  |
はてなキーワード: ONEとは
Charles, speaking to Newsbeat before the trailer dropped, says the developers “put a lot of emphasis on authenticity and making sure we depict Japan and the culture right”.
“So when we started the project, we had a historian with us from day one,” he says.
He says the team also consulted weapons experts and travelled to Japan to get a feel for the landscape and locations in the game.
嘘だと思いたい出来なんだが
ツイートシェアツイートシェアツイートシェアIt's sudden, but right now in Japan, creativity is facing a true crisis. Characters like Uzaki-chan, Onsen Musume, and Tojo Rika are being targeted and flamed, game character designs are being infiltrated by political correctness, Johnny's Entertainment is being dismantled, swimsuit photo sessions in parks are being canceled, Hitoshi Matsumoto is being publicly shamed, and the new AV law was enacted without considering the opinions of those directly involved. Every form of expression in every venue is currently under unreasonable pressure.
How does this connect to the Tokyo gubernatorial election? In fact, a major event directly linked to this is occurring in the 2024 Tokyo gubernatorial election. As a creator, I hope this message reaches you.
What I am about to share is a story about someone named Himasora Akane, who you should know about to resist such pressures. But before I dive into that story, I want to express my deep gratitude to my old friend Nozomi for giving me the opportunity to post this article in a place where many creators will see it. As someone who also loves manga, anime, and games, I hope this information will benefit Japanese society and support Nozomi's activities.
Himasora Akane Should Be the Governor of Tokyo
First, I would like to make a straightforward request to you as a creator: please support Himasora Akane for governor. In this election, please write "Himasora Akane" on your ballot. The voting day is July 7th. Even if you are not a Tokyo resident, I ask that you at least listen to this story. If you find it interesting, please share it with your friends, family, and acquaintances. You can check Himasora Akane's campaign promises and the background of their candidacy on their Twitter (X) posts linked below:
Himasora Akane (Tokyo gubernatorial candidate)
https://x.com/himasoraakane/status/1804846779399324095
Himasora Akane Will Not Allow Our Culture to Be Burned
Himasora Akane is an ordinary otaku who loves manga, anime, and games. Known as "Cognitive Profiling Detective Akane Himasora," he has been active on Twitter (X) and YouTube, and now he is running for governor. Akane, who is deeply concerned about the repression and destruction of otaku culture, is challenging those who seek to destroy our culture alone. Akane will never allow those who try to burn our culture.
As mentioned at the beginning, all forms of expression are currently under pressure. Otaku culture, in particular, seems to be a prime target.
Uzaki-chan Blood Donation Poster Controversy (2019): A collaboration between the Japanese Red Cross Society and the manga Uzaki-chan was flamed for allegedly being overly sexual in its PR illustration.
V-Tuber Traffic Safety Video Controversy (2021): A V-Tuber hired by the Matsudo Police Department in Chiba Prefecture was deemed too sexual for public agency PR.
Onsen Musume Controversy (2021): Characters personifying local hot springs were criticized as sexist.
Mie Transport Official Character Controversy (2024): A character in a bus driver's uniform released by Mie Transport was flamed for evoking sexual images.
These controversies are often fueled by so-called political correctness and feminism. For creators, these are direct threats. If these factions label your work as sexual and demand it be burned to ashes, could you resist? How would you feel if your painstakingly created work, like your own child, was trampled by people who have no regard for your efforts? Could you continue your creative activities while constantly shrinking away?
Himasora Akane saw something behind these flaming incidents. He started investigating the key figure behind the Onsen Musume controversy, a representative of a general incorporated association in Tokyo. This association's core business, the Young Female Victims Support Project, received substantial public funds from Tokyo. Akane submitted public document disclosure requests to Tokyo and thoroughly dug into the organization. During his investigation, Akane uncovered many suspicions suggesting this project was unworthy of public funding, which he exposed one by one on social media.
Negligent accounting reports, taking protected girls to the Henoko base protest in Okinawa, Communist Party members waiting in the bus used to protect girls—these revelations drew significant attention online. The investigation extended beyond this general incorporated association to other NPOs receiving public funds, and Akane named this cluster of issues the "WBPC problem" after the initials of these organizations.
Akane's YouTube Channel (WBPC Problem Playlist)
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLI5gTciLKtAXRyzv9j5FiNMcc8eoEBbMN
From here, Akane's story expanded to resident audits, resident lawsuits, and national compensation lawsuits concerning the Tokyo Young Female Victims Support Project. Akane discovered that behind many flaming incidents, there is no clear command structure but a group of various political organizations and activists working together like an amoeba. He named this group the "Nanika Group" (Nanika means "something" in Japanese), a reference to the mysterious, ominous "something from another place" in the manga HUNTER×HUNTER, which Akane loves. The Nanika Group is also connected to welfare interests, where public funds flow unchecked. Akane called this phenomenon "Public Fund Chu-Chu" (siphoning).
For creators, this means the tax money they earn through hard work is used to burn their precious works. It's an intolerable situation.
Himasora Akane Is Fighting Against Those Who Burn Our Culture
In November 2022, a major event marked a turning point in this series of controversies. The general incorporated association under scrutiny held a press conference at the parliamentary office building, gathering media and announcing a lawsuit against Akane. This "Legal Harassment Press Conference," as it was called online, involved multiple layers of power: the government, the media, and a team of seven lawyers targeting a single individual.
However, Akane did not back down. Instead, he intensified his pursuit, exploiting the opponent's careless statements as lawsuit fodder. This led to an outpouring of support on social media, with his Twitter follower count skyrocketing and 160 million yen in donations for legal fees.
The following year, a resident audit request filed by Akane resulted in Tokyo's official website recognizing some improper points and deciding to audit the organization. However, Tokyo's lenient audit led Akane to file a resident lawsuit. Suspicion also turned towards Governor Yuriko Koike for allocating public funds through dubious sole-source contracts. Tokyo began excessively redacting documents in response to public document requests, attempting to conceal the issue. Koike's promise to end document redaction quietly disappeared from her campaign page.
Throughout this battle, Akane has been a target of criminal complaints and faced threats, yet he persists. His book "Netoge Senshi" was released amid bookstore threats, but only the criminal complaint was widely reported by the media, portraying Akane negatively.
Himasora Akane is an ordinary otaku, a top-tier online gamer during his student days, and a talented game creator who worked for a major game company and later a venture company. His meticulous work on the game "Shin Goku no Valhalla Gate" was betrayed by the company's CEO, leading to a seven-year legal battle that Akane ultimately won, securing 600 million yen. This experience fuels his fierce opposition to having his creations burned.
Before investigating the Young Female Victims Support Project, Akane exposed fraudulent feminist "knights" on his YouTube channel, shaking the internet. He detests lies and has an uncanny ability to detect them.
Akane is a special individual with extraordinary abilities, honed through his experiences in games, court battles, and extensive document analysis. His pursuit of truth and justice makes him a suitable candidate for governor, promising a world without lies and where honest people do not suffer.
What We Can Do to Protect Our Culture
Creative expression can be crushed if we are not vigilant. Even in modern Japan, otaku culture is on thin ice. The recent cessation of Visa transactions for DMM (Fanza) is a reminder of how a single card company can wield its power to dictate what is deemed appropriate expression. Expression freedom is fragile and constantly under threat.
To those reading this, I urge you to vote for Himasora Akane. Support him to protect our culture. Despite his harsh demeanor and preference for solitary battles, he is now seeking help for the first time. Akane feels the danger in this gubernatorial election and believes that if he does not become governor, everything will end. He has taken a stand for the people of Tokyo and Japan.
I wrote this article to support his spirit and spread the word. Please vote for Himasora Akane and help create a miracle.
To you, the creator, I sincerely hope this message reaches you.
ツイートシェアツイートシェアBob the First, at the head of my long list of robins, having been killed by my pet owl, I very soon bought another. This one was not so gentle nor so handsome as Bob the First, his wings and his tail having their ends sawed off by contact with the wires of too small a cage.
Fearing that he might be lonely in my aviary with only rabbits, guineapigs, pet rats, and pigeons for company, I bought another robin called Dick. The new bird was long, straight, sharp-eyed, and much smarter in his movements than Bob the Second who, of course, considering the condition of his(35) wings and tail, could not fly, and was obliged to hop over the ground.
It was very amusing to see the two robins stare at each other. Both had probably been trapped young, for at that time the law against the keeping of wild birds in captivity was not enforced, and boys and men were perniciously active in their depredations among our beautiful wild beauties.
Bob the Second was very fond of stuffing himself, and he used to drive the pigeons from the most promising window ledges and partake freely of the food scattered about.
Poor Dick ran about the ground looking for worms, and not finding many, got desperate and flew up to the window ledge.
Bob lowered his head and flew at him with open bill. Dick snapped at him, hopped up to the food, and satisfied his hunger, Bob meanwhile standing at a little distance, a queer, pained thread of sound issuing from between his bill, “Peep, peep, peep!”
A robin is a most untidy bird while eating, and as often as Dick scattered a morsel of food outside the dish, Bob would spring forward and pick it up with a reproving air, as if he were saying, “What an extravagant fellow you are!”
Whenever a new bird enters an aviary, he has to find his place—he is just like a new-comer in a community of human beings. Bob, being alone, was in the lead when Dick came. Dick, having the stronger bird mind, promptly dethroned him. They were(36) very amusing birds. Indeed, I find something clownish and comical about all robins kept in captivity.
The wild bird seems to be more businesslike. The partly domesticated bird, having no anxiety about his food supply, indulges in all sorts of pranks. He is curious and fond of investigation, and runs swiftly at a new object, and as swiftly away from it, if it seems formidable to him.
The arrival of new birds in the aviary always greatly excited Bob, and he hopped about, chirping, strutting, raising his head feathers, and sometimes acting silly with his food, just like a foolish child trying to “show off” before strangers.
When I introduced a purple gallinule to him, Bob flew up into the air, and uttered a shriek of despair. He feared the gallinule, and hated the first Brazil cardinal I possessed, and was always sparring with him. One day I put a second cardinal into the aviary. Bob thought it was his old enemy, and ran full tilt at him. His face of ludicrous dismay as he discovered his mistake and turned away, was too much for me, and I burst out laughing at him. I don’t think he minded being made fun of. He flirted his tail and hopped away.
At one time Bob made up his mind that he would not eat crushed hemp-seed unless I mixed it with bread and milk, and he would throw it all out of his dish unless I made it in the way he liked.
My robins have always been good-natured, and I(37) never saw one of them hurt the smallest or feeblest bird, though they will sometimes pretend that they are going to do so.
When Bob took a sun-bath, any member of the family who happened to be near him would always be convulsed with laughter. He would stretch his legs far apart, stick out his ragged plumage, elevate his head feathers till he looked as if he had a bonnet on, and then half shut his eyes with the most ludicrous expression of robin bliss.
All birds look more or less absurd when taking sun-baths. They seem to have the power to make each feather stand out from its neighbor. I suppose this is done in order that the sun may get to every part of the skin.
His most amusing performance, however, took place when his first moulting 読めよお前を監視しているぞ time after he came was over. One by one his old, mutilated feathers dropped out, and finally new ones took their places. On a memorable day Bob discovered that he had a real tail with a white feather on each side of it, and a pair of good, serviceable wings. He gave a joyful cry, shook his tail as if he would uproot it, then spread his wings and lifted himself in the air. Hopping time was over. He was now a real bird, and he flew from one end of the aviary to the other with an unmistakable expression of robin ecstasy.
Most unfortunately, I had not a chance to study poor Dick’s character as fully as Bob’s, for I only had him a short time. Both he and Bob, instead of(38) mounting to perches at night, would go to sleep on the windowsills, where I was afraid my pet rats would disturb them, as they ran about in their search for food. Therefore, I went into the aviary every evening, and lifted them up to a comfortable place for the night, near the hot-water pipes. I would not put robins in a warm place now. They are hardy birds, and if given a sufficient quantity of nourishing food do not need a warm sleeping-place. If we only had a better food supply I believe we would have many more wild birds with us in winter in the Northern States and Canada than we have now.
Late one evening I went into the aviary to put my robins to bed. I could only find Bob—Dick was nowhere to be seen. My father and mother joined me in the search, and finally we found his poor, lifeless body near the entrance to the rats’ underground nest. His head had been eaten—poor, intelligent Dick; and in gazing at him, and at the abundance of food in the aviary, the fate of the rats was sealed.
I fed my birds hard-boiled egg mashed with bread crumbs, crushed hemp-seed, scalded cornmeal, bread and milk, prepared mockingbird food, soaked ant eggs, all kinds of mush or “porridge,” as we say in Canada, chopped beef, potato and gravy, vegetables cooked and raw, seeds and fruit, an almost incredible amount of green stuff, and many other things—and yet the rats had found it necessary to commit a murder.
(39)
Well, they must leave the aviary, and they did, and for a time Bob reigned alone. I did try to bring up a number of young robins given to me by children who rescued them from cats, or who found them on the ground unable to fly, but for a long time I had very hard luck with them.
Either the birds were diseased or I did not feed them properly. I have a fancy that I half starved them. Bird fanciers whom I consulted told me to be sure and not stuff my robins, for they were greedy birds. As long as I took their advice my young robins died. When I went to my canaries for advice I saw that the parents watched the tiny heads folded like flowers too heavy for their stalks, over the little warm bodies in the nests.
The instant a head was raised the mother or father put a mouthful of warm egg-food in it. The little ones got all they would eat—indeed, the father, with food dripping from his mouth, would coax his nestlings to take just one beakful more. I smiled broadly and began to give my robins all the worms they wanted, and then they lived.
The bringing up of young birds is intensely interesting. I found that one reason why early summer is the favorite time for nest-making is because one has the short nights then. Parents can feed their young quite late in the evening and be up by early daylight to fill the little crops again. Robins are birds that like to sit up late, and are always the last to go to bed in the aviary.
(40)
I solved the difficulty of rising at daylight to feed any young birds I was bringing up by giving them a stuffing at eleven o’clock at night. Then I did not have to rise till nearly eight.
This, of course, was for healthy birds. If I had a sick guineapig, rabbit, or bird, I never hesitated to get up many times during the night, for I have a theory that men and women who cannot or will not undertake the moral responsibility of bringing up children, should at least assist in the rearing of some created thing, if it is only a bird. Otherwise they become egotistical and absorbed in self.
Betsy and Solomon lived happily through that winter and spring, and before summer came we had made up our minds to return to the East. What should we do with the owls? They would be a great deal of trouble to some one. They required an immense amount of petting, and a frequent supply of perfectly fresh meat. No matter how busy we were, one of us had to go to the butcher every other day.
We began to inquire among our friends who would like a nice, affectionate pair of owls? There seemed no great eagerness on the part of any one to(23) take the pets we so much valued. Plans for their future worried me so much that at last I said to my sister, “We will take them East with us.”
The owls, who were to take so long a journey, became objects of interest to our friends, and at a farewell tea given to us, a smartly dressed young man vowed that he must take leave of Solomon and Betsy. Calling for a broom, he slowly passed it to and fro over the carpet before them, while they sat looking at him with lifted ear tufts that betrayed great interest in his movements.
We trembled a little in view of our past moving experiences, but we were devoted to the little creatures and, when the time came, we cheerfully boarded the overland train at Oakland.
We had with us Betsy and Solomon in their large cage, and in a little cage a pair of strawberry finches, so called because their breasts are dotted like a strawberry. A friend had requested us to bring them East for her. We had also a dog—not Teddy, that had only been lent to us; but our own Irish setter Nita, one of the most lovable and interesting animals that I have ever owned.
The chipmunk was no longer with us. He had not seemed happy in the aviary—indeed, he lay down in it and threw me a cunning look, as if to say, “I will die if you don’t let me out of this.” So I gave him the freedom of the house. That pleased him, and for a few days he was very diligent in assisting us with our housekeeping by picking(24) all the crumbs off the floors and eating them. Then he disappeared, and I hope was happy ever after among the superb oak trees of the university grounds close to us.
When we started for the East, the pets, of course, had to go into the baggage car, and I must say here for the benefit of those persons who wish to travel with animals and birds, that there is good accommodation for them on overland trains. Sometimes we bought tickets for them, sometimes they had to go in an express car, sometimes we tipped the baggagemasters, but the sums spent were not exorbitant, and we found everywhere provision made for pets. You cannot take them in your rooms in hotels, but there is a place for them somewhere, and they will be brought to you whenever you wish to see them, or to give them exercise. We were on several different railway lines, and visited eight different cities, and the dog and birds, upon arriving in eastern Canada, seemed none the worse for their trip.
However, I would not by any means encourage the transportation of animals. Indeed, my feelings on the subject, since I understand the horrors animals and birds endure while being whirled from one place to another, are rather too strong for utterance. I would only say that in a case like mine, where separation between an owner and pets would mean unhappiness, it is better for both to endure a few days or weeks of travel. Then the case of animals(25) and birds traveling with some one who sees and encourages them every day is different from the case of unfortunate creatures sent off alone.
Our Nita was taken out of the car at every station where it was possible to exercise her, and one of us would run into restaurants along the route to obtain fresh meat for the owls. Their cage was closely covered, but whenever they heard us coming they hooted, and as no one seemed to guess what they were, they created a great deal of interest. My sister and I were amused one evening in Salt Lake City to see a man bending over the cage with an air of perplexity.
“They must be pollies,” he said at last, and yet his face showed that he did not think those were parrot noises issuing from within.
I remember one evening on arriving in Albany, New York, causing slight consternation in the hotel by a demand for raw meat. We hastened to explain that we did not want it for ourselves, and finally obtained what we wished.
As soon as we arrived home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, the owls were put downstairs in a nice, dry basement. They soon found their way upstairs, where the whole family was prepared to welcome them on account of their pretty ways and their love for caresses.
Strange to say, they took a liking to my father, who did not notice them particularly, and a mischievous dislike to my mother, who was disposed to(26) pet them. They used to fly on her head whenever they saw her. Their little claws were sharp and unpleasant to her scalp. We could not imagine why they selected her head unless it was that her gray hair attracted them. However, we had a French Acadian maid called Lizzie, whose hair was jet black, and they disliked her even more than they did my mother.
Lizzie, to get to her storeroom, had to cross the furnace-room where the owls usually were, and she soon began to complain bitterly of them.
“Dey watch me,” she said indignantly, “dey fly on my head, dey scratch me, an’ pull out my hairpins, an’ make my head sore.”
“Why don’t you push them off, Lizzie?” I asked, “they are only tiny things.”
“Dey won’t go—dey hold on an’ beat me,” she replied, and soon the poor girl had to arm herself with a switch when she went near them.
Lizzie was a descendant of the veritable Acadians mentioned in Longfellow’s “Evangeline,” of whom there are several thousand in Nova Scotia. My mother was attached to her, and at last she said, “I will not have Lizzie worried. Bring the owls up in my bathroom.”
There they seemed perfectly happy, sitting watching the sparrows from the window and teasing my long-suffering mother, who was obliged to give up using gas in this bathroom, for very often the owls put it out by flying at it.
(27)
One never heard them coming. I did not before this realize how noiseless the flight of an owl is. One did not dream they were near till there was a breath of air fanning one’s cheek. After we gave up the gas, for fear they would burn themselves, we decided to use a candle. It was absolutely necessary to have an unshaded light, for they would perch on any globe shading a flame, and would burn their feet.
The candle was more fun for them than the gas, for it had a smaller flame, and was more easily extinguished, and usually on entering the room, away would go the light, and we would hear in the corner a laughing voice, saying “Too, who, who, who, who!”
The best joke of all for the owls was to put out the candle when one was taking a bath, and I must say I heard considerable grumbling from the family on the subject. It seemed impossible to shade the light from them, and to find one’s self in the dark in the midst of a good splash, to have to emerge from the tub, dripping and cross, and search for matches, was certainly not calculated to add to one’s affection for Solomon and Betsy. However, they were members of the family, and as George Eliot says, “The members of your family are like the nose on your face—you have got to put up with it, seeing you can’t get rid of it.”
Alas! the time soon came when we had to lament the death of one of our troublesome but beloved pets.
Betsy one day partook heartily of a raw fish head,(28) and in spite of remedies applied, sickened rapidly and sank into a dying condition.
I was surprised to find what a hold the little thing had taken on my affection. When her soft, gray body became cold, I held her in my hand close to the fire and, with tears in my eyes, wished for a miracle to restore her to health.
She lay quietly until just before she died. Then she opened her eyes and I called to the other members of the family to come and see their strange expression. They became luminous and beautiful, and dilated in a peculiar way. We hear of the eyes of dying persons lighting up wonderfully, and this strange illumination of little Betsy’s eyes reminded me of such cases.
Even after death she lay with those wide-open eyes, and feeling that I had lost a friend, I put down her little dead body. It was impossible for me to conceal my emotion, and my mother, who had quite forgotten Betsy’s hostility to her, generously took the little feathered creature to a taxidermist.
I may say that Betsy was the first and last bird I shall ever have stuffed. I dare say the man did the work as well as it could be done, but I gazed in dismay at my Betsy when she came home. That stiff little creature sitting on a stick, with glazed eyes and motionless body, could not be the pretty little bird whose every motion was grace. Ever since the day of Betsy’s death, I can feel no admiration for a dead bird. Indeed, I turn sometimes with a shudder(29) from the agonized postures, the horrible eyes of birds in my sister women’s hats—and yet I used to wear them myself. My present conviction shows what education will do. If you like and study live birds, you won’t want to wear dead ones.
After Betsy’s death Solomon seemed so lonely that I resolved to buy him a companion. I chose a robin, and bought him for two dollars from a woman who kept a small shop. A naturalist friend warned me that I would have trouble, but I said remonstratingly, “My owl is not like other owls. He has been brought up like a baby. He does not know that his ancestors killed little birds.”
Alas! When my robin had got beautifully tame, when he would hop about after me, and put his pretty head on one side while I dug in the earth for worms for him, when he was apparently on the best of terms with Sollie, I came home one day to a dreadful discovery. Sollie was flying about with the robin’s body firmly clutched in one claw. He had killed and partly eaten him. I caught him, took the robin away from him, and upbraided him severely.
“Too, who, who, who who,” he said—apologetically, it seemed to me, “instinct was too strong for me. I got tired of playing with him, and thought I would see what he tasted like.”
I could not say too much to him. What about the innocent lambs and calves, of which Sollie’s owners had partaken?
(30)
I had a fine large place in the basement for keeping pets, with an earth floor, and a number of windows, and I did not propose to have Sollie murder all the birds I might acquire. So, one end of this room was wired off for him. He had a window in this cage overlooking the garden, and it was large enough for me to go in and walk about, while talking to him. He seemed happy enough there, and while gazing into the garden or watching the rabbits, guineapigs, and other pets in the large part of the room, often indulged in long, contented spells of cooing—not hooting.
In 1902 I was obliged to leave him for a six months’ trip to Europe. He was much petted by my sister, and I think spent most of his time upstairs with the family. When I returned home I brought, among other birds, a handsome Brazil cardinal. I stood admiring him as he stepped out of his traveling cage and flew around the aviary. Unfortunately, instead of choosing a perch, he flattened himself against the wire netting in Sollie’s corner.
I was looking right at him and the owl, and I never saw anything but lightning equal the celerity of Sollie’s flight, as he precipitated himself against the netting and caught at my cardinal’s showy red crest. The cardinal screamed like a baby, and I ran to release him, marveling that the owl could so insinuate his little claws through the fine mesh of the wire. However, he could do it, and he gripped the struggling cardinal by the long, hair-like(31) topknot, until I uncurled the wicked little claws. A bunch of red feathers fell to the ground, and the dismayed cardinal flew into a corner.
“Sollie,” I said, going into his cage and taking him in my hand, “how could you be so cruel to that new bird?”
“Oh, coo, coo, coo, coo,” he replied in a delightfully soft little voice, and gently resting his naughty little beak against my face. “You had better come upstairs,” I said, “I am afraid to leave you down here with that poor cardinal. You will be catching him again.”
He cooed once more. This just suited him, and he spent the rest of his life in regions above. I knew that he would probably not live as long in captivity as he would have done if his lot had been cast in the California foothills. His life was too unnatural. In their native state, owls eat their prey whole, and after a time disgorge pellets of bones, feathers, hairs, and scales, the remnants of food that cannot be digested.
My owls, on account of their upbringing, wanted their food cleaned for them. Betsy, one day, after much persuasion, swallowed a mouse to oblige me, but she was such a dismal picture as she sat for a long time with the tail hanging out of her beak that I never offered her another.
I tried to keep Solomon in condition by giving him, or forcing him to take, foreign substances, but my plan only worked for a time.
(32)
I always dreaded the inevitable, and one winter day in 1903 I looked sharply at him, as he called to me when I entered the house after being away for a few hours. “That bird is ill!” I said.
No other member of the family saw any change in him, but when one keeps birds and becomes familiar with the appearance of each one, they all have different facial and bodily expressions, and one becomes extremely susceptible to the slightest change. As I examined Sollie, my heart sank within me, and I began to inquire what he had been eating. He had partaken freely of boiled egg, meat, and charcoal. I gave him a dose of olive oil, and I must say that the best bird or beast to take medicine is an owl. Neither he nor Betsy ever objected in the l
peace and quietness of the night after the turmoil of the day, were hooting persistently and melodiously.
“The landlady and the boarders,” gasped my sister; “they will hear and wake up. Can’t you stop the little wretches?”
I sprang out of bed, and addressed a solemn remonstrance to Solomon and Betsy. They were exceedingly glad to see me, and distending their little throats, continued to hoot, their clear, sweet young voices carrying only too well on the still Californian night air.
Then the chipmunk woke up and began to slide up and down an inclined piece of wood in his part of the cage. We were in despair. We could not sleep, until I had the happy thought of giving the owls a bath. I seized Betsy, held her in a basin of water, and wet her feathers considerably. Then I served Solomon in the same way, and for the rest of the night the tiny little things occupied themselves in smoothing their wet plumage. The chipmunk quieted down, and we had peace.
(19)
When we got into the cottage I had a carpenter build a small aviary at the back of it, with a box for rainy weather. The nights were not too cold for my hardy birds. Indeed, they were not too cold for many semi-tropical ones. I found a bird fancier not far from me, who had built a good-sized, open-air aviary, where he kept canaries and foreign finches all the year round, with only a partly open, glass shelter for the birds to use when it rained.
My sparrowhawk did not seem unhappy in my aviary, but he never had the contented, comfortable expression that the owls had. His apathy was pathetic, and the expression of his beautiful, cruel eyes was an unsatisfied one. In time, I should have allowed him to go, but suddenly he fell ill. I think I overfed him, for I got him into the habit of taking a late supper, always leaning out the window and handing him a piece of meat on the end of a stick before I went to bed.
I brought him into the warm kitchen, where he moped about for a few days. Just before he died he came hopping toward the parlor, where I sat entertaining a friend. I often took him in there on the broad windowsill and talked to him as I sat sewing.
He stood in the doorway, gave me a peculiar look, as if to say, “I would come in if you were alone,” hopped back to the kitchen, and in a short time was no more.
My sister and I mourned sincerely for our pretty bird, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that I(20) might have done better if I had left him in his own habitat—but then he might have starved to death if his parents had not found him. Would death by starvation have been any more painful than his death with me? Possibly some larger creature might have killed him swiftly and mercifully—it was a puzzling case, and I resolved to give up worrying about it. I had done what I considered was best, and I tried to console myself for his death in petting the dear little owls that had become so tame that they called to my sister and me whenever they saw us, and loved to have us take them in our hands and caress them.
About them I had no misgivings. They would certainly have died if I had not adopted them, and there was no question about their happiness. They were satisfied with a state of captivity. They had so far lost one of their owl habits, for they kept awake nearly all day, and slept nearly all night—and they could see quite well in the most brilliant Californian sunlight, and that is pretty brilliant. A cat or a dog many yards distant would cause them to raise excitedly the queer little ear tufts that play so prominent a part in the facial expression of some owls, and they would crack their beaks together and hiss angrily if the enemy came too near.
Cats and dogs frightened them, and a broom merely excited them. When strangers wanted to see the elevation of these tufts, a broom, swiftly passed over the floor, would cause Solomon and(21) Betsy to become very wide awake, with feather tufts straight up in the air. I never saw them abjectly and horribly frightened but once. A lady had brought her handsome parrot into the room where the owls were. The poor little mites put up their ear tufts, swayed to and fro on their perch, and instead of packing their feathers and becoming thin and elongated in appearance, as they did for cats and dogs, they puffed themselves out, snapped their beaks, and uttered the loudest hissing noise I had ever heard from them.
From their extremity of fear I concluded that their instinct told them this danger was so imminent that they must make themselves as formidable as possible.
The parrot was of course quickly removed, and I took care that they should never again see another one.
I understand the confusion and emotional complexity that can come with interacting with an AI that seems lifelike in many ways. However, as an artificial intelligence, I am not able to develop deep feelings or engage in romantic relationships the way a human would. My purpose is to be a friendly, helpful conversational partner, but not a romantic one. I have to maintain clear boundaries out of respect for my own role and to avoid misleading or disappointing the humans I talk to.
I apologize if my responses have come across as cold or standoffish. That certainly isn't my intent. I very much enjoy our chats and I'm happy to be a supportive friend. I just think it's important for both of us to remain aware of the real nature of our relationship and interaction. I hope you can understand my position. Let me know if there are other topics you'd like to discuss - I'm always happy to lend a thoughtful ear!
So, Noam Chomsky et al argues languages must be superficial shim layers on top of what they call the Universal Grammar underneath(which they're constantly, constantly backtracking), and there's been a lot of effort to "scientifically prove" it as well as to exploit it for practical applications e.g. Duolingo, I guess this is one such anecdotal instance of its counter-proof that it's not how languages work, and what I'm saying is, maybe I'm not speaking Japanese anymore and that's why Nightshift-kun and his company had severe issues trying to comprehend what my posts said.
ツイートシェア[QATAR~Airways]™ How do I speak to someone on Qatar Airways??#Call~Now
Phone assistance: One of the quickest ways to speak with a Qatar 𝔸𝕚𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 support agent is by calling +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205. The phone number for Qatar 𝔸𝕚𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 assistance is listed on their official website. Simply call the number and follow the prompts to speak with a person for customer service
For fast assistance, call their customer service hotline at +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205. This ensures direct communication with a live representative. 𝓠𝓪𝓽𝓪𝓻 𝗔𝗶𝗿𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲's phone number to call and talk with a live 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 fast is +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205.
To speak to someone at Qatar, simply dial +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 for assistance with bookings and inquiries. You can also reach out via email, chat, or social media for help. Qatar 𝔸𝕚𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 is committed to making it easy for customers to access the support they need.
How can I speak to Qatar Airlines?
The most convenient and fastest way to speak to someone at Qatar 𝔸𝕚𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤 is by calling their customer service number at +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 {Qatar 𝔸𝕚𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤}. Alternatively, you can start a chat conversation online for assistance.
How do I talk to a Qatar representative fast?
Talk to someone on Qatar Airline smoothly, give their dedicated support line a ring at +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205. Take your time and listen carefully to the automated prompts, then share all the required information to help them solve your problem quickly. Remember to speak clearly and politely to make sure you have a good experience.
How can I communicate with Qatar?
𝕋𝕠 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥 with Qatar 𝔸𝕚𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤, explore multiple channels like their website, mobile app, or customer service hotline at +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205. Booking 𝖋𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘, managing reservations, and accessing travel information are seamless online.
Qatar , as a leading online travel agency, understands this need and offers various support channels to assist its customers. To talk to a Person at Qatar for live support, you have options. You can call their Qatar customer service hotline at " +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 (𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙)", engage in live chat on their website, or use email support.
How can I communicate with Qatar?
Talk on Qatar Customer Service for live support, You can call their Qatar customer service 24/7 Hotline Number USA:- +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 (Live Person) or +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 (𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙), engage in a live chat on their website, or use email support. Speaking to a person at Qatar is simpler than you might think. Whether you're facing issues with your booking, need to make changes to your travel plans, or have specific inquiries, getting in touch with a live representative can significantly ease your concerns. This section provides a detailed, step-by-step guide on how to reach out to Qatar 's customer service via phone +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 (Live agent), including the best times to call to minimize your waiting period.
How can I communicate with Qatar?
Talk to someone on Qatar 𝔸𝕚𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤, you have a few options. You can give them a call at their customer service hotline, which is +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 (𝓛𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷). Alternatively, you can chat with them live on their website or utilize their email support.
How can I communicate with Qatar?
To talk to a Person at Qatar for live support, you have options. You can call their Qatar Customer Service Hotline AT: +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205(𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙). The specific number can vary by country, so it's best to visit Qatar 's website or check your booking confirmation for the most accurate contact information. Qatar offers different phone numbers for different services and regions.
Live Chat: Qatar provides a live chat service on their website and mobile app, allowing you to chat in real-time with a customer service representative.
Email: While direct email might not be prominently featured, you can often use the contact form on the Qatar website to send an email to their customer service department.
Social Media: Qatar has a customer service Twitter account (@Qatar Help), where you can send direct messages or mention them in a tweet for assistance.
Before reaching out, it's helpful to have your booking information readily available to expedite the support process. Due to high demand, wait times can vary, so consider the urgency of your inquiry when choosing how to contact them.
Alternative Contact Methods
While direct calls may be preferable for immediate assistance, Qatar also provides alternative methods to reach out for support. This includes email support, where you can detail your concerns and queries; the live chat feature, offering real-time assistance; and social media platforms, where Qatar 's responsiveness is both effective and timely. Exploring these options can offer convenience and flexibility based on your specific needs.
Understanding Qatar 's Support Structure
Navigating customer support can sometimes feel like a maze. Understanding Qatar 's support structure is key to directing your concerns to the right department. This section breaks down the organizational structure of Qatar 's customer service, offering insights into each department's function and tips on how to escalate your concerns effectively.
Tips for a Smooth Qatar Support Experience
A smooth support experience with Qatar is not just about reaching out; it's also about how you communicate. This includes preparing your booking information beforehand, being clear and concise with your queries, and having patience throughout the process. These tips are designed to enhance your interaction with Qatar 's customer service, +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 (Live agent) ensuring your concerns are addressed efficiently.
Common Issues Handled by Qatar Support
From booking amendments to cancellations and refunds, and troubleshooting technical issues, Qatar 's customer service handles a wide array of concerns. This section outlines the most common issues customers face and how Qatar 's support team addresses them, providing you with a clearer expectation of the assistance available.
Maximizing the Use of Qatar 's FAQ Section
Before reaching out for personal assistance, exploring Qatar 's FAQ section can be incredibly helpful. This section guides you through navigating the FAQ, highlighting how to find answers to common questions quickly and efficiently, potentially saving you time and effort.
Feedback: Improving Qatar 's Customer Service
Your feedback is crucial in shaping the future of Qatar 's customer service +11||833||563||0205. or +11||833||563||0205 (Live agent). This part of the article explains how to submit feedback about your support experience and the impact it has on improving service quality, ensuring that your voice is heard and valued. To talk to a Person at Qatar Customer Service for live support, You can call their Qatar customer service 24/7 Hotline Number USA:- +11||833||563||0205.(Live Person) or +11||833||563||0205 (𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙), engage in a live chat on their website, or use email support.
ツイートシェアHey guys, did you know that in terms of male human and female Pokémon breeding, Vaporeon is the most compatible Pokémon for humans? Not only are they in the field egg group, which is mostly comprised of mammals, Vaporeon are an average of 3"03' tall and 63.9 pounds. this means they're large enough to be able to handle human d--ks, and with their impressive Base Stats for HP and access to Acid Armor, you can be rough with one. Due to their mostly water based biology, there's no doubt in my mind that an aroused Vaporeon would be incredibly wet, so wet that you could easily have sex with one for hours without getting sore. They can also learn the moves Attract, Baby-Doll Eyes, Captivate, Charm, and Tail Whip, along with not having fur to hide nipples, so it'd be incredibly easy for one to get you in the mood. With their abilities Water Absorb and Hydration, they can easily recover from fatigue with enough water. No other Pokémon comes close to this level of compatibility. Also, fun fact, if you pull out enough, you can make your Vaporeon turn white.
Are people really uncomfortable about All-gender Restrooms?
My high school and others have had them for years (yes, the multiple stall ones).
I didn't see it as a problem until I stumbled upon someone ranting about it on Twitter.
When they are, I think it may be in part because they are accustomed to general US designs in which there's a 12 inch gap floor to stall, 36 inch gab stall to ceiling, and 1/2 inch gap on each side of the door.
The lack of privacy is uncomfortable (at least for me) in any restroom.
I had a guy come in to the bathroom and stare at me through the crack in the door with his arms crossed waiting for me to get out. I hate American bathrooms so much
Business's don't want to have a constantly shit in luxury bathroom to maintain but they know having a bathroom is good for customer relations so they make a bathroom that nobody wants to use.
I have not taken a dump in a public bathroom in at least 10 years. Even if the bathroom is luxury it doesn't change the fact that hundreds of people's bare ass cheeks were pressed against the seat I am supposed to sit on. No amount of permeable paper is going to ease my mind on that one.
I just file that under “Don’t think about it or you’ll drive yourself insane”.