This is something that slips past the Western viewers- it looks like it’s reaching out for Chihiro, in a malicious way, to the Western viewers. It’s what I thought growing up.
However, now, that I know that it’s a way of signalling for someone to ‘Come here!’ in Japan, the scene takes on a whole new meaning.
That spirit knows that if Chihiro doesn’t eat the food, she will disappear. And it knows if it offers the food, she cannot be cursed as a gluttonous pig because it wouldn’t have been stolen.
Just a unique take when you have all of the context.
[YOU HAVE BEEN GRACED WITH POWER OF CREATION IN THIS WORLD OF FANTASY AND MAGIC, BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS. WHAT WILL YOUR CHARACTER BE?]
Human Male, Warrior
[ARE YOU SERIOUS?]
[YOU BORING PIECE OF SHIT]
There is now a measles outbreak in New York. A whole ward of cancer patients currently undergoing chemotherapy have been exposed to it. Imagine fighting cancer for years only to die because some jackass didn’t vaccinate their…
I’m not saying that i’m not vaccinating my kids because some cave men think vaccinations cause autism. I know that, that is not true. But my mom is a nurse and she taught me from a young age to read the “medicine” labels and facts before you put them in your body. I know that the first ingredient in many vaccines is formaldehyde. And if more people did their research they would too. I’ve had ONE vaccination for a job, past the vaccinations that were required as a child to get into public school and it made me so sick I thought I was going to die.
If we build an argument against cigarettes because they contain these chemicals then why are we going to put them in our kids to keep them from getting something like polio?
I don’t buy into the “infect to protect” movement and my kids won’t either.
The thing about formaldehyde is that, unless you’re working with it on industrial level and therefore exposed to large amounts of it, you’re perfectly fine. Formaldehyde or variants of it are used in a massive variety of products today from carpets to face wipes so we’re exposed to it regularly nomatter what we do.
The NIH Report on Carcinogens, 12th Edition, profile on formaldehyde states that it is in the “air, soil, food, treated and bottled drinking water, surface water and groundwater”. Our primary route of exposure is breathing it, indoors or outdoors. Much of this inhaled formaldehyde comes from car exhaust, tobacco smoke, power plants, forest fires and wood stoves. Outdoors, we are exposed to anywhere from 0 to 100 parts per billion (ppb) every day. Indoors, it can be as much as 500 to 2,000 ppb (temporary housing such as that used after hurricane Katrina measured from 3-590 ppb). To a smaller degree, we ingest it in our food and water (the average American diet contains about 10-20mg of formaldehyde from things like apples, carrots, pears, milk, etc. ), as well as some exposure via cosmetics.
Hell, even our own bodies produce formaldehyde naturally as an essential part of metabolism.
The tiny amounts used in vaccines are there because they have excellent antifungal and antibacterial properties.
It’s the same sort of thing when people with cancer have chemo or radiotherapy. The chemical treatment they go through and the radiation would be horrible for anyone if they took them constantly, but in order to help them beat the cancer they have them in small to moderate accurate doses to specific areas to treat them.
“I don’t buy into the “infect to protect” movement”
I’m confused by this statement as the only way to gain immunity to any bug is to be infected in order to build up a resistance, and it’s safer to do it with a harmless version of it with minor side-effects than risk exposure to the full-blown, potentially fatal disease?
I’m not calling you on it or judging you, I’m just very confused by it!
(My mother is also a nurse and has been for upwards of thirty years, I have been vaccinated and so have all my siblings and she sees nothing wrong with it).
You’re arguing with someone who can’t even be arsed to take the time to research vaccines beyond what some whacked out “natural health” movement says about them.
I’ve got a gaggle of relatives who live in communes on the west coast and parrot this shit all the time; it doesn’t matter how much actual science you throw at them, they still just regurgitate what some ‘natural health’ idiot’s fake science has said.
Good luck in convincing this one it has no idea what it’s talking about, but you’re likely bashing your head against a brick wall. :\
I am re-reblogging for further good information and also to add that I am absolutely judging.
The Iron Horde’s invasion of Azeroth is imminent. Jump back into action today! Pre-purcahse Warlords of Draenor and get a level 90 character boost to use in-game now.
Someone dropped the ball and released it too soon, or it got leaked.
Martul flourished her fingers as she often did at the start of Exarchaes. A game for old men and would-be tacticians, yet still the Argus-aged arcanist favored a match over conversation so long as she was assured her favored role. Var’cen’s coin wobbled subtly in its mid-air tumble, Martul reaching for the Exarch piece before the coin came to rest.
“The Provictor belongs to you, Vizier.”
The fat-fingered anchorite slid a brightly embroidered handkerchief across his craggy forehead, fumbling for the carved stone as he bobbed a half-dozen nods. What little Var’cen knew of the polished board and its pieces was far less important that the words waiting from its opposite side. His opening move was a cautious one, a weakness Martul was soon to seize upon.
“Do you see in the Light’s Refuge what brought the Sha’nash to greatness, arcanist?”
Vizier Var’cen’s lifted his small eyes to a handful of broken heading for the lower deck. The Carrius’ was far from roomy, a truth doubly evident by close proximity to the Lightless. He wrinkled his nose, focusing again on the game. His opponent scarcely seemed to acknowledge the match at all save the sharp clack of her vindicator’s march. Instead, Martul’s eyes favored a pair bantering krokul, one’s arm wrapped around the other’s neck. She did little to show that she shared in their kinship.
“I do not. The Sha’nash was a cacophony of zealotry and passion. Yet born from that chaos was a blade that, when wielded well, could strike down foes with flawless precision.”
“It was not wielded well for very long, if I recall.” The vizier greedily knocked aside a piece of bait set by the arcanist, eyes widening as his precious harbinger was taken as an immediate response.
“No.” Martul’s reaction went unseen, lips daring not to flicker with satisfaction, “It was not. But, for the Light’s Blade’s raw brutality, I would not trade away the humble foundations I have seen set in the Refuge.”
Var’cen again pulled his cloth to dab at his wet brow, exhaling sharply from evident pressure, “You see potential in them.”
“I do.” She gathered her defenses tightly, a tactic used often to elongate games to a terrible grind. Behind her impenetrable wall of vindicators and harbingers stood the Exarch. Carved in white, the heroic image of an ancient leader was kept impossibly safe despite the ease with which she offered its subjects to Var’cen.
“There are those with the same Sha’nash fire in them. Nobuna and Hetaera, two sides of the same coin. Ngozi, and all her pluck. Then, there are the protectors. Our enemy shall learn not to stand between Spensaar and one of his little sisters. Too, Oraeun, Seythos, Trayir. They are good, reliable brothers.”
Var’cen raised his voice to interupt, “Erundo?” If only to pull his attention away from the difficult play at hand, he presses on, “Alkrenon? Heolon? What of them?”
“Those two.” The warmth in Martul’s eyes froze over at once, “Useless. Harmful, even. I shall not stand by the poison they force upon themselves and others. The thin ice they once stood upon is long broken. Should either disgrace himself again, I will see them drowned.”
Var’cen, tightened his lips, opening the narrow collar of his robe with a prying finger. He dared not to speak against the ice present in her. At once, she snapped a harbinger forward in sudden response to a clumsy move by the anchorite, doing so for the first time with flesh rather than magic. When she finally spoke, the tension in her voice had been forced away.
“The Exarch, though. It is hard to say. In him I see strong intentions and a certain respect, yet I cannot help but doubt him. Would that someone show him the reprisal he sought upon Hetaera, perhaps he’d learn a lesson in humility.”
Martul quietly cursed the disappearance of Baatos the Brute. Oh, she could have made use of the elekk of a man now.
“There are others. Our scouts, Ireunii and Natazsha. One queer and soft spoken, the other too close to neutral. The shamans. Savage. Useful. Termody, Yllaine, Akrielle. Even for the magic they command, there is little love lost between them and the orcs. I have need to instruct Draeghar not to provoke them as he did.”
Var’cen’s eyes dull upon Exarchaes as the tedious nature of Martul’s shield wears his attention span to nothing. The error he made came sooner than she expected, yet the arcanist sprang her Exarch forward all the same, cornering the Provictor and his fractured army. The anchorite clucked a displeased sound and wore a sour expression. Forcibly, he made his way back into the conversation, frustration evident.
“I find your anchorites fair and virtuous, though not without their flaws. Shashibala, perhaps a touch liberal minded. Yuulis, free with her tongue and quick to disparage. Lynorii…”
Martul spoke firmly, “Devoted. An absolute asset.”
“And Capella?” Var’cen knew well he’d earn a reaction with the suggestion, though the one he found did not come close to meeting his expectations. Martul smiled, a touch of competitiveness showing through in the same way it might have with Terras.
“Strong willed. Keen with the Light. She will be either a great asset, or a great obstacle.”
The final, ceremonial moments of the game played out with a mutual understanding of its outcome, Var’cen paying more heed to the sweat staining his garment than to either Martul or her victory. She took little time in finishing off the Provictor, lifting the piece off of the board with a snap once it had been eliminated. Confidently, she twirled it between two fingers.
“Mm, to you as well, sister. Well played.”
Var’cen excused himself from the board with a slow rise and a deep bow, “I shall see myself to my quarters, Martul. We must find the time to rematch.” He chuckled low, waving aside the broken as he went.
Soon she was alone, common quarters silent save the whir of the Carrius. Her eyes fell softly upon the Exarch, its polished visage staunch and victorious. A finger as gentle as the bangs that kissed her cheek traced along the piece’s edge.
stop for a minute and realize you are a 10lb brain piloting a slab of meat
Deyaenus didn’t even have time to respond to what had just happened. As he was working at his desk, someone had run in, left something on the desk, hugged him, and ran off. So many things to protest against simultaneously that he didn’t have time to protest any of them. He had, however, managed a sound of surprised discontent and a swear at the fleeing person just as they disappeared out of the Spire. Hmph! What a wierdo.
The thing left at his desk was revealed to be some food that had been wrapped so it wouldn’t spill out through the rushing and running, but, once opened, was currently leaving some crumbs and stains on his paper he did not care for. Other priests were giving him owlish looks from across the room, curious as to what had happened and what would Deyaenus do about it.
Having others stare at him narrowed his decision to one outcome: Deyaenus picked up the food, and threw it away in the nearest trash bin. Then brushed the crumbs of his desk and papers, and continued with his work.
He’d rather go hungry than accept charities.
All writing by CephiedVariable
Just throwing some handy-dandy links out there since the renewed WrA.net archive was brought to my attention. Stuff should/will probably be copy-pasta’d on this blog for continued posterity (with additional character entries.)