Making Art Accessible to the Visually Impaired

From The Daily Good -

3D Printing Brings Classical Artworks to the Blind and Visually Impaired

by DJ Pangburn

An excerpt - 

Dillon tells GOOD that he and his current company, Adventure Club, hit upon the idea of making art accessible to the visually impaired with Unseen Art. Under this project, which recently launched an Indiegogo campaign, artists volunteer to scan, model, and 3D-print classical artworks so that they can be experienced through touch by those who can’t experience the pieces visually.

http://magazine.good.is/articles/unseen-art-3d-print-classical-works-for-the-blind-visually-impaired?utm_source=thedailygood&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=dailygood

An Accident

On Thursday, there was a bad accident involving one of the teachers' buses that transport our teachers that live in Ruwais (an hour away; two hours roundtrip) and Ghyathi (an hour-an-a-half away; three hours roundtrip) to and from school.

Our little town doesn't have enough housing to support all of our teachers, so they have to live in these next neighboring towns.  If they choose to live in Ruwais, it is shared accommodations (three people living in four bedroom/four bath apartments). If they want single housing, then they must commute another half hour further.

The saving grace is that transportation is provided.

I don't care how you slice it though, the commute is tough.

Usually the bus is full, with teachers and their kids.  Because it was a Thursday, several people had driven so they can get home earlier, resulting in just a handful on the bus.

Side note - Thank God, special arrangements were made for me to live locally.  I live alone in an apartment next door to my school.

The roads are almost always filled with caravans of trucks taking goods to and fro. There isn't a railroad in this country, so this is the only way we can get merchandise that we need.  Trucks and buses must drive in the right lane, with cars using either lane.

On Thursday, a bus carrying four teachers, ran into the back of an 18-wheeler that was either stopped or had slowed way down.  (Currently, there are no shoulders to move over on, as there is construction going on for hundreds of miles in both directions, widening the roads).

The driver was instantly killed, and one of the two teachers from my school is in critical condition.  He was airlifted to Abu Dhabi to the nearest trauma center.  The other two teachers were from the local high schools - one from the girls' and the other from the boys'.

I was coming home from an appointment in Abu Dhabi when I got the call.  Two people were taken to Ruwais Hospital, and the other two (including the critical man) were taken to local hospital here.

I stopped by the hospital in Ruwais to check on those folks.  Thankfully, their injuries were minor, and after a few hours, they were released.

Then I drove to my town with plans to stop by the hospital to see the other two teachers.

What I saw when I drove up was heartwarming.

There were hundreds of people, most of the town it looked like, who were holding vigil at the hospital.  Scores of men, standing in clusters in the parking lot, were giving updates to new arrivals as they headed towards the main entrance.  Women were lining the walls solemnly holding each other and praying.

It was like this for hours.

At 8:00 pm the helicopter arrived to transport the critical patient to the city.  It took a couple of hours to get him from the room to the helicopter.  But as he was being wheeled down the hospital corridors, scores and more of men surrounded the bed and walked out with him.  When they got outdoors, the number grew even more.

It was an incredible sight to see.

In tough times, people come together.

It's human nature, evident in places far and wide, all over the world.

Coming to America

From Essence - 

Coming to America: My Personal Journey from Refugee to ESSENCE Editor

By Yolanda Sangweni

As I look at the Syrian refugees, spilling out onto European borders, desperate for a safe harbor, and listen to all the US politicians debating whether they’ll allow them into their states, I wonder who they are envisioning as these refugees. Do they see me and my family?  

My mother was a political prisoner in South Africa. 

She wasn’t as well-known as other political prisoners like Nelson Mandela, or the current South African president, Jacob Zuma, but she was one of the countless African activists whose resistance to the apartheid government was met with imprisonment. She certainly wasn’t a criminal. 

I was 9 years old when a group of policemen came banging on the door in the middle of the night, searching for her. They took her to the police headquarters and brought me with her. In later years, I would learn that this was the beginning of the psychological torture often inflicted on prisoners of conscience, because why else would you bring a 9-year-old child into a police station and make her watch as a close confidant—a man I considered an uncle—fingered my mother as the woman the police were searching for. 

“Yes, that’s her,” he said somberly.

The police regularly took my mother in for questioning about her political activity. The last time, in December 1986—the time they took me in with her—they held her for six months. It doesn’t seem long when you consider other activists, like Mandela, who were behind bars for most of their adult lives. To a 9-year-old child, those months were an eternity. And yet, we were among the lucky ones because my aunt lived in Harlem and had been petitioning the human rights group Amnesty International to start a letter-writing campaign. People around the world—people we’d never met—wrote impassioned letters to the South African government, pressuring authorities to either charge my mother or release her. It worked. 

I remember my mother’s elation, and panic, the days after her release. Joy at being reunited with her family, and anxiety at knowing that the police could be back at her door. It’s the psychological torture many activists often spoke of. Soon after her release, with little more than a few dollars and suitcases of our belongings, my mother and I were on our way to New York City. Amnesty International had helped secure us refugee status in America. 

And so, we were refugees. 

I’ll never forget the cantankerous immigration officers who treated us like we had the plague because of that stamp: “Refugee.”  

“Do you speak English?!” they shouted impatiently. 

“Do you have any money?” 

In my mother’s passport, which she saved as a keepsake until her death in 2012, it was written “$49.”

We came to America with $49. 

On those long immigration lines, my mother, the entrepreneur, the first to graduate from college among her siblings, the hope—was just another refugee, begging for entry. On those lines, lawyers, doctors, mathematicians, scientists, humbled themselves in the face of severe ignorance because they knew this was better than what they were leaving behind back home.

I think about this as I watch the Syrian refugee crisis and listen to politicians call for President Obama to bar them entry. Back when I first came to the U.S., the running thought was that African refugees were bringing AIDS. Today, Syrian refugees are said to be bringing terrorism to our shores. What is fact and what is prejudiced fiction?

I dare not say I have a solution to the crisis because I don’t, but I keep thinking about my own family, and the Syrian families who are going to unbelievable lengths in search of a better life.

I keep thinking about what would have happened had my mother and I not been allowed to come into the United States. She would have most likely gone back to prison. She may have become one of the countless South African activists who simply disappeared. I may have never become the woman I am today: fully African; wholly American. 

http://m.essence.com/2015/11/17/coming-america-my-personal-journey-refugee-essence-editor?xid=111815

Happy Birthday Zadie!

Actually Zadie's birthday was yesterday, Nov. 19th.  She turned the big 5 (Oh!).

Here's a birthday greeting from her cousin.  Too cute not to share.

The Ultimate Guide to In-N-Out Burger Menu Hacks | Foodbeast Labs

“They might have guns but we have flowers”

I Thee Dread

From The Atlantic Daily/New York Magazine -

I THEE DREAD

November 17, 20159:32 a.m.

Avoid the South If You Don’t Want to Be a Bridesmaid

By Jessica Roy

Photo: WeddingtonWay.com

Louisiana is a beautiful state with lovely people, delicious food, and a rich history, but I would not recommend living there unless you want to be forced to be a bridesmaid in someone's wedding. Hey, it's just math.

Priceonomics recently crunched the numbers to determine which states had the highest number of bridesmaids per wedding. Unsurprising for anyone who's ever watched Say Yes to the Dress Atlanta, the South dominates this trend. Brides in Charleston, South Carolina, for example, have five bridesmaids on average, while in Birmingham, Alabama, there's a 26 percent chance the bridal party will have seven or more bridesmaids. Congrats, girls in Birmingham, for having seven friends.

If you want to avoid the stress of being a bridesmaid, it's probably best to avoid the South altogether. Actually also the northeast. And California. Maybe just move to New Mexico?

http://nymag.com/thecut/2015/11/here-are-the-states-with-the-most-bridesmaids.html?utm_source=atl-daily-newsletter#

A Brief History of ISIS

"Ease on Down the Road"

How We Stop ISIS - Waleed Aly (The Project)

Pee Ueee!

From the AP - 

Manure from millions of hogs fuels natural gas project 

By MARGARET STAFFORD

 

Nov. 15, 2015 10:35 AM EST

 

ALBANY, Mo. (AP) — One recipe for renewable natural gas goes: Place manure from about 2 million hogs in lagoons, cover them with an impermeable material and let it bake until gas from the manure rises. Then, use special equipment to clean the gas of its impurities and ship the finished product out.

That's the vision of one of the largest biogas projects of its kind in the U.S. currently being installed in northern Missouri, part of a long-term effort to turn underused agriculture resources into an engine for environmentally friendly farming practices.

The joint project, involving Roeslein Alternative Energy and Smithfield Food Hogs Production, will first convert manure from hogs on nine farms into renewable natural gas, with a goal of selling it as soon as 2016. The second phase would add native prairie grasses planted on erodible or marginal farm land to the manure to increase the biomass.

Developers expect the first phase to produce about 2.2 billion cubic feet of pipeline-quality natural gas, providing an alternative energy source while also keeping an estimated 850,000 tons of methane, a major greenhouse gas, from escaping into the atmosphere. Plus, the covers mostly eliminate the odor that can permeate the area around large hog farms, reduce the amount of waste-tainted water that leeches into the ground and capture thousands of gallons of clean water for re-use.

"We have the science to make farming work better for the environment. The question is do we have the political will, and the financial will, to do it," said RAE founder Rudi Roeslein, who has invested $25 million in the project.

A 2014 federal report showed 239 manure-based digesters were operating in the U.S. And the federal Department of Agriculture issued $6 million in grants last month for anaerobic digester projects, as part of the Rural Energy for America Project, an Obama administration effort to spark projects that generate alternative energy and reduce carbon emissions.

But Roeslein, the co-founder of St. Louis-based Roeslein and Associates, which designs and builds manufacturing systems, is not seeking government funding because he does not want to be dependent on federal bureaucracy as the project develops.

The first phase, with an estimated price tag of $120 million, began in 2013, when RAE and Smithfield agreed to place impermeable covers over 88 manure lagoons. That turns the lagoons into anaerobic digesters, which decompose the manure and force biogas to the top. Special machines will then collect and clean the biogas, leaving more than 98 percent methane with nearly the same chemical composition as natural gas, which will be sent into the national natural gas pipeline.

About half of the lagoons are already covered and equipment based on technology used in Europe will be installed next summer at a farm near Albany, Missouri, Roeslein said during a recent presentation on the farm. Duke Energy in North Carolina has agreed to buy about one-third of the finished product, due to be delivered next summer.

The project will mostly eliminate problems associated with manure lagoons, such as rainfall runoff and methane escape, which will save Smithfield hundreds of thousands of dollars, according to Blake Boxley, the hog division's director of environmental health and safety.

"We saw a chance to reduce our company's carbon footprint while also showing that farmers can protect land and water while they are producing our food," he said.

The project is unusual because most biogas projects involve industrialized facilities, said Zhiqiang Hu, a professor of civil engineering at the University of Missouri. Anaerobic digestion systems are widespread in Europe, but U.S. farmers have hesitated to adopt the practice in part because the technology requires a lot of land, he said.

"Our farmers tend to use simpler means of handling waste," he said. "But for larger facilities, this production practice could definitely be helpful."

http://bigstory.ap.org/urn:publicid:ap.org:ab4e1d300d404f38be864624c993d1fb

Not a Happy Ending

From the Washington Post - 

The story of the surgery that made Ben Carson famous — and its complicated aftermath

By Ben Terris and Stephanie Kirchner

An excerpt - 

More than any other moment in a dazzling career, the separation of the Binder twins launched the stardom of Ben Carson. The then-35-year-old doctor walked out of the operating room that day and stepped into a spotlight that has never dimmed, from the post-surgery news conference covered worldwide, through his subsequent achievements in his medical career, to publishing deals and a lucrative career as a motivational speaker — all paving the way to his current moment as a leading candidate for the Republican presidential nomination.

But while Carson frequently deploys anecdotes from his compelling life story — a hardscrabble childhood in Detroit, his climb to the Ivy League, his journeys through spiritual faith and advanced medicine — he only occasionally cites and never dwells on the story of Benjamin and Patrick Binder.

Like many stories from the frontiers of medical science, it’s a hard one to fit into an inspirational narrative — a tale of risk and loss and brutally tough options. And although Carson and his team achieved something unprecedented, with long-term benefits for science, it did not result in a happy ending for the Binders.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/the-story-of-the-surgery-that-made-ben-carson-famous--and-its-complicated-aftermath/2015/11/13/15b5f900-88c1-11e5-be39-0034bb576eee_story.html?tid=sm_fb&utm_source=Sailthru&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Vox%20Sentences%2011.16.15&utm_term=Vox%20Newsletter%20All

"Reading" People

The unspeakable tragedy in the massacre of hundreds of folks in Paris is senseless and heartbreaking.

It has been condemned widely here.

I was reminded of a recent conversation where I was asked if I ever read the Holy Quran.  I answered that I had not, but instead I "read" people.

I "read" the way people treat each other.  Muslims and Christians alike.

Sometimes, that's all we have to go by . . . for better or for worse.

That is what's happening in the world today.

We're judging an entire population by the barbaric actions of a violent few.

The folks here declare, "This is not Islam.  This is not what the Holy Quran teaches."

That may be true, but unfortunately the only thing the world sees ("reads"), are the headlines of the murderous actions of the radical Muslims.

As I've said many times before, my experiences here in the Middle East have been extraordinarily positive.  I've met some of the kindest, warmest, most generous people in my four years here.  As a result, when I see the headlines, I'm able to put it in perspective, in juxtaposition if you will, to my personal experiences.

I recognize this as a unique experience, one that I am forever grateful for.

Scrabble Master

Nigerian becomes first African to win World Scrabble title

 

Nigeria’s Wellington Jighere holds his World English-language Scrabble Champion
award in Lagos. Pius Utomi Ekpei / AFP

 

Cowboy-hat wearing Wellington Jighere from Nigeria crushed his English opponent 4-0 at the World Scrabble Championship in Australia to become first African to bag the word game’s global title.

Jighere, 32, was among more than 120 competitors who travelled to Perth for the World English-language Scrabble Players’ Association Championship, which culminated in Sunday’s best-of-seven final against England’s Lewis Mackay.

“He had to battle for four days to emerge on top but once he got there – maybe he was a little fresher, or got a bit of luck – everything fell into place for him and he won four-nil,” said Adam Kretschmer, one of the organisers of the event. The Nigerian used such high-scoring words as “fahlores”, “avouched” and “mentored” as he puzzled his way to victory.

“It is the first time that an African has won in these world championships,” Jighere told The Guardian after the win.

But he conceded: “Nigel is still the master. It just happens that today was my day.”

He was referring to New Zealander Nigel Richards, who dominates English-language Scrabble, with three world championships, five North American titles and 11 wins at the prestigious King’s Cup in Thailand, sponsored by the Thai royal family.

Richards stunned the francophone world in July when he also won the game’s French version even though he doesn’t speak the language and only spent nine weeks studying the official Scrabble dictionary.

A trained engineer, Richards reportedly began playing Scrabble at 28 at the request of his mother, who was frustrated that his photographic memory was making their card games too one-sided.

He proved dazzling at the word game, even though he favoured mathematics at school and was never much of an English student.

A rival New Zealand Scrabbler once said Richards was “like a computer with a big ginger beard”, while Malaysian tournament organiser Michael Tang has called him “the Tiger Woods of Scrabble”.

On Facebook, Jighere said the Perth tournament – in which each player played 32 games over four days before the finalists were decided – had been exhausting.

“I really must endeavour to rest now,” he posted late on Sunday.

“I’ve not slept well in about a week. The fact that I was able to perform in spite of the sleeplessness still baffles me. It only goes to prove that God was deeply involved in this matter.”

Nigeria’s President Muhammadu Buhari telephoned Jighere to congratulate him, while the head of the Nigeria Scrabble Federation, Suleiman Gora, described the victory as “the climax” for him.

Nigeria had six slots for the tournament and Gora said the players prepared hard at seven training camps.

“We knew we would conquer the world because we have the competent and qualified players to do it. The Australians and the British are masters of English language but we are masters of English-language Scrabble in the world. That is the difference,” says Gora.

Jighere, an unemployed university graduate who has just finished his national youth service, went into the championship as a two-time African champion.

Gora described him as “the quiet type, humble and hardworking”, but who, before leaving for Perth, said he was confident of outright victory.

“I believed him,” says Gora. “I knew he had the capability.”

As well as disturbed sleep, Jighere and his teammates only arrived at the venue the day before the start because of a delay in getting visas.

“I, as the president of the federation, was not given a visa to go with the players because they said they were not convinced that I would come back to Nigeria,” says Gora.

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-life/books/nigerian-becomes-first-african-to-win-world-scrabble-title?utm_source=Communicator&utm_medium=Email&utm_content=&utm_campaign=Manhunt%20for%20Paris%20attacker%20who%20got%20away

Deja Vu

From The New Yorker - 

Taunts, Tear Gas, and Other College Memories

BY CHARLAYNE HUNTER-GAULT

Hearing about the indignities faced by students of color at the University of Missouri, I am taken back fifty-four years, to when Hamilton Holmes and I entered, and then matriculated, at the University of Georgia as its first two black students.

Charlayne Hunter and Hamilton Holmes leave an administrative building at the University of Georgia in 1961.CREDITPHOTOGRAPH BY AP

The initial response of many white students to our presence was overtly racist. One night, students and others gathered outside my dormitory and shouted, “Nigger go home.” The town police threw around tear gas, ostensibly to disperse an already-thinning crowd. By the time the state troopers arrived, the protesters were long gone. The university suspended me for, they said, my own safety. (Hamilton, who lived with a black family a few blocks away, was also suspended.) As I left the dorm that night, a group of girls who had been told to change their sheets, so as not to be affected by the tear gas, formed a semi-circle, and one threw a quarter at me and yelled, “Here, Charlayne, go and change my sheets.” Although “nigger” was their preferred shout-out, the students would also use other words they thought would be hurtful. They didn’t realize they were complimenting me when they yelled out “Freedom Rider.” And there were other, nonverbal incidents. Both Hamilton and I had our car tires flattened from time to time, and on at least one occasion the side of my little white Ford Falcon became a maze of knife scratches.

The first semester was the worst, and things died down after that. But what we might today call “microaggresions” were still evident: The time I went to see if I could work on the school newspaper and was welcomed by the editor, but never got an assignment. Or when professors went a whole term without addressing me in class. I never reacted to any of this publicly, but I spent a lot of time, especially early on, in the university infirmary with mysterious stomach pains. My one visitor was Hamilton, who was finding it difficult to make friends. Despite all the stress, he was elected to Phi Beta Kappa and went on to enroll as the first black student at Emory University School of Medicine. He became an orthopedic surgeon and, at one time, the medical director of Grady Memorial Hospital, the gargantuan public hospital in Atlanta. In 1995, he died, at the age of fifty-four. I read that they thought it was heart failure. Now that I know about P.T.S.D., and as I cope with my own post-college problems with claustrophobia, I wonder if that didn’t have something to do with it.

I still tear up when I speak of Hamilton, but have been comforted by the fact that the doors that were shut for so long to black students are now open. To be sure, many have come after me and are thriving, including on the football field where Hamilton was not allowed to play, despite his love of the game, because, so the argument went, either his teammates or the opposing team would try to hurt, if not kill, him. Today, the Georgia Bulldogs are a powerful force, impressive as teammates who accept each other for their prowess rather than for their color. As a team they send a powerful message, as do the football players at Missouri, who understood how to use their power off as well as on the field. But as I read this week the stories of young people at Missouri, I am struck by an awful déjà vu. My stomach hurts again, and this time the origin is not so mysterious.

http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/taunts-tear-gas-and-other-college-memories?mbid=nl_TNY%20Template%20-%20With%20Photo%20(5)&CNDID=27124505&spMailingID=8253613&spUserID=MTE0Mjg5NDEzNjM4S0&spJobID=801420139&spReportId=ODAxNDIwMTM5S0?reload

Busy Bees

A Cashless Society

Sweden Is Developing the World’s First Cashless Economy

An excerpt - 

Sweden’s rapid shift to virtual money is especially striking because it’s not the result of one coordinated government program, but an emergent phenomenon arising from many national legal, social, and technological trends. And it’s had a host of unexpected positive effects on Swedish life, beyond just convenience for consumers, with surprisingly minimal drawbacks. Unfortunately for those in other nations who might want to experience these benefits, for now this appears to be an isolated phenomenon rooted in a uniquely Swedish experience. But as the Swedes work out the kinks in this system and create a comprehensive, proven model, the world’s doggedly cash-rooted societies may begin to move towards a cashless existence with greater speed and confidence.

http://magazine.good.is/articles/sweden-becoming-first-cashless-modern-society?utm_source=thedailygood&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=dailygood

Frankie Got a Haircut!

Cutie Pie Theia (5 months old) with her clean-cut Daddy 

It's Been Brewing For a Long Time

What’s Really Going On at Yale

An excerpt -

For starters: the protests are not really about Halloween costumes or a frat party. They’re about a mismatch between the Yale we find in admissions brochures and the Yale we experience every day. They’re about real experiences with racism on this campus that have gone unacknowledged for far too long. The university sells itself as a welcoming and inclusive place for people of all backgrounds. Unfortunately, it often isn’t.

And another -

Students should not have to become community organizers just to receive acknowledgement and respect from their administrators. It’s disheartening to feel like so few people in power have your back. Yes, we are angry. We are tired. We are emotionally drained. We feel like we have to yell in order to make our voices heard. While the stories in the press are about this one particular week at Yale, we’ve been working toward solutions for years.

https://medium.com/@aaronzlewis/what-s-really-going-on-at-yale-6bdbbeeb57a6

Honoring His Parents

azizansari Verified  9 hours ago

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My dad took off most of his vacation time for the year to act in Master of None. So I'm really relieved this all worked out. Tonight after we did Colbert together he said: "This is all fun and I liked acting in the show, but I really just did it so I could spend more time with you." I almost instantly collapsed into tears at the thought of how much this person cares about me and took care of me and gave me everything to give me the amazing life I have. I felt like a total piece of garbage for all the times I haven't visited my parents and told them I wanted to stay in New York cause I'd get bored in SC. I'm an incredibly lucky person and many of you are as well. Not to beat a dead horse here and sorry if this is cheesy or too sentimental but if your parents are good to you too, just go do something nice for them. I bet they care and love you more than you realize. I've been overwhelmed by the response to the Parents episode of our show. What's strange is doing that episode and working with my parents has increased the quality of my relationship to my parents IN MY REAL LIFE. In reality, I haven't always had the best, most open relationship with my parents because we are weirdly closed off emotionally sometimes. But we are getting better. And if you have something like that with your family - I urge you to work at it and get better because these are special people in your life and I get terrified when my dad tells me about friends of his, people close to his age, that are having serious health issues, etc. Enjoy and love these people while you can. Anyway, this show and my experiences with my parents while working on it have been very important in many ways and I thank for you the part you all have played in it.