Revise and Resubmit---> submitted a manuscript for peer review, got feedback from the reviewers who want 30% rewritten (most of it will be an improvement, 150 words will satisfy an idiosyncratic stick up a reviewer's ass) before the journal will publish the piece.
Keynes' Cruisers Volume 2
- Thread starter fester
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Health policy --- primarily provider payment reform and insurance design.
We've been at emergency footing since early February. We had been tracking China since Christmas and there was a collective OH-SHIT in the last couple of days of January.
80% of my paid time has swung to COVID/public health/pandemic response work by March 1st and there were so many good projects/papers that we had to send to the farm upstate where they can now go play with all the other papers that needed more space to play in. I have one pre-exisiting grant/project that is still working on non-COVID work.
Between the combination of being on emergency footing for 5+ months, working from home and not being able to find quiet when needed and socialization/random conversations to find new energy, I'm exhausted.
And that is not going to change as we, collectively decided to throw away the benefits that we bought in late March and April as people decided to go to the bars.
Driftless
Donor
Agreed. I can relate to the fear, as I have three college-age kids, with the older two being social butterflies by nature. They understand the logical principles of the safer-at-home policy, but keeping them from jumping the fence has been a challenge. They see others, including national leaders, disregarding that logic and it grates on their social nature. We've had a couple of "barking" set to's in the last few weeks about staying clear of groups, even while the regional count of positive tests picks up significantly.
Good luck - and thanks for all your hard work!
I fear that in that in the UK (I'm presuming you're in the US) we may be following suit. At least in England but there are constitutional (& hence political) issues that could make it harder for one of the other constituent nations the UK to quarantine arrivals from England or close their borders. Further discussion would be a matter for Chat but I might be permitted to answer very specific questions on the legal situation AIUI. But mostly it's political so....
Let's see what happens
You must do same line of work as my brother, though he is a professor in Canada so the economics of health policy is different from the states. He seems to have been busy these last few months too.
Story 2285
Lashio, Burma October 29, 1943
The laborer was tired. He could barely hold his bowl heaped full of rice in his hands. A few small strips of a river fish had been grilled and mixed with the carbohydrates that had made up the overwhelming majority of calories the father of five had eaten throughout his entire life. His three boys, the oldest seventeen, were laughing under a tree with a dozen other teenagers who were also working in the transhipment yards. They all had money in their pockets, and weight on their frames. They knew they looked good for the girls.
The old man felt every moment of his thirty seven years as he finished his meal and handed the wooden bowl back to the hunchbacked old woman who was responsible to take care of this particular work gang. The other older men of the gang rose and the foreman yelled at the teenagers to re-assemble. There was another train due dragging several thousand more tons of supplies that had to be moved from box cars to the long line of Ford and Canadian Pattern trucks. There would be no excitement, there never would be, as the road was beyond their imagination. 10,000 workers labored every day to send 10,000 or more tons of cargo to Kumman and beyond.
The laborer was tired. He could barely hold his bowl heaped full of rice in his hands. A few small strips of a river fish had been grilled and mixed with the carbohydrates that had made up the overwhelming majority of calories the father of five had eaten throughout his entire life. His three boys, the oldest seventeen, were laughing under a tree with a dozen other teenagers who were also working in the transhipment yards. They all had money in their pockets, and weight on their frames. They knew they looked good for the girls.
The old man felt every moment of his thirty seven years as he finished his meal and handed the wooden bowl back to the hunchbacked old woman who was responsible to take care of this particular work gang. The other older men of the gang rose and the foreman yelled at the teenagers to re-assemble. There was another train due dragging several thousand more tons of supplies that had to be moved from box cars to the long line of Ford and Canadian Pattern trucks. There would be no excitement, there never would be, as the road was beyond their imagination. 10,000 workers labored every day to send 10,000 or more tons of cargo to Kumman and beyond.
And after they have finished loading the trucks up the road they head.
Things are better in this timeline. The Hump airlift is smaller and less dangerously costly. No imperative to push flights through in terrible weather. In this ATL only high priority cargo and personnel need be flown into China.
There's more food available here too. Everybody is getting at least a bit more food. And the Bengal Famine has been avoided.
There's more food available here too. Everybody is getting at least a bit more food. And the Bengal Famine has been avoided.
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Story 2286
Pearl Harbor, October 29, 1943
A whistle blew. A fist flew. A bottle broke across the back of Seaman Jaroschek's neck. Blood started to flow and he roared as the rest of the deck division of USS North Carolina entered the escalating brawl. Half of the fleet was on liberty tonight. The other half had their last liberty the night before. The bars around the narrow and heavily defended harbor were even more packed then the inner lochs' docks.
Eleven minutes after the first punch had been thrown at an angry Marine, over one hundred Shore Patrol and a platoon of Army military police had re-established order in this particular establishment. A Lt. Commander from the battleship had claimed responsibility for the deck division. He would say very little as his ass had been saved by a trio of seamen who had given him a bubble to get out of a beat down that was about to commence. Even before the MPs had finished processing the scene and talking to the owner, they were called to a brothel where a trio of screaming women had somehow managed to get out of their hallways.
The chaos of a fleet getting ready to depart for war was the perfect opportunity for mischief to occur. Chief Swanson could was walking through his ship. A few men nodded at the bosun. He spent half an hour in the forward berthing spaces talking with a dozen new eighteen and nineteen year old draftees who had only joined the ship's company after the old battle wagon had returned from the Philippines. A few had loud bravado, many felt confident in their training and their combat experienced shipmates. Almost all except the most foolhardy had fear of so many different varieties as their ship was heading to war tomorrow. They listened to the old man offer encouragement and more importantly understanding. Tomorrow, they would do their job.
The chief made his way down an alley way and looked into the mess deck. Off in the corner were a trio of his proteges counting coup. Two raids had been completed. The first had targeted the mess deck of USS Saint Louis. An ice cream machine had been liberated from the damaged cruiser. That bastard knew why this was just desserts. The far more important raid was against a fleet medical storehouse. Seven cases of medicinal brandy had been liberated. The chief could know nothing when the Captain asked the Chief if he had direct and personal knowledge of how an ice cream machine had arrived. He could honestly reply with a narrow but truthful answer as his mentees had transformed themselves from journeymen scroungers to master scroungers.
A whistle blew. A fist flew. A bottle broke across the back of Seaman Jaroschek's neck. Blood started to flow and he roared as the rest of the deck division of USS North Carolina entered the escalating brawl. Half of the fleet was on liberty tonight. The other half had their last liberty the night before. The bars around the narrow and heavily defended harbor were even more packed then the inner lochs' docks.
Eleven minutes after the first punch had been thrown at an angry Marine, over one hundred Shore Patrol and a platoon of Army military police had re-established order in this particular establishment. A Lt. Commander from the battleship had claimed responsibility for the deck division. He would say very little as his ass had been saved by a trio of seamen who had given him a bubble to get out of a beat down that was about to commence. Even before the MPs had finished processing the scene and talking to the owner, they were called to a brothel where a trio of screaming women had somehow managed to get out of their hallways.
The chaos of a fleet getting ready to depart for war was the perfect opportunity for mischief to occur. Chief Swanson could was walking through his ship. A few men nodded at the bosun. He spent half an hour in the forward berthing spaces talking with a dozen new eighteen and nineteen year old draftees who had only joined the ship's company after the old battle wagon had returned from the Philippines. A few had loud bravado, many felt confident in their training and their combat experienced shipmates. Almost all except the most foolhardy had fear of so many different varieties as their ship was heading to war tomorrow. They listened to the old man offer encouragement and more importantly understanding. Tomorrow, they would do their job.
The chief made his way down an alley way and looked into the mess deck. Off in the corner were a trio of his proteges counting coup. Two raids had been completed. The first had targeted the mess deck of USS Saint Louis. An ice cream machine had been liberated from the damaged cruiser. That bastard knew why this was just desserts. The far more important raid was against a fleet medical storehouse. Seven cases of medicinal brandy had been liberated. The chief could know nothing when the Captain asked the Chief if he had direct and personal knowledge of how an ice cream machine had arrived. He could honestly reply with a narrow but truthful answer as his mentees had transformed themselves from journeymen scroungers to master scroungers.
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Swanson is one of my favorite characters....shouldn't he be getting promoted to Warrant Officer though?
No he knows that he is a chief in his bones. He does not want a promotion. He is well respected enough by his peers and the O-5 and O-6 officer cohorts that he does not need a change in his insignia to do anything that he wants to do.
Rank for what? No such thing as scroungers exist in reality. Nor storehouses were you keep the stuff you don't have [1]. No sir.
[1] Cemetery Greek army non official parlance [2] definition of.
[2] Useful traits of a good junior officer in the reserves... learn from the good warrant officer you work with, who's 2 decades in the army while you are just off OCS. After all you are no regular hence the lobotomy is not mandatory.
Story 2287
Somewhere over the North Atlantic, October 30, 1943
The big Consolidated maritime patrol plane banked slightly as the observer had called out a suspicious whisp off in the distance. Two men already had their binoculars to their eyes. The radar operator was cursing up a storm as the surface search radar was being finicky again. The bomber and crew were returning from an all day patrol over a convoy carrying the materials of modern war from New York to Canada. Enough tanks to equip a combat command were intermingled with crates of condensed milk, cargo holds of manganese ore and the thousands of other goods an industrial state needed to survive. They had circled the convoy and chased down at least two radar ghosts that proved to be nothing even as the dozens of ships zigged and zagged their way to their destination at a steady 11 knots.
Three minutes later, the bomber was back on course to Iceland. Half a dozen whales were frolicking beneath and behind them. There was nothing to see in the middle of the great sea.
The big Consolidated maritime patrol plane banked slightly as the observer had called out a suspicious whisp off in the distance. Two men already had their binoculars to their eyes. The radar operator was cursing up a storm as the surface search radar was being finicky again. The bomber and crew were returning from an all day patrol over a convoy carrying the materials of modern war from New York to Canada. Enough tanks to equip a combat command were intermingled with crates of condensed milk, cargo holds of manganese ore and the thousands of other goods an industrial state needed to survive. They had circled the convoy and chased down at least two radar ghosts that proved to be nothing even as the dozens of ships zigged and zagged their way to their destination at a steady 11 knots.
Three minutes later, the bomber was back on course to Iceland. Half a dozen whales were frolicking beneath and behind them. There was nothing to see in the middle of the great sea.
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Story 2288
Somewhere over the North Pacific , October 30, 1943
The big Consolidated maritime patrol plane banked slightly as the observer had called out a suspicious whisp off in the distance. Two men already had their binoculars to their eyes. The radar operator was cursing up a storm as the surface search radar was being finicky again. The bomber and crew were returning from an all day patrol over a portion of the fleet train carrying the materials of modern war from Pearl Harbor to the next objective. A dozen tankers carried enough bunker fuel to supply 3rd Fleet for two weeks of steaming at flank speed. Another dozen dry supply ships could feed every man and reload every magazine. A trio of hospital ships would be available for the men wounded during the landings and any Japanese riposte. In the center were a pair of escort carriers providing close protection and then a half dozen destroyers and even more gunboats and austere escorts to chase away any Japanese submarine. They had circled the convoy and chased down at least two radar ghosts that proved to be nothing even as the dozens of ships zigged and zagged their way to their destination at a steady 11 knots.
Three minutes later, the bomber was back on course to Midway atoll. Half a dozen whales were frolicking beneath and behind them. There was nothing to see in the middle of the great sea.
The big Consolidated maritime patrol plane banked slightly as the observer had called out a suspicious whisp off in the distance. Two men already had their binoculars to their eyes. The radar operator was cursing up a storm as the surface search radar was being finicky again. The bomber and crew were returning from an all day patrol over a portion of the fleet train carrying the materials of modern war from Pearl Harbor to the next objective. A dozen tankers carried enough bunker fuel to supply 3rd Fleet for two weeks of steaming at flank speed. Another dozen dry supply ships could feed every man and reload every magazine. A trio of hospital ships would be available for the men wounded during the landings and any Japanese riposte. In the center were a pair of escort carriers providing close protection and then a half dozen destroyers and even more gunboats and austere escorts to chase away any Japanese submarine. They had circled the convoy and chased down at least two radar ghosts that proved to be nothing even as the dozens of ships zigged and zagged their way to their destination at a steady 11 knots.
Three minutes later, the bomber was back on course to Midway atoll. Half a dozen whales were frolicking beneath and behind them. There was nothing to see in the middle of the great sea.
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