalgia of paper sign-ups and marker squeaks, but gained reach and clarity. More people joined. More talks. More ideas. Even a few events outside the venue. That’s growth. That’s improvement.
And as the sun set, I dashed off to the board dinner hosted by Deb, our Executive Director. Zoom calls can’t match this. Face-to-face meeting is better. Jokes land better. Conversations flow better. By 10 p.m., I was out of steam again. And it was only Day One. Two more to go. Can I endure that? Probably. Maybe I need stronger coffee.
Saturday, May 17 – The Work Still Matters. Play Matters too.
Day Two of the main event. I was tired. Jet lag. Sleep deprived, But this part—it really mattered.
As chair of the PSF’s Diversity & Inclusion Workgroup, I helped prepare this year’s panel. The topic wasn’t my idea alone. It came from voices in the community—organizers from the Djangonaut Space and our own D&I Workgroup. Real fears and real people. The question was quiet, but pressing: How do we keep doing this work when the world around us is shifting? When laws change. When rights are pulled back. When people in our community don’t feel safe showing up. We built the panel around that. The Work Still Matters:: Inclusion, Access, and Community in 2025.
Alla and Keanya from the D&I Workgroup moderated. Naomi Ceder, Jay Miller, and Cristián Maureira-Fredes spoke truth. Not comfort. Real talk on fear, burnout, and hope in the community.
They talked about access. About fear. About the weight of showing up, especially now. They spoke plainly. They didn’t offer easy answers, but they offered truth. And truth lands harder than hope. This wasn’t a panel for comfort. It was a call. Inclusion doesn’t stop when things get tough. That’s when it matters most. And so we keep going. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Watch the panel. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Then came the next keynote—Lynn Root. Our longtime community member and PyLady, She talked about burn-out. About re-learning to play. How losing the joy of play can hit harder than losing time. It landed. Even David Lord nodded along. You could feel it in the room. We all forget to play sometimes. We all need to remember. We needed that.
Back at the staff office, the moment of truth arrived for the Philips Videopac G7000. Doug’s order had landed. Time to find out if 1978 tech could hold hands with 2025. We plugged in the cables. Switched the settings from Chinese to English. Clicked through the static. Pink screen—yes. A good sign. I slipped in a cartridge. Boom. Music. Color. It worked! We screamed like kids who got their baking soda volcano to erupt at the school fair. Doug and Pradyun dove into testing the games. Maybe a little too enthusiastically. Someone had to remind them there was, in fact, still an auction happening.
Before lunch, I dropped in on the Community Organizers Summit—part of the Hatchery program. Hatchery means a sandbox. A place to test wild ideas before they grow wings. This was the summit’s second year. Two breakout sessions. Both focused on real struggles organizers face. Volunteer gaps. Momentum. But in that room, the energy came back. People listened. Shared. Took notes. You could feel the mutual relief—you’re going through that too? And just like that, new solutions were born. Ideas to take home.
As if the day hadn’t already handed me enough chaos, I signed up for Lightning Talks. And I got selected!
Title: Running a Global Online Conference: How Hard Can It Be?
Five minutes. One mic. One story.
I told the story of us, the six serial organizers, scattered across time zones, fresh off other events, who decided to launch the first-ever PyLadiesCon. We were tired. Busy. And slightly delusional. But we did it. Somehow.
I raced through the slides. Squeezed in the retro Captain Planet clip with seventeen seconds left on the clock. All elements combined, we made something powerful.
And two talks later, someone else referenced him too. Coincidence? Maybe.
After the talk, I left the hall with Mariatta, Abigail, and Laïs. As we walked out, we ran into Guido. We gave him the PyLadies high five. And yes—this time, he allowed a photo with all of us giving him that high five.
By evening, came the moment everyone was waiting for: the PyLadies Auction. The ballroom buzzed. People flowed in, paddles and drink tickets in hand. Doug warmed up the crowd, especially the first-timers. This wasn’t your average auction. This was PyLadies style. The goal: raise $50,000. The bidding began. Laughter, yelling, and drinks fueled the night. Items flew by. So did the numbers. But as we hit the final item, we were still $2,000 short. Then someone yelled, “Auction the pen on the camera!” And chaos bloomed. This happened over the past two years. History repeated itself. But this time better. One by one, people started bringing random objects to the stage. Stickers. Buttons. Juggling balls. Foreign currency. Local currency. Ice cream vouchers. Even bandaid. It turned into a communal chaos drop-off. The final mystery lot. Doug took it, ran with it. The crowd went wild. $100. $200. $500. $700. Sold—for $2,100! We hit our goal. Surpassed it. By just enough to feel heroic. David Lord won the final bid. He walked out with a bag full of nonsense and joy—both equally priceless. And with that energy, the crowd drifted to the Westin lobby. No need to announce the afterparty. It just… happened. No schedule. No slides.
Sunday, May 18 – Stories, Service, and Standing Ovations
Sunday. The final day before sprints.
People have been curious about my orange espresso. I posted on socials and on open space. Meet me at La Prima. What’s better than to try it yourself? Jeff was not pleased at all.“What did I ever do to you?”
The morning keynote was the one I had been waiting for—The Marshall Project led by Jackie Kazil. I’ve always been drawn to true crime. Podcasts, books, documentaries—you name it. But this was something different. Tom and Geoff didn’t talk about murder mysteries. They talked about what happens after the verdict. About the crimes inside prisons. About the data that tells hard stories—stories many don’t want to hear. They showed how numbers, when handled right, can speak truth. Journalism isn’t just writing. It’s witnessing. And when facts meet storytelling, it becomes undeniable.
Next came Mike Fiedler and Seth Larson. Their keynote was less about feelings, more about foundations—security, updates, the long, hard work behind the scenes. It may not sound flashy, but it’s the kind of work that keeps Python safe for everyone. Solid. Reliable.
After the keynotes, the job fair and poster session kicked off. If you’re looking for work, the job fair is speed-dating with recruiters. Booth to booth, handshake to handshake. The poster session? More laid-back. People with great ideas and printed boards, happy to share what they’ve built. It’s raw, it’s personal, and it sparked great conversations.
Then came one of my favorites: the PyLadies Lunch. Always heartfelt. Always emotional. This year, I gave a quick presentation sharing about PyLadiesCon. Every year, the PyLadies lunch is like group therapy, but with food. People share their stories. Real stories. Successes, struggles, stumbles. By the end of the lunch, there were hugs, wet tissues, and eyeliner in need of repair. As always.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in the hallways. Catching up. Meeting new faces. Hallway tracks are where the best moments happen—unscheduled, unfiltered, unforgettable. It took me years to feel comfortable in those conversations. I used to worry I didn’t know enough. That I wasn’t “technical” enough. But here’s the secret: everyone feels that way sometimes. At PyCon, the person next to you might be the author of the library you use every day. Or the maintainer of a tool you can’t live without. But they don’t lead with that. They ask how you’re doing. What you’re building. What excites you. Anyone who brags too loud? They usually eat lunch alone. Because here, humility compiles. And ego throws exceptions.
To close the day, Deb took the mic and filled the room with gratitude.
PyLadies Outstanding Awards:
Community Service Awards:
- Mason Egger
- Gregory Szorc
- Daisy Leigh Brenecki
- Leonard Richardson
- Raquel Dou
- Laís Carvalho
- Jessica Greene
- Joanna Jablonski
- Kojo Idrissa
- Iqbal Abdullah
- Artur Czepiel
Only a few could make it in person—Cécilia, Mason, Laís, Kojo, and Leonard. They stood quietly, smiling. The applause did the talking.
Distinguished Service Awards:
Three legends. Their contributions are engraved to the Python history. They made an impact. And that’s how PyCon US 2025 wrapped. With a standing ovation, a group hug, and a few misty eyes.
After the Applause
After Elaine’s closing speech, the sprint leaders lined up to pitch their projects.
Meanwhile, us the PyLadiesCon crew had a plan—Mariatta’s sacred tradition: the custom ice cream selfie. She does one at every event she attends.
Then Cheuk got an idea. A sprint before the sprints. She grabbed the mic and announced it on stage: The Ice Cream Sprint.
So what happened next? A record-breaking trail of ice cream sprinters. Over 30 of us marched straight to the vendor. David joined too—armed with the ice cream vouchers he’d won in the auction the night before.
The ice cream vendor was shocked. The queue was not anticipated. Even locals joined in. We may have made history. It was the biggest ice cream selfie in PyCon history.
The Sprint and the Sendoff
Sprints kicked off, and the rooms filled up. Code flew. Ideas sparked. I finally met Keith in person. Online, he’s everywhere. For a while, I thought he was a bot. He’s not. He’s real! and even cooler in person.
There were post-PyCon celebrations too. Karaoke for Velda’s birthday. Drinks at the Space Bar. Of course it’s called that.
My voice was gone. I sounded like a teen hitting puberty. But every moment? Worth it.
I’m not always outgoing. I’m an introvert. Or maybe an omnivert (omnivore too)—depends on the crowd and caffeine. But PyCon brings out something real.
Because what makes PyCon US special isn’t just the talks. It’s the people.
So here’s to PyCon US.
To the people behind the Python.
Cheers!