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sbisson July 10 2014, 11:00

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andrewducker July 10 2014, 11:00

Interesting Links for 10-07-2014


Original post on Dreamwidth - there are comment count unavailable comments there.
austin_dern July 10 2014, 04:11

We lifted this house

So, the Conneaut Lake Park news. It didn't seem likely they were gathering reactions to the Mission Amusement show featuring the park last year (we actually haven't had the chance to watch it yet as we were off on the Ohio River Parks Tour, but we've heard about bits of it) and, no, that wasn't it. What had transpired on Thursday was news about the Trustees overseeing the park for the people of Conneaut Lake. They had a consent decree, the age-old tradition of declaring that nobody was doing anything the least wrong and they'll never do it again.

The core is that the Trustees agreed, to a person, to resign. A new governing board took over as a temporary affair, and money which the Trustees had in an insurance policy against bad management on their parts (something I didn't realize existed but then realized was of course a good insurance niche) would be paid out to the park. The new management, part of the Economic Progress Alliance of Crawford County, put together a plan to repay the back taxes (according to the Meadville Tribune, a total of $917,874.87 in back taxes, interest, and penalties, going back to 1997, which --- so you can understand just how long ago that was and how patient governments have been in demanding it --- is a year before the Beloit Mindset List became an Internet Thing) over the course of four years. The plan has to be approved by the county, of course, and it appears there are multiple governmental bodies owed their share so goodness knows that arranging a satisfactory plan is going to be a mess; as best I can determine none of the affected government bodies have made any decisions about it. But the payout for the trustee's insurance, about a hundred thousand dollars, is supposed to be the down payment on the back taxes which I would imagine shows a seriousness about the plan.

The Economic Progress Alliance has plans to expand the park's business from the summer season to year-round events --- Mark Turner, executive director of the alliance said it has to be done to achieve self-sufficiency --- with a performing arts center, an updated exposition area and outdoor amphitheater, and generally making the park something that earns revenue year-round. Turner hopes to organize ten to fifteen million dollars into park renovation and development, which would seem to be almost exactly what would save the park: it would clear out the existing debts the park has and probably cover repairing or replacing the most desperately shabby structures, and then probably be enough money to build new attractions or provide a reserve against further catastrophes.

But, of course, it's easy to declare your financial woes over when you figure there'll be fifteen million dollars coming in. I don't know why the Economic Progress Alliance thinks this a particularly likely or achievable amount of money to be bringing in, or whether they actually will. At least Sadsbury Township, one of the less-owed municipalities, agreed to coordinate a meeting of elected officials from the different agencies. The commissioners of Crawford County delayed voting on whether to join the sheriff's sale. Turner did say the Alliance was considering whether a federal bankruptcy filing might be best for the park's survival, or to appeal to the state Attorney General for an intervention to halt the tax sale. Since the park is held as a public trust apparently there's some uncertainty about whether the Attorney General has to be involved in any changes in the park's status.

The next public Trustees meeting is scheduled for the 22nd of July, a couple days after ``Blast From The Past'' weekend, showing exhibits from Pennsylvania and Ohio parks ``that have closed and ones that still exist''.

Trivia: A 1709 elections law in the Province of New-Jersey specified that all freeholders possessed of real estate or personal property worth £50 were entitled to vote, and that the counties were the basis of representation in the provincial legislature. Not until 1725 did a law specify how elections were to be conducted. Source: New Jersey From Colony To State, 1609 - 1789, Richard P McCormick.

Currently Reading: Bob-Lo: An Island In Troubled Waters, Annessa Carlisle. (It's actually not a long book, but I've had little reading time this past week. Report to follow.)

tightropegirl July 10 2014, 02:05

visit to a small country

I have returned from a visit to the country of pain, a place where all of us stop from time to time, and some of us live. It is a small country, to hold so many of us; small enough to crawl over, to learn each stone and shard of glass in the road with a sickening familiarity.

My own sojourn began without any real warning -- just a sharp ache in my hip which soon spread east and west. Friends had advice: "Try lying on the floor with your legs on a chair." "Try ice." "Try heat." "You know, it's okay to take four Advil at once. My doctor told me once." Nothing worked. I saw a doctor, who suggested that I might have bursitis, or the beginnings of arthritis, and declined to prescribe any medication. I asked about an injection of painkiller, or possibly an anti-inflammatory. He waved such ideas away. "Let's see how it goes," he said.

This was the beginning of my rough education in pain management. Two days later I was on the phone begging for medication, which was granted (albeit slowly through the layers of bureaucracy); three days later I'd received two separate injections, each of which was wonderful... for several hours. And four days later I was a screaming, crying wreck who was taken to the emergency room. Not by sitting in a car seat; that was impossible. I crawled into the back and lay there on my stomach, knees bent.

I'd never gone to an ER for myself before -- I'd only brought other people -- and I'd always considered it a sort of waiting room for Hell. Avoiding hospitals in general had been a priority. My regular provider, however, was perfectly clear on the phone: "We can't help you. Go to the ER."

And here is the first lesson: that pain scale from one to ten? Don't be conservative. Be communicative instead. The scale suggests that ten is the worst pain you can imagine; well, I don't know about you, but I can imagine quite a lot. So fuck that. Here is my new standard:

(1) If the pain seems unendurable, and you don't know how you're going to get through the next five minutes, though you also know you have no choice; and
(2) If you were told you would have to live this way the rest of your life, you would kill yourself --

--That's a 10. Really, it doesn't have to mean burning alive while demons eat your entrails. Your doctor isn't going to understand you grade on a curve. If you desperately need help, let them know you desperately need help.

A few hours later I was discharged from the ER, having had two shots of morphine that just took the edge off. "Get a referral for an orthopedist," they told me. Also, "A hot shower will help." My friend explained, "She tried that this morning. It didn't do anything." The doctor repeated slowly and firmly, as though no one had spoken: "A hot shower."

They did offer me a walker: "If you're willing to have one."

"Why wouldn't I have one?"

"Some people associate it with the elderly..."

I suddenly recalled a time, years previously, when I'd been in Chicago to visit the set of Early Edition. I was hit for the first time by a burning case of plantar fasciitis, and needed to keep weight off the soles of my feet. I'd been offered a walker by a man in a pharmacy, and had been appalled. "I am not using a walker," I'd said firmly. Instead I opted for two canes, which I managed in tandem like crutches.

This time my attitude was different: give me the fucking walker. As I made my way slowly down the hallway toward the exit, I passed through a small group of paramedics, who, seeing my pain, offered to help me get back to my room. "She's been discharged," explained the friend who'd driven me here, blackly amused at their taken-aback looks. I crawled into the back of the car again -- lying on my stomach provided some relief -- and we returned home.

I spent the next five weeks lying on my stomach in my living room, alternating between pain and a pain-nausea pas de deux. It was hard to tell whether the vomiting was caused by the pain or the medication, which was heavy on acetaminophen. ("Am I destroying my liver, or am I just paranoid?")

My friend/assistant moved in and slept on the floor beside me in the living room, with a Doberman and a Bichon curled around her. She (or sometimes, other friends) got me what little food I could eat and brought it to a table by my bed; I ate lying down, or stood up with the walker for a brief period in an attempt to soothe my digestion. Sitting was out of the question.

Here is what I learned: pain is a box. A light, bright trash compactor that takes your life and squeezes it into about a foot square. Anything outside that box has no interest for you, and soon begins to seem unreal. I'd been negotiating to buy a small place in the country -- a place for the future, a place to write those novels that have been stacked up like planes waiting to land; a place with trees and acreage, where I could walk my dogs off-leash. Suddenly it was hard to imagine that I would ever have a life outside the bright white box; this talk of colorful future days seemed like some sort of fever dream. I put it aside. Besides, who could deal with the complexities of buying a farmhouse? I could barely make it to the bathroom and back.

I remember turning my head one afternoon, and glancing from my mattress in the living room straight back through the dining room and kitchen and out the window to the yard, where dappled sunlight gleamed on the waving leaves of a ficus-fig tree. It seemed as though I were looking at an alien planet.

The next lesson: illness begets illness, as other things happened that I could not account for. I got a sore throat and my voice changed. I saw flashing images in the periphery of my vision -- not, as it turned out, a sign my retina was detaching, but that the blood flow to my head had been affected; better see a neurologist. Spasms would descend on me suddenly, usually in the evening, getting worse as the hours progressed. I recall one particular night, at about two in the morning, as my friend desperately massaged me in an effort to lessen the pain. I'd mentioned the ER as the pain wall climbed, but she tried to talk me out of it -- I know she felt, Been there, done that; let me go back to bed. I couldn't blame her. "What can they do for you at this point?" But after another hour of screaming I crawled into the car again, and off we went. There was black humor in it; as I paced with the walker, crying, the patient who was ahead of me in line said to the admissions woman, who was asking about his address, "Um, maybe you should talk to that person first."

They added a muscle relaxant to the morphine injection this time, and it was a blessing from heaven.

Through all this, I would think blankly, "Two weeks ago I was fine." "Three weeks ago I was fine." "A month ago, I was fine." How was this possible?

The hip specialist, when I finally saw him, took one look at me and said, "I've never seen a hip patient lying on their stomach. And I've never seen bursitis cause this much pain." He said that he believed the cause was actually in my lower back (which felt fine). "We'll get you an MRI. I'm betting it'll show herniated disks."

So I was scheduled for an MRI... about a week to ten days later. And here is the other great lesson I learned from my sojourn in pain country: I'd always assumed that if someone was in great pain, the wheels of the bureaucracy would turn quickly. In fact, they turn at exactly the same pace as before. You'll get an MRI in a week or so, unless, as we did, my friend called the MRI place and asked if they had any cancellations sooner. They did -- but we had to be active about it, and then beg. So, victory at getting the MRI that Friday... but then, someone has to write up the report. Heavens, you wouldn't expect that to happen on a weekend. Hopefully he'll get to it on Monday or Tuesday... if you call and push. But then you'll need another appointment with the orthopedist (this time, the spine specialist). With luck, maybe you'll get that another week or ten days after the MRI.

By then, you've heard that magical word, "Epidural." You crawl into the car to see the spine specialist, expecting that now, with the MRI information, he can perform such a procedure. But he doesn't do that; no, you need to make an appointment with the pain management specialist. By now you're a few weeks into this, and it's the first time anybody's suggested that pain management specialists exist.

"And don't think you'll get the epidural then, either," the orthopedist warned, having heard the somewhat unhinged hysterical laughter made by the two friends who'd brought me in. "That'll just be the consult." Which will be in another week to ten days. And unfortunately, nobody can call the office of a pain management specialist and ask to get you in quickly "because she's suffering"; everybody who sees him is suffering.

And so on and so on. Accompanied, of course, by the requisite bureaucratic torment beloved of my health insurer. Scramble, scramble for those referrals. The first orthopedist's referral, we found out as we were leaving, was for the brother of the doctor we saw (they share the office, and of course, the same last name). Insurance won't honor it. Call back the primary doctor and get a new one for his brother, quick, because they won't honor retroactive referrals either. Then you're returning to the same office to see the spine specialist? New referral. Pain management? "You'll need a new referral. His office won't even book you till they get it." What about the epidural? "We'll need to put in for authorization." "How long will that take?" "Sometimes two or three weeks."

Phone call after phone call. And I know from experience that my insurer will deny receiving referrals about half the time anyway. I could understand why I'd heard that the mother of a boy with a degenerative disease, who shared my insurer, was reduced to tears at least once a month simply from trying to deal with this.

And then there's the dearly won knowledge that one must ever keep track of how many pain pills you have, and whether they will get you through the weekend, or rather, whether they will get you through the next four days, as it's late on a Friday and your orthopedist won't get the message till Monday and his office is adamant that it's a 48-hour turnaround. And the many phone calls that go with this, and the constant fear that your request will be declined -- not that the doctor's office will ever call and tell you this; you'll only find out as you continuously check the pharmacy.

I told the pain management specialist that I didn't care whether the epidural was insurance-approved or not; I just wanted it, and I'd pay whatever it turned out wasn't covered. He agreed to set a date three days later. There are people in the world who can't make that kind of offer. And there are people in the world who'd lose their jobs (and possibly their apartments or their cars) if they were absent from work for a month or more. I am fortunate.

I am fortunate. I have had three epidurals, and physical therapy will soon begin. My dog was able to sit in my lap, briefly, for the first time in seven weeks. The sounds I make have dwindled to the occasional yelp. I am on the tarmac, my plane accelerating, ready to take off from the country of pain and show me the curve of the globe beneath my window. I was only a tourist after all.

Some of us live there.
muckefuck July 10 2014, 01:29

You can't Horkheim again

Do any of you remember Star Hustler? It was a little five-minute programme hosted by the Director of the Miami Space Transit Planetarium, a funny man with a big moustache and the appropriately nerderific name of Jack Horkheimer. I used to catch it on Sunday nights after Doctor Who, when it was the last thing my local PBS station would broadcast before signing off. (Apparently they changed the name after the advent of the Internet due to the existence of Hustler magazine.)



I was reminded of it this evening because monshu was playing a ten-year old Kitaro CD and one of the synth sounds he uses repeatedly is almost identical to one in the Star Hustler theme. Watching the clip again after all these years, I immediately wondered something which never occurred to my ten year-old self: Was Horkheimer gay? Wikipedia is prudishly silent on the subject; not so the free weekly Miami New Times, which relied heavily on his soi-disant ex-lover for a heartbreaking account of his last days. It took 72 years, but a congenital respiratory defect finally caught up with him.

Something else that caught up with him was his ephebophilia. One of the stray teens he took in took him to court for allegedly initiating a sexual relationship with him at age 15. As it usual with these sorts of stories, it's not easy to track down what the resolution was. Concurrent with the lawsuit was a dispute over the estate in which the ex seems to be on the side of the family vs both the abuse accuser and the beneficiary, Horkheimer's "close assistant" at the Planetarium. All in all a very sad and sordid postscript to a whimsical childhood memory.
lproven July 9 2014, 21:48

And so to Slovakia. [Blog post, by me] #projectBrno

(Or, the Slovakian for "beer" is "Hodor!")

Letisko M. R. Štefánik -- the airport -- is big, bright and shiny and modern. Rather appealing. Bratislava is only about the same size as Brno -- under half a million inhabitants -- but it's a capital city and the difference shows in the airport. I took some Euros out from a handy ATM, cursing myself for failing to remember to bring my tiny hoard of them with me. A trip that covers three countries and three currencies needs more fiduciary planning than I gave it.

I connected my phone to the free Wifi and asked Google Maps for a route into the main station. Walk, it said unhelpfully. It'll only take an hour.

Little did I know that, as part of its master plan for incrementally crippling its most popular web properties, Google has revamped its Maps service with a new, shiny, simplified but far inferior user interface, just as it has done with Gmail. This includes removing its ability to route-plan via public transport in Brno -- and, I am guessing, Bratislava too. This is intensely aggravating, as that was something I used very heavily to navigate Brno's cheap, fast, frequent but confusingly intricate tram system.
Read more...Collapse )
loganberrybunny July 9 2014, 20:30

Scotland 8/8 - Will ye no come back again?

Public

Click to enlarge

Heading south at last on the A82

There really isn't a lot left to say. We were up early in order to to complete our packing without a mad rush, then there was time for one last look at the garden before breakfast, which was simply some bits and pieces of fruit, cereal bars and juice. Once we'd given the house keys back to the owner, it was time to get going. We enjoyed one last trip through the wonderful Highland scenery, since we travelled via Glencoe as we'd done a week before. We arrived in Crianlarich at around 10.30 am, which was too early for us to get any food at the Rod & Reel. So, we simply allowed ourselves a quick toilet stop and some more iron rations (Mini Cheddars this time, I think) before moving on.

Click to enlarge

One last look at Glencoe's grandeur

The miles went by and, shortly after Callander, we heaved ourselves back onto a motorway for the first time in what felt like weeks. From there, it was just a slog: the pouring rain which started in the Southern Uplands and continued unabated through Cumbria meant that we couldn't even see much of Killington Lake. Lunch and tea were simply motorway services food: burgers and chips. Eventually, as dusk approached, we were back at home in Bewdley. Total distance covered for the week had been of the order of 1,800 miles, which can't be bad. The car had done us proud, too -- although, had we but known, it was to prove the trusty Mondeo's last great hurrah...

Click to enlarge

Rannoch Moor in deceptively gentle mood

And that, I'm afraid, was that. As it always has, it felt strange to be all too suddenly far away from the mountains and the sea. It also felt very small and densely populated, even though Worcestershire is hardly crowded (or flat) by lowland English standards. There were some good things, not least the fact that I could get online again, but I was missing the Highlands already. I'll be back, I'm sure. Whenever I've said that in the past, I've been correct. I don't why things should be different this time. Let's face it, where else could I have seen something like this?

Click to enlarge

Tobermory Otter Fund collection van


shatterstripes July 9 2014, 19:57

hacking the tool

Woo. I finally got around to hacking up some keyboard shortcuts to change stroke weights in Illustrator. It is a horrible mess involving having Quicksilver trigger an Applescript when I hit command-option-control-[/] but it works – I mash the modifiers and hit [, and the size of my stroke decreases by 25%; modifier-mash plus ] increases it by a third. Which is close enough to the inverse of the decreasing to make me happy.

For further ugly hackery, I have bound the touch strip on my tablet to trigger those keys when I’m in Illustrator.

At some point in the future I might want to prettify the stroke weights it ends up with – a weight of 1.0002 points is not pretty – but for now I’m just going to enjoy actually being able to control this at small values without typing a number into the stroke palette. Which is a thing I find myself doing a hell of a lot when using art brushes.

Anyway, if you want ‘em, download them here and have fun: Illustrator stroke width scripts

Originally published at Egypt Urnash. You can comment here or there.

smudge_dragon July 9 2014, 19:42

Next “to Kill a Dragon” issue coming soon!

mirrored from SmudgeMarks & EngelWerks

While Baron busies himself with commissions, I’ve been working hard on getting the next issue of “To Kill a Dragon” ready for posting on Crunchyroll. I have all the pages colored, and lettered. Now it’s just proofing my lettering and get the cover/chapter illustration done. I really hope everyone’s been enjoying the series so far.

To wet your appetite, here’s a couple of the colored, lettered pages. ^.^

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