text:
Muffled voices filled my ears as I slowly started to slip into consciousness. I felt my legs strapped tightly to what I could only assume to be a chair. My hands were bound behind my back, my movements completely restricted. "Are you sure we should keep him here? Don't you remember what he is capable of? Especially with what you've done to him," said an unknown voice accusingly.

My eyes snapped open as I heard a coarse and familiar voice but I could only see a faint light, something was covering my head. "Of course I am. There's no way he can take all of us on though." It was at this point that I grew aware of the rustling of a number of bodies around me. Where am I?

The item covering my head was removed, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I counted 18 bodies. They must think I'm pretty dangerous, I thought to myself as a smirk took form across my face.

"Well, well, well. It has been a while since we've seen each other, hasn't it Mr. Toigo," said the familiar voice with a smile. Why do I know that voice? I must have had a puzzled look to my face because he continued saying, “You don’t remember me, do you Mr. Toigo?” I shook my head, as I stared quizzically into his eyes. His grey eyes glared back at me with a look of resentment, yet his unshaven face held a devilish smile.

“Then maybe you’ll remember my brother…” A picture was thrown onto my lap from one of the burly men to my right. A tall lamp stood directly behind him, and as I looked around the room I noticed it’s symmetrical design. Another lamp stood in the exact same spot to my left, just in its mirrored location. Four white walls surrounded the 18 burly bodies around the room. Two mahogany tables lie to either side approximately six feet away, and directly in front of me was the man with the familiar voice, sitting in a steel chair identical to my own. A single unmarked door stood behind him. I looked down at the picture to see a man I remembered instantly, and this recognition transported me to the past.

My wife, with her beautiful brown hair and stunning figure, sat in the chair across from me as we waited for our names to be called, so that we could collect our beverages from the barista. “I’ve got an order for To-ee-go,” the barista exclaimed. I stood and picked up the hot tea and coffee my wife and I ordered. “It’s toy-go, but thank you,” I laughed as I left him a tip.

“Why do they always get it wrong hun?” my wife asked with a giggle. I held the door for her as we exited the coffee shop. The city was busy, pedestrians walking every which way, and we stopped for a second before entering the onslaught of people. As we walked we consumed our drinks and slowly made our way back to my parents house to return to the family reunion they were holding.

My eye caught those of a man in a grey hoodie and dark blue jeans before he entered into the alley just ahead of us. I moved my wife to the opposite side, away from the alley. As we passed by, there seemed to be a sudden lull in the people surrounding us. The hooded man appeared and pulled out a gun. I felt my wife’s hand suddenly jolt away from mine as another man grabbed her and held a knife to her neck. We were being jumped.

The first man directed the gun towards my head. “Don’t make this more difficult then it has to be, Mr. Toigo,” he stated with the same coarse voice as his brother. How did he know my name? “Release my wife, and I’ll do what you wish,” I said calmly. “Oh! So this is Mrs. Toigo?” he stated as he nonchalantly walked towards her, still aiming the pistol at me. “Let her go, now,” I said, my voice growing more tense.

“Is that attitude in your voice?” Our fellow pedestrians engorged us in a circle about 40 feet in diameter, too afraid to move closer. He pointed the gun at my wife, and she gave a slight exhale of exasperation. My body stiffened with anger at the thought of somebody threatening my wife, my fists clenching in rage. “Let her go now you son of a bitch,” my voice stern and forceful.

“I don’t think I wi-“ was all he managed to get out before I grabbed his shirt and threw him into the alleyway. The gun clanged against the ground as it fell out of his hands. The man holding my wife just stood in shock as I threw my fist into his jaw, breaking it instantly. As he lie writhing in pain on the cement, I stomped my boot into his throat. “Run!” I barked to my wife. She obliged and made a mad dash into the crowd.

The man I threw into the alley had regained his footing, and charged at me as he drew a knife from inside his jacket. As he slashed diagonally at me, I brought my forearm to his, abruptly stopping its progress. In one quick movement, I threw my entire body up under his arm, flipping his body over mine and directly onto the ground. I jumped on top of him and began punching furiously, blood splattering with each point of contact. He lifted his pelvis into the air, knocking me off balance as he simultaneously drove the knife into my thigh.

I grunted as it entered my leg, but I still managed to regain my balance, and tear the knife from my thigh before throwing it across the sidewalk. I raised to my feet and grabbed the breast of his hoodie, seizing him into the air, leaving his feet dangling inches from the ground. I back-peddled into the alley, before quickly spinning and launching the man into the nearby dumpster.

I backed into a parking meter as I watched the man attempt to regain his footing, before stumbling back onto the ground. I looked at his companion who was still unconscious. I heard a gasp from the crowd and my eyes darted back to my attacker as he aimed and fired his pistol. I felt the bullet enter my abdomen, but instead of toppling over in pain, I merely yelled as I felt an extreme amount of adrenaline course through my body. My body seemed to react on its own, turning towards the parking meter. With super-human strength I ripped it from the ground and threw it like a javelin directly at the man’s chest. I heard bones crack and saw blood spew from his mouth, but I wasn’t finished with him yet. He attempted to crawl away, but to no avail, as I walked towards him, my veins pulsing with adrenaline. My hands grasped the parking meter as I brought it down upon his back. Both his spine and the parking meter shattered and I could all but see him struggling just to stay alive, but he threatened my wife. I wasn’t done with him yet.

I threw away my weapon, and flipped my attacker over so that his anterior faced me. My hand grabbed his face, and I lifted him into the air easily with my newfound strength. His face expressed that he was clearly struggling just to breath, but I just said with a forceful tone, “I warned you, you son of a bitch.” With all of my strength I smashed his head into the wall, and upon impact I felt his skull crush in my hands. He was gone.

“Yes I remember your brother,” I said to the man after the flashback ended.

title: Adrenaline

question: What made the assailant attack Mrs. Toigo?

question: Summarize why the kidnapper brought so many people to secure the narrator?

answer: According to the passage, the narrator defended his wife by fighting and killing a man who threatened her with a knife. However, the knife-wielder's brother later kidnapped the narrator and held him at an unknown facility. He seems to desire revenge for what the narrator did to his brother. One of the people in the facility warns the kidnapper how dangerous the narrator is, questions if the facility is secure enough to hold him. The narrator, opening his eyes, counted up to 18 people guarding him.


split: train

text:
“You should put on some long pants,” I advised my brother.

We headed down through a yellow field of tall grasses.  Its slope converged at the center like a valley, here, high among the San Francisco foothills.  The Western sun shone gently upon our earnest escapades.  I wanted our adventures to embody the spirit of this city, a mystical bastion of all freedoms.

The field's ending was demarcated by a sort of incomplete fence, probably put there decades ago by the Spanish or the young American imperialists.  We stumbled to the gate, which hung open perfectly and allowed the cool ocean breeze to pass through like a gust of its own breath.  Matt was waiting on the other side.  He was a year older and wiser, well acquainted with the ways of the city's center.  He'd told us stories about all of the nooks and strange neighborhoods, the nudists and the secret passageways and the unique chill you could feel when you ate ice cream on the beach near the Golden Gate Bridge.

Matt was just the person I wanted to see.  Though I knew it would disappoint my brother, my goal would be aided by this traveler's expertise with the city's heartbeat.  I bid my time as we made our way through the less fertile crags of the hills, full of rocks, mosses, and bird droppings.

We overcame the precipice, and I could see a large numbers of graves in the direction we were heading in.  As we approached, I heard a slight buzz.  Matt groaned and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“I have to get home for dinner, guys.  Sorry.  Maybe tomorrow.”

*Damn*, I thought.  I consoled myself with the knowledge that I couldn't have asked him now, anyway.  I could still enjoy this exploration- what appeared to be an antique cemetery, alone with my similarly-minded brother.  We stepped up, upon the artificially elevated ground of the yard, and looked around.  The rows went on for what seemed like forever.  I noticed a huge chamber near the center, which had to be a tomb for someone important.  As I went along, I observed the dates on the graves.  I was surprised at the age: they were almost exclusively from the mid-to-late 1700s, and the few exceptions were only slightly newer.  One must have been a young boy: his date of death was just before his eighth birthday.  Some had flowery patterns carved into the sides, and there were the customary cherubic angels tending to the invisible gardens growing atop the headstones.

I reached the massive tomb.  The faded brown doors exuded an antiquated feeling, and I could see that the stony sides were cracking.  Looking around and discovering no unwanted observers, I drew closer.  I saw notes and small trinkets scattered upon the small floor in front of the entrance.  Upon further inspection, the door was missing one of its bolts.  This rendered it almost imperceptibly ajar, but the opening was there.  I cautiously took another step forward and heard a crunch under my foot.  Curious, I leaned down and picked up the note.

The handwriting was scrawled hurriedly, and I could barely make it out on the piece of paper that was shredded at all corners.  After a little scrutiny, I picked out the strange message:

“NOT ME AGAIN”

I dropped it and ran blindly from the tomb.  My eyes scanned the graveyard and I realized that I didn't know where my brother was.  I tripped and fell, and collected myself against General Juan Pablo de la Trinidad's epitaph.  Slowly, I was able to calm myself, and rationalized it by acknowledging the likelihood of bored vandals.

My brother came trudging up from the left.  “A lot of old graves,” he quipped.

I brushed off my jeans, embarrassed at my former fright.   The sun now hung just a nickel's width above the Pacific, and I reminded my brother that we should head back.  I hadn't talked to Matt or seen the cool parts of the city, but I had tomorrow.  I still had to visit Fortunata, and who knew what she might show me?

title: The Old Cemetery

question: Who are the major characters?

answer:
The narrator and their brother, who are similar in nature.
Matt, who is a year older and familiar with the city.

question: What is the significance of the old cemetery?

answer: It is the setting of the story; other than this, it is unclear what the narrator is trying to achieve there.

question: Where is the story set?

answer: A cemetery in San Francisco.

question: Why does the note frighten the narrator?

answer: This is not explained.

question: Who/what is Fortunata?

answer: Context is not given in the story.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator and their brother meet Matt at an old cemetery in San Francisco, but Matt has to leave. The narrator decides to explore the cemetery anyway, and feels foolish after being frightened by a mysterious note on the ground.


text:
ROLAND TULLEN KUN (born May 6, 1970) is a Nauruan politician and Member of Parliament.

Political career

MP and Minister

Kun was elected in 2004 to serve as a Member of the Parliament of Nauru and served as Minister of Justice.[1]

Kun was elected to the seat of Buada in 2004, 2007, 2008, in the April and June 2010 elections, and in 2013. He was a member of the Scotty government from 2004 to 2007, a member of the Stephen government from 2007 to 2012, and a member of the Dabwido government for much of the first half of 2013.

From December 2007 to November 2011 he was Minister for Fisheries and Minister for Education. From June 2012 until February 2013, he held portfolios of Finance & Sustainable Development, as well as Education and Justice & Border Control.[2]

Kun is also an expert on fisheries, one of Nauru's main industries.

Crossing the floor

Kun was one of the founding members of reform group Naoero Amo (Nauru First).

He was appointed finance minister in 2012 by then President Sprent Dabwido, but resigned and defected to the Opposition after a disagreement with President Dabwido over the latter's declaration of a state of emergency.[3]

In 2013, Kun stood for the presidency against Baron Waqa but his party lost 13 to 5.

Suspension of Opposition members (ongoing current event)

In May 2014, Waqa suspended 5 of the 7 members of Nauru's Opposition from Parliament indefinitely, including Kun.[4]

The suspension of Kun and 2 of his opposition colleagues (Hon Dr Kieren Keke and Hon Mathew Batsiua) was made on the grounds that they had expressed views in the international media that were critical of the government and the breakdown of the rule of law.[5]

In June 2015, in a crackdown on Opposition MPs, the Waqa government arrested and cancelled the passports of certain opposition members claiming that they had been trying to destabilise the Government by talking to foreign media.[6][7]

As part of the move against opposition members, on 17 June 2015, the Government cancelled Kun's passport and had him forcibly removed from a flight to New Zealand where he had been living with his wife and children since being suspended from Parliament in 2014.[8]

Nauru's Supreme Court was due on 27 June 2015 to hear an application by Kun for judicial review to have his passport returned but the court deferred the application until 8 July 2015.[9]

On 11 July 2016 Kun fled Nauru for New Zealand, having been granted New Zealand citizenship and a New Zealand passport.[10]

Personal

Roland Kun is the son of Ruben Kun, a former President of Nauru and a member of Nauru's Parliament for 26 years.

Kun's cousin Russell Kun was also a former MP.

[1] Six new ministers named in Nauru cabinet line up

[2]

[3] http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-05-30/nauru-president-defends-state-of-emergency/4723940 Nauru's President defends State of Emergency

[4] http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/programmes/datelinepacific/audio/20142835/nauru-opposition-mps-still-in-limbo-over-suspensions

[5] http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/244277/nauru's-govt-suspends-opposition-mps Nauru's Govt suspends opposition MPs

[6] Extra cops called in to protect Nauru Govt http://m.nzherald.co.nz/world/news/article.cfm?c_id=2&objectid=11468615

[7] Radio NZ - Arrested MPs to appear in court - 20 June 2015 http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/276754/arrested-nauru-mps-to-appear-in-court

[8] Nauru court defers MP's passport appeal http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/277368/nauru-court-defers-mp's-passport-appeal

[9]

[10]

title: Roland Kun

question: What does the text say about the fishing industry of Nauru?

question: What does the text say about government positions held by Roland Kun?

answer: Roland Kun was elected to serve as a Member of the Parliament of Nauru in 2004. He also served as a Minister of Justice. Kun was elected to the seat of Buada in 2004, 2007, 2008, 2010, and 2013. He served as Minister for Fisheries and Minister for Education from 2007 to 2011. He was appointed Finance Minister in 2012 but later resigned.

question: What does the text say about Kun's political troubles?

answer: Kun's political woes started when he resigned from his post as Finance Minister and defected to the Opposition after a disagreement with President Dabwido. They didn't see eye to eye on the president's declaration of a state of emergency. In 2013, Kun's party lost the presidency to Baron Waqa, who suspended Kun and four other members of Nauru's Opposition from Parliament indefinitely, including Kun. Further political harassment, including his passport being canceled, has prompted Kun to take his family and flee to New Zealand, where they were given citizenship.


text:
GREG N. GREGORIOU (1956-2018) was a professor of finance and a native of Montreal, Quebec, Canada.

Gregoriou received his joint Ph.D in 2004 with a specialization in the area of finance from the University of Quebec at Montreal, Canada. He has edited 52 scientific books, authored 100 refereed publications in scientific journals and book chapters since he started teaching at the State University of New York (SUNY) Plattsburgh SUNY Plattsburgh in 2003. Professor Gregoriou specialized in hedge funds and CTAs, including research into the optimal number of hedge fund managers in a Fund of Hedge Funds (FoHFs) whereby the variance-reducing effects of diversification decrease once FoHFs maintain more than 20 underlying hedge funds 1 23. He was the derivatives editor for the Journal of Asset Management [1] and served on several editorial boards as a member for scientific journals such as the Journal of Wealth Management, the Journal of Risk Management in Financial Institutions, IEB International Journal of Finance 4, and the Brazilian Business Review. He taught at the University of Navarra in Pamplona (Spain), University of Vermont, and McGill University as a visiting professor.[2]

Selected books

-   Reconsidering Funds of Hedge Funds: The Financial Crisis and Best Practices in UCITS, Tail Risk, Performance, and Due Diligence, February 2013 at Elsevier Press, Burlington, MA, ).
-   Commodity Trading Advisors: Risk, Performance Analysis, and Selection, September 2004 at John Wiley & Sons, London, (co-edited with F.S. Lhabitant, V. Karavas and F. Rouah).
-   Stock Market Liquidity: Implications for Market Microstructure and Asset Pricing, January 2008 at John Wiley and Sons, (co-edited with F.S. Lhabitant), 528 pages.
-   International Corporate Governance After Sarbanes-Oxley, March 2006 at John Wiley and Sons, (co-edited with Paul Ali, 608 pages [3]
-   Hedge Funds: Insights In Performance Measurement, Risk Analysis and Portfolio Allocation, August 2005 at John Wiley and Sons, (co-edited with N. Papageorgiou, G. Hubner and F. Rouah, 653 pages [4]

[1] Editorial Board

[2] Profile, McGill University

[3] http://www.wiley.com/WileyCDA/WileyTitle/productCd-0471775924.html

[4]

title: Greg N. Gregoriou

question: How old was Greg N. Gregoriou when he passed?

answer: 62 years old.

question: Did Gregoriou study and work in the same country?

answer: No, he studied at the University of Quebec in Canada and taught at the State University of New York in U.S.A.

question: Summarize all the information relating to Gregoriou's academic specialization.

answer: Gregoriou specialized in hedge funds and CTA's. This includes research into the optimal number of hedge fund managers in a Fund of Hedge Funds.

question: Where did Greg N. Gregoriou teach?

answer: He taught at State University of New York in Plattsburgh. He also taught at the University of Navarra in Pamplona, University of Vermont and McGill University as a visiting professor.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Greg N. Gregoriou was a Canadian professor of Finance working at the State University of New York. He researched hedge funds and CTA's


text: KANYA THIENSAWANG (; ; born 8 August 1914 in Nonthaburi, Thailand), nicknamed LUCILLE () was the first winner of the Miss Siam pageant (now known as Miss Thailand), in 1934. Her mother was of Mon descent and she passed away when Kanya was 10 years old.

title: Kanya Thiensawang

question: Who was Kanya Thiensawang?

answer: the first winner of the Miss Siam pageant

question: What is the Miss Siam pageant now called?

answer: Miss Thailand

question: When was the first Miss Siam pageant?

answer: 1934

question: When was Kanya Thiensawang born?

answer: 8 August 1914

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: Kanywa Thiensawang was the first winner of the Miss Siam pageant.


text:
Venezuela has finally run out of other peoples’ money as their inflation hits one million percent. They have a Socialist answer for it though. They will simply chop off five zeros from their currency value and launch a state-backed cryptocurrency.

Remember when the left praised the Socialist country? Sean Penn would visit with other commie celebrities to tell Hugo Chavez how great his Socialist system is.

The New York Times was in awe, as Daily Signal reminds us.

“Since the [Hugo] Chávez government got control over the national oil industry, poverty has been cut by half, and extreme poverty by 70 percent,”wrote New York Times contributor Mark Weisbrot in the wake of socialist President Hugo Chavez’s re-election in 2012. “College enrollment has more than doubled, millions of people have access to health care for the first time and the number of people eligible for public pensions has quadrupled.”

They hit rock bottom in about five years.

Venezuela is an oil-rich country and was one of the richest countries in South America but then the people voted in socialism.

Now it’s a crime-infested Wild West. Ninety percent of the population is in poverty. Coffee costs 2 million Bolivars and the minimum wage is $1 a month. There roads are deteriorating, they have mass food shortages, foul water, failed electricity, and not enough medicine. Toilet paper and beer are luxuries few have.

The people scrounge through garbage for food and fish for pigeons for a meal.

The loons on The View and their idiot audience think we will be Sweden, not Venezuela with free everything.

Watch:

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[Learn more about RevenueStripe...]

[]

question: According to the author, what is Venezuela's inflation rate?

answer: According to the author, Venezuela has an inflation rate of one million percent.

question: According to the New York Times, what was the effect of the Chavez administration on poverty levels in Venezuela?

answer: According to the New York Times, the Chavez administration cut poverty by half and extreme poverty by 70 percent.

question: According to the author, what is the poverty level in Venezuela now?

answer: According to the author, the poverty level in Venezuela is now 90 percent.

question: According to the author, how long did it take Venezuela to "hit rock bottom?"

answer: According to the author, it took Venezuela five years to "hit rock bottom."

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The author points out recent problems with Venezuela and uses them to criticize socialism as a whole.


text:
[Feedback welcomed]

It was an unusually cold summer morning. The boy almost went back inside to get his jacket but thought it useless. He wouldn’t need it soon. The sky was clear like the crystal glass he saw at that restaurant his aunt had taken him to in Denver last year. He hefted his backpack up on to his shoulders.

“Ephram! Don’t go too far, your lunch will be ready in an hour!”, his mother called through the back screen door, her voice coming out like a short wave walkie talkie from the kitchen. “Yes M'am!” he shouted over his shoulder.

He didn’t plan on coming back. He was running away. If all went well, he’d have the lunch he packed in an hour instead.

Ephram Ricken ran. He ran along the same trail he’d known his whole life. His father already out tending to the rest of the farm, they’d left this field untended for over a decade in order to give them some extra privacy around their home as they hired ranch hands and hosted all sorts of agricultural inspectors.

At the end of the field was a grove of trees. A boy of 12 Ephram didn’t know exactly what kind of trees they were, but they had made his plan possible in the best of ways.

When he got to the grove, Ephram turned around and listened, watched, and waited. He needed to be sure no one had followed him. If either his Father or Mother found out what he was doing, his hide would be tanned like a rotting pear before sundown. After what seemed like a lifetime, Eph got up off his haunches and began to run into the grove satisfied that he was alone.

After a few minutes he grabbed hold of a 2x4 nailed to the trunk of a giant tree. The tree was giant in the way that all things are giant to children as they grow, an adult might call this tree “A bit larger than normal.” Eph scurried up the tree like an excited squirrel and found his way to the bottom hatch. Pushing against the bottom and holding the spring latch open, he opened it up and pulled himself inside. Immediately, he spun around and closed the hatch with his foot listening to the satisfying wooden ‘thunk’ it made as it sealed shut.

Eph scanned the inside of the faux treehouse. Looking at all the panels he flipped a switch behind him and watched as the instrument panel lit up like an overzealous neighbor’s yard in December from above. He looked at his watch '11:35 AM’. “Oh shit!” he muttered, surprised. He had waited to see if he was being followed longer than he had thought.

Quickly and with what was an obviously well rehearsed manner he began his pre-flight check. Out of his backpack he pulled an old iPod and a newer tablet computer that his Aunt had snuck to him at Christmas. He would miss Aunt April. He would miss his Mother and Father. He would not miss anyone else. He would not miss the names like “Effer” and “Ass burger” that the kids called him at school. For a moment Eph stopped and stared at the tablet screen in his hands thinking about all this. His reflection looked back at him. “Oh man, almost forgot!"

Checking his watch again, he hurriedly opened the floor hatch and dropped down out of sight. The tablet he had just plugged into the console lit up as Eph poked his head back inside, a stolen motorcycle helmet on his head.

Securing the hatch again quickly, Eph got into the pilot's seat and laid it back so that the back of the chair was flush with the floor of the treehouse. Looking directly up at the tablet. he reached forward and touched a red button displayed on the center of the screen. He then touched an identical button on the iPod strapped to the arm of his flight chair with duct tape. Both displays responded with a chime and began a count down. "60… 59… 58…” began the voice from the iPod.

Eph sat back and began to strap in using the repurposed seat belts he grabbed from an old work truck on the farm. They never wore them and his Father never even noticed they were missing. Attached to the old leather desk chair with duct tape yet again, the seat belts pulled away from the leather a bit, but Eph felt safe.

Back at the house, Melody Ricken opened the back screen door and shouted for Eph. “It’s about time for lunch Ephram, get washed up!”

Eph felt a rumble beneath him, as the primary boosters ignited. “5… 4… 3…” His squeezed his eyes shut hard and pressed his body against the back of the chair. “2… 1…” The christmas lights on the panel that he had borrowed from the attic flickered as the pressure against Eph’s chest mounted. He heard the tree tops peel away as his rocket pushed through them and into the sky. He wished that he had been able to find a windshield able to give him a good view and keep the craft pressurized, but typical Earth vehicle construction hadn’t quite reached that point yet.

Soon Eph would be in the stars, on his way to a new home.

Mystified, Melody watched as a ball of fire lifted from the grove a few acres out behind her property. She had first heart a rumble and then what sounded like an explosion. She hurried from the window to the screen door, pushing it open and running outside she called “Ephram, where are you?!” When no response came, she knew. She looked up and watched as the ball of fire disappeared into the blue sky. Tears beginning to cloud her vision, she smiled. She knew her boy was going home.

title: [SP] Runaway Ricken

question: What does the story say about why Ephram was running away from home?

question: How did Melody, Ephram's mother, know her son was going home when she realized he was in the rocket in the sky?


text:
TON SON MOSQUE () is a historic mosque in Sunni sect in Islam. Located on left bank of Khlong Bangkok Yai, Wat Arun Subdistrict, Bangkok Yai District, Bangkok's Thonburi side, opposite Bang Luang Mosque and Wat Moli Lokayaram.

Ton Son Mosque estimated to have been constructed before the reign of King Songtham (1610–28) of the Ayutthaya Kingdom. It is considered the oldest mosque in Bangkok and Thailand. It was renovated in 1954 in an attempt to restore the architectural style of the old mosque. Ton Son Mosque not only functions as a religious ground, but it also features ancient remains and relics that are worth seeing. At the outside of the building lies a graveyard of the chiefs of the Muslims in Thailand. The first name of the mosque was “Kudi Yai” (กุฎีใหญ่), an abbreviation of “Kudi Bangkok Yai” (กุฎีบางกอกใหญ่). Inside the mosque is the beautiful pulpit, called Mimbun, which has large pictures of Arabic calligraphy, a picture of the Kaaba and the plan of the mosque in Mecca, all using forms found in the period of King Taksin of Thonburi Kingdom.

Its name meaning _Pine Mosque_, because there are two pine trees in front of it.[1][2][3]

See more

-   Islam in Thailand

[1]

[2]

[3]

title: Ton Son Mosque

question: When was the mosque constructed?

answer: It is unknown, but estimated to have been before 1610

question: Ho did the mosque get its name?

answer: It is named after the two pine trees in front of it

question: When was the most recent renovation?

answer: It's not specifically stated, but the most recent mentioned here was in 1954

question: What other mosque is nearby?

answer: Bang Luang Mosque

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This article introduces Ton Son Mosque in Thailand. It discusses its history and some of the features of the mosque.


text:
I really had no business in this part of town. Nobody did. So what the hell was I doing here at 4 in the morning? But really, I couldn't care less where I was. Frankly, I'd prefer not being anywhere. Swirling around until a wisp of smoke took my stead. But still, here I was. I was cold and alone.

Not that there was anything new to that. I used to dream, just like everyone. Of the life I was going to live, the people I was going to meet. But I don't dream anymore. I don't expect, apprehend or anticipate. Eventually it all leads to one thing and that's bitter disappointment. The ability to cope with disappointment was not something I lacked, but even the strongest wall will tumble if it's rotten from the inside out.

I used to have friends. Family. A golden retriever. I used to have a reason to stick around. When all that was taken from me, I found a love to keep me around. But now, all I have is a sharp mind and a scrawny body. And they both hate each others' guts.

Imagine feeling sick. Trembling, shaking, shivering. Retching your empty stomach. Your head pounding, as if it's going to split in two at the slightest noise or flash of light. Your eyes burning, your mouth dry. Completely and utterly sick. Imagine hating yourself so much you want to literally pull your guts out through your throat. So much you want to torture yourself, were it not for the fact that no additional pain would even register. Imagine feeling all this. Then imagine you're walking alone through the most filthy, lonely, depressing part of town.

What would you have done?

title: Just wrote this and feel the urge to share. Please be gentle. 300 words.

question: How does the author feel?

answer: The author is lonely and depressive.

question: What does the author dream of?

answer: The author does not dream anymore.

question: Where is the author going?

answer: It is not stated. It seems it is an aimless walk.

question: How does the author look like?

answer: It is stated only that the author has a scrawny body.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: At 4 in the morning, the narrator is walking alone through a filthy, depressing part of the town and reflects on her life. The author used to dream of the life they were going to live, the people they were going to meet, but they don't dream anymore. The author used to have friends, family, a dog, and love, and all that was taken from them. All they have now is a sharp mind and a scrawny body. At the end, the author asks the reader what they would have done.


text:
Excerpts’ from “The Journal”

This is one of the journal entries from a book called “The Journal”.

Let me know what you think........

::

January 10th 7:55 am

It’s snowing. Still the first one here. I hate the snow. It took me 2 hours to drive to work and I smoked all my cigarettes. My head hurts. I have had the same head ache for 6 months. It seems to only go away when I am drunk or high. I remember a time in my life when I loved the snow. I was born in February, so snow was always reminded me of my birthday and that was exciting. I hate my birthday now too. I need more cigarettes.
I think it is the craziest shit in the world to go to work and pretend to be happy or excited to be there; when you are dying inside. If people acted the way they felt, everyone would fucking hate everybody. I hate the background noise of casual conversation. Who cares about your weekend, you’re probably telling me a lie about what you did anyway; so that you can think that I still respect you. If I told you the truth about what I did this weekend, you would think I’m fucking nuts. I can just imagine that conversation with these Midwest jerkoffs. “Oh, hey Bob, how was your weekend”? “Good, just relaxing, how ‘bout yours”? “Good, you know, the usual, got piss drunk wasted, blew coke in a bar’s bathroom until my nose was clogged and then spent Sunday masturbating in between throwing up”. Fuck these people. We have nothing in common. I am constantly acting. It’s hard not to curse.
I love coffee. I love coffee with cigarettes. I sometimes day dream about how awesome it was when you could smoke at your desk and basically anywhere you wanted. I have an old Playboy that shows add for TWA, where the hot stewardess is lighting the business man’s cigarette. That is awesome. But, I still think its ass backwards to smoke indoors. I hate the way you stink the next day after going to a bar that lets you smoke inside. It also seems to bring in the morons. I hate bar games. You can still smoke inside in my home town.  I hate my home town.
My dogs will probably shit inside my house today; they won’t go in the snow. They are good dogs though. We got them from the pound and they were abused as puppies. They have little scares on their feet from their cages at the puppy mills. What kind of soulless piece of trash do you have to be to abuse a fucking puppy? They were a gift to my fiancé.
We are getting married in September and moving to LA the first of the year. This is all I think about. I can’t wait to get out of here. I once planned to move there, but chickened out because I had to do it alone. Pussy. Now I have her and she wants to move there too, so it’s perfect. I don’t care if I have to be a bartender; at least it’s not here. At least there is some fucking culture and life and art and something to do besides, drink yourself to death every fucking weekend.  I am excited for every moment of our move; from the house hunting, to packing our shit, the drive, the hotels, the adventure. That is what life is about. Not this day-to-day Midwest bullshit, I suffer through. I am done playing this fucking corporate shit. I am successful, but fuck it, I hate it. People with any talent don't live here. I can’t stand anything about living here. The way people talk, the way people act, the fact that everyone is a grossly obese and no one seems to notice how fucking ridiculous that is. When the fuck did everyone become so fucking fat and stupid. I sometime wish I was stupid. That would be an easier road.
Someone just showed up. There goes my morning. fuck this.

title: The jounral of a someone

question: What is the main character's general emotional attitude?

answer: The main character appears to be angry. They use expletives often. They refer to other people around them with derision. The main character believes that they are better than the general people where they live. There is little that seems to make the main character happy, and they seem to be able to find fault with even the only action they enjoy — smoking cigarettes indoors.

question: What is the narrator looking forward to?

answer: The narrator is excited to move to L. A. with their partner. They believe that they will enjoy life more there, even if they have to be a bartender. They are sick of the corporate rat race in the Midwest. They want to move somewhere with culture.


text:
Get free expert mortgage advice from your multi award winning, Trusted Best Regina mortgage broker,  who’s number one motivation is always your BEST interest!

Hello and thank you for visiting my website, I hope you have some fun looking around and find what you are looking for. Please feel comfortable to contact me when you are ready to take the next step towards a mortgage! However my goal isn’t to simply help you get a mortgage with the BEST REGINA MORTGAGE RATES, my goal is to help you figure out a plan to pay off your mortgage as quickly as possible! I work from my Regina mortgage office , but have an extensive Canada wide network. I look forward to working with you. My Regina mortgage advice, opinions, and service comes at no cost to you!

So a bit about me! Growing up, I was never one of the jocks. Oh I played, soccer, hockey, and ball just like all the kids, but I was never really that good. Usually one of the last picked on the team… clearly it wasn’t my destiny to be a professional athlete.Instead, I loved puzzles, seriously, I was a pretty big nerd… my head was always buried in a crossword, brain teaser, mind bender, word search, or sudoku. As a Regina mortgage professional, nothing has really changed. I see every new clients’ mortgage as a puzzle that needs to be solved. Let me assure you, I do not rest until the solving is done! Specifically, some of the puzzles I enjoy working on now are clients who are new immigrants to Canada seeking their first mortgage, self employed, recently separated, or buying their first home and… First Time Home Buyers are a personal favourite – I like first timers even more than Sudokus!  As each client is different, handling FINANCING FOR INVESTMENT PROPERTIES,purchase plus improvements, MORTGAGE REFINANCING and mortgage renewals provides a unique challenge.

On a personal note, I am a proud husband and father. My wife Shawna and I have young twin boys,and we are a VERY active family. We travel, play outside, get dirty in the mud, and love to see and experience new things! Life is pretty good!

In 2017 I was approved as a TRUSTED REGINA MORTGAGE BROKER.  ALL the businesses featured on the Regina directory have been checked, verified and are annually contracted to uphold the 5 TRUSTED GUARANTEES of service!

Trusted Guarantees

1.  Provide the service and quality promised.
2.  Complete the job on time.
3.  Charge the price quoted with NO surprises.
4.  Communicate honestly and be responsive to customer needs.
5.  Resolve any issues with customer satisfaction in mind.

[]

question: When was the article written?

answer: Sometime after 2017

question: Who is the author?

answer: That information can't be found

question: What is "Regina mortgage?"

answer: A network of mortgage brokers in Canada

question: Where is the author based?

answer: They work from their Regina mortgage office, but claim to have a Canada-wide network

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The author shares some information about himself and offers his services as a Regina mortgage broker.


text: It was 3am and I needed a ride home. I had a place to stay, but no idea how to get there. A car was driving up so I flagged it down. The driver seemed like I could trust him so I got in his truck and attempted to tell him how to get to where I needed to go. He was from out of town and was as familiar with the area as I was. He asked what I had to do, and I said nothing. He was passing through town to pick up sections of a chopped up tree that he could later turn into firewood and sell. He said his place overlooked Morrow Rock and asked if I wanted to go back there with him and smoke. I agreed on the condition that he gave me a ride back. He had a cool dog. It was a 6 month old boxer/pitbull with a black coat and amazing, bright, cream colored eyes. His name was Lazarus. The car ride was about 25 minutes long and he did most of the talking. I answered in short sentences that had a hint of an attitude that said “Don’t fuck with me”. He was a lonely man with no one left in the world. His dad died when he was young, and his mom is a drug addict who he regularly sells prescription pills to. Their latest transaction was pills in exchange for about a quarter eighth of an ounce of weed, which we later smoked. He was 28 and had a 9 year old kid who he never saw. This man only had his dog, and that night he needed a friend to talk to. He was a meth addict, which although he later told me, was evident from his firewood scheme, disjointed ideas, and overall behavior. He lived with an air of uneasy and uncertain enthusiasm. This was the reason for my slight attitude. He needed to know that I was only here to talk. I was not someone to be messed with. He needed to know that I was smart, and that the things he told me didn’t frighten or alarm me. I laughed at his 3 prison stints and called him an idiot for going that many times. I had his respect, and he told me everything he could think of. When we got back to his place, I saw Morrow Rock just past the inland part of the bay that was about 300 yards in front of me. We entered the door of the garage and I saw that this was not his house. He lived on a mattress next to the clutter of a senior citizen that hadn’t given much thought to a room like this in more than 15 years. There was a fridge from which he handed me a Gogurt and a water. He told me that the woman who owned the house used to swim with William Hurst in his beautiful pools of gold leaf and Roman architecture. His father had known her, and apparently he was doing some job on the house for her. It looked like nothing more than squatting. He told me about how he got kicked out of school at 16, and about kayaking in the bay when the tide was high, and about his favorite boyhood potato gun. He told me about his fear of being alone, and how he preferred to have someone with him as much as he could. His mom pays for the food that he and Lazarus eat. We smoked and talked until 8am, and then we started splitting wood. It was what he loved to do. He said his dad had bought him the hydraulic powered machine that I used, which he called a splitter, to separate the wood that they used to get from cutting down trees. At 8am the city allowed the operation of machinery. He took a brand new chainsaw out of his truck and cut wood that was 3 feet in diameter after we unloaded it from the bed. We turned sections of trees into firewood fit for a campsite. We finished up around 10am and I asked him to drive me home. He had been waiting to hear from his mom so that she could give him money to fill up his gas tank, but we had already agreed that I’d be back where I needed to be by 11am. He put 3 gallons of gasoline that was meant for the chainsaw in his tank. As we drove back to town he tried to convince himself that putting gasoline mixed with oil in his truck wouldn’t harm it, but he had no basis, or power to reason why that was true. I gave him a series of statements that followed logically and gave him reason to believe that it would be fine, even though I had no idea if the premises were true. He dropped me off at the local Right Aide around 11am, and gave me his phone number. I didn’t know his name and substituted it with August 26, 2012 in my phone. He honked as he drove away, and I thought about an interesting night spent with a man who didn’t have much hope. He had a very privileged youth, and his life could have been a thousand times different. But this is who he was, and after a sleepless night I was glad to have known him. I thought for the rest of the day about his life, and those whom he had known. I hoped that life could change him, and wondered if it could. In the hot, morning sun I hoped that he could move on to better things than splitting wood, and to be more than a date in a directionless man’s phone.

title: Addicted

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: A directionless man, unnamed.

question: When does the story take place?

answer: August 26, 2012.

question: Who gives the narrator a ride?

answer: A drug user, unnamed.

question: What happens on the drive?

answer: The first drive is short, to the driver's place, and the second drive to where the narrator needs to go is fueled by the wrong kind of gasoline, which makes for an anxious trip.

question: Who is Lazarus?

answer: The driver/drug user's dog.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator needs a ride to the place where he's staying and hitches one with a man who ends up spending a few hours together. The driver is a drug user with a dog named Lazarus who tells the narrator about his life while they smoke weed and chop wood for the driver to sell. The driver puts chainsaw gasoline into his car to take the narrator to where he's staying, which makes for an anxious trip but doesn't result in any incidents.


text:
Urban legends are a sort of wish. They are a prayer borne from the suffocating dullness of life. But sadly, more often than not, the truth behind urban legends is just as boring as the people who imagine them. We dream of such possibilities because we, as the boring, don’t truly understand what it means to be interesting. The only time life becomes exciting is when there are things of value at stake. This cannot happen in the safe little bubble we build for ourselves. So we create these legends in lands far away starring people we’ll never meet because despite our infinite wishes for a more exciting life, none of us is willing to pay the price of excitement.

Humans are impossibly powerful. As a collective being, they can create anything and destroy anything. Entire worlds can be obliterated by humans. So what happens when the entire race all believe in an urban legend? Things move into place. Things happen as if by divine providence to make sure that this legend exists somewhere in this world. Somewhere in this world, there is suffering and cruelty, and why is this? It is because we all wished it to be so.

This is a story of entirely human creation. This is the legend that we have created. The suffering in this story is our fault. The deaths of these people are our fault. But ask yourself, would you really want to live in a world without suffering? What if every dollar you ever made was yours forever to keep? Would you really cherish each and every paycheck? We want this world to suffer. We want these people to die. Because if their lives aren’t used to remind us of the fragility of our own, who’s would?

Then, maybe, perhaps just maybe, there might arise a hero to remind us of our own glory. This hero will transcend our understandings of our own courage, compassion, and humanity. This hero will never be born from the safety of an air conditioned living room. No, this hero can only be born out of the most desecrate of positions and in these impossible conditions; this hero must thrive through his own power and will.

-

“We can’t let this continue!” Her voice booms in front of the crowded street in front of her. Her 6 foot figure towers on the podium in front of the crowd of people of all ages, sizes, and colors. Their eyes look at her hungrily. “These people do not deserve to suffer while we have so much! We all have the ability to save a life!”

She is wearing a lot of makeup. The foundation alone cost her hundreds of dollars. She is young for the amount of power she has, she is only in her early thirties. “It is one thing to reduce yourself to poverty, and quite another to be born in poverty!” She is the champion of the poor. “The children in the slum grow up on violence, disease, scarcity, hunger, parasites, predators, and death! Most of their parents die before they are even ten!”

She is wearing a blue blazer that cost somewhere in the thousands. She clutches the podium hard in her passion. Her mouth moves very deliberately illuminating her deep red lipstick. Her diamond wedding ring leaves an indent upon the lavish oak podium. “That is why my company is starting Project Persist. I hope that we can set an example for the rest of the world to follow.” The cameramen scamper to every corner of the crowd trying to find the perfect angle. “I implore the rest of the world to forget about your selfish greed for just a second for the children in these slums!”

The crowd erupts into applause. They have all gathered in the extreme summer heat to show their appreciation of this woman. She is the champion of the poor. Their standing is only made possible by multiple high powered electrical fans stationed sporadically around the street. These are the supporters of the poor.

The woman on the podium raises her hand to silence the crowd. She waits patiently as they calm down. “Let us join together to combat the evils of poverty! No child deserves to die for something a dollar could’ve fixed. No brother deserves to be forced into violence to provide his family with something a dollar could provide. No mother deserves to mourn over a loss that a dollar could’ve prevented.” The woman puts her slender right hand over her heart. Her thumb covers her pearl necklace. “That is why I have dedicated my company to saving the slums! Unity Health will do everything within its power to save these children from utter destruction! Starting today, we launch Project Persist! This will be the cornerstone project of the world.”

The crowd once again erupts. They look up through their minor sweat and discomfort to the angel of the downtrodden. The woman steps away from the podium into the open stage, careful to balance on her new thousand dollar heels. She takes from behind the podium a bottle of the finest champagne money can buy. She will spare no expense for the battle against poverty. “Let us commemorate this moment with a drink. I, Charlie Swearinger, swear that with the power of my company, I will provide the sick the medicine they need to not just survive, but to prosper! I will supply the slums with as much medicine as they could ever hope for and eliminate all disease in the area so that there will be less death, less violence, and less poverty!”

Charlie opens the bottle of champagne making sure to shake it thoroughly before doing so. Champagne shoots out of the bottle spilling on the crowd below. They laugh and scream, dancing in the most expensive shower in the world. Charlie takes a swig of it once the foam has stopped erupting. “In the spirit of spreading wealth, I have decided to partner with a small distribution company, Angel Company, which I believe will empower them to realize their own potential. I have high hopes for Project Persist.”

The crowd re-erupts into applause much louder than before. They pound their hands together so hard that it hurts. They smile maniacally with their glazed eyes open as wide as they can go. They don’t want to miss a second of their messiah saving the world.

Charlie didn’t have high hopes for Project Persist. She only agreed to supply Angel Company with expired medicine. She only agreed to partner with the cheapest and smallest distribution she could without seeming stupid. She only agreed to Project Persist to combat the fallout of a known failure in one of her more widespread drugs. Angel Company had stupidly agreed to all responsibility and liability of the project. All she had to do was give them the drugs.

She did this because it was inevitable. As if by divine providence we force the legends we imagine in our hearts to come true. We don’t purposefully create suffering, nor do we deliberately deliver pain. Instead, we unconsciously create the conditions where pain and suffering become inevitable. We take more than we need. We admire the selfish and exonerate the greedy. Subconsciously, we know that if others have less, we have more, and the less other people have, the more we appreciate what have.

So our sole purpose in life becomes to acquire as much as we can obtain. We call it self-actualization and we call it realizing our own potential, when really it is simply taking from others so that we may be relatively better off. Through our insatiable need to love our own lives, we demand that the world suffer for us. We demand that we create stories and legends of immense pain and redemption as to remind ourselves of our own pleasures. So we torture the world. And sometimes, just maybe, a hero might arise from this torture to remind us all of the humanity that we have lost, if only for a second.

It is to this end that we have created this broken city.

title: [AA] This Broken City: Chapter 0

question: Summarize the origin of urban legends.

answer: The author describes urban legends as wishful thinking, the result of a dull life. The collective power of humans can create or destroy anything, so when every person believes in an urban legend, things in the universe move into place to make it a reality. Suffering in the world is attributed to the desire for it by those more fortunate, so they can find more value in life.

question: Summarize what the passage says about Project Persist.

answer: Project Persist was established by Charlie Swearinger with her company Unity Health. The goal announced to the public is to work to empower impoverished communities by eliminating disease. This includes partnering with a small distribution company, Angel Company. However, the real plan is to foist expired medicine on Angel Company after they have unknowingly but legally accepted liability, in order to combat the fallout of a widespread drug failure by Unity Health.

question: Summarize Charlie's speech.

answer: Charlie Swearinger gives an impassioned speech about saving the poor from disease. Her company, Unity Health, is launching Project Persist, which plans to do just that. It is partnering with a small distribution company, Angel Company, in what Charlie claims is an effort to empower them and spread wealth. She says she has high hopes for the project.

question: What does the story say about the hero's childhood?


text:
Learning to surf wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. The jellyfish made me nervous, but if I acted as such everyone would think I was afraid. I shouldn't be, really. It's just a small sting - not as bad as a bee or a wasp. Maybe like that of a fire ant's...The jellyfish still made me nervous.

Maybe I seemed afraid because of the time my family visited Florida when I was a child. The jellyfish there were small and invisible. At least these jellyfish were big and purple. Maybe it was the guy who I overheard saying that he was stung on the face. What if I got stung in the eye? Or my mouth? What if I got stung on my dick? He got stung in the face and is still out here, he isn't afraid.

I touched a big purple jellyfish. I hadn't seen it. I jumped. I touched the top where there are no tentacles. It felt like cold, wet human skin. I jumped back as if I were afraid. I can't be afraid, my girlfriend is watching. I should just keep surfing.

title: Jellyfish

question: Why was learning to surf easier than the narrator thought?

answer: That information isn't mentioned in the document.

question: Describe the jellyfish.

answer: The narrator describes them as being big and purple with tentacles and the ability to sting.

question: What is the narrator's biggest source of conflict?

answer: The narrator has a fear of jellyfish.

question: How does the story end?

answer: The narrator tries not to be afraid of the jellyfish because his girlfriend is watching. He continues to surf.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator discusses their time surfing, and how it was easier to learn than they thought. However, they have a fear of jellyfish. He touches a jellyfish, and feels fear. He decides to not be afraid because his girlfriend is watching, and urges himself to continue surfing.


text:
First things first, let's answer that question: No, it's not too early. While there are major technological limitations with mobile VR -- horsepower, among many other issues -- Samsung's Note 4 is a shockingly capable device for virtual reality experiences. In our time with it, video looked sharp; there was no perceptible lag between turning my head and what I saw on screen; and navigating the UI was a snap. Is it hot? Yes. Are the graphics less impressive on Gear VR than on, say, Sony's Project Morpheus or Oculus VR's latest dev kit? Absolutely. No question about it. But is it capable of providing a great virtual reality experience, regardless of those handicaps? I believe it is.

SET UP

I plugged the Note 4 into the Gear VR headset by removing the headset's front cover and slotting the phone into a micro-USB dock. The parallel area has a latch where the top of the phone nestles in, and that's it: The Note 4 is paired with the Gear VR headset.

If you want to slot the cover back on the Gear VR, you can. Or not! If you want to adjust the straps so it stays snug to your head, that's another option. And when you've finally got it secure on your noggin, an adjustable dial on the top of the headset allows for focusing your view (that means no changing out lenses for nearsighted and farsighted folks -- just adjust the distance as needed).

[]

Notably, I encountered a few issues while removing and placing the phone: If you accidentally open up an application on the phone while placing it, for instance, that might break the pairing. A few times, Samsung reps had to outright reset the Note 4 and start from scratch because it froze. These are prototype devices and not the final product that'll ship to consumers later this year, but there's some roughness to how the phone is physically paired. A slight jingle plays when it connects, which is a nice touch, but I'd also like a more secure docking area. It feels like trying to jam a phone into a micro-USB port at an awkward angle, and that's not a great first experience.

[]

Samsung product manager Joo Namkung told me his team named the first Gear VR the "Innovator Edition" specifically because of these rough edges. Samsung's PR for the device describes the first Gear VR in a similarly couched way: "Designed for innovative consumers, specifically VR enthusiasts, developers, mobile experts and professionals, and early technology adopters." While the headset is certainly a play for the mainstream, Samsung is keenly aware that it's got improvements to make in the next model -- if there is a next model, of course.

HARDWARE

Let's get the unexciting stuff out of the way right now: Gear VR has an accelerometer and a gyrometer for tracking head movement. That means it only tracks where you're looking and not depth; if you move your head forward or backward in the real world, that movement isn't reflected in the virtual one. And that stinks.

When you turn your body all the way around and look behind where you're sitting (in the real world), and there are no wires stopping you from looking wherever you want, that is _magical_.

[]

This duality is at the heart of Gear VR, but it applies to all mobile VR at the moment. No wires means better immersion, which is crucial for delivering the promise of "presence." No wires also means no dedicated video feed from an autonomous device (like a PlayStation 4 or a PC, for instance). While Sony tackles depth tracking with its PlayStation 4 camera and Oculus handles it with a camera peripheral of its own, Gear VR is dependent on the hardware in the phone and headset. That is both a benefit and a curse with current technology.

There is no "screen" -- Gear VR uses your Note 4 screen, which is of the 5.7-inch, Quad HD (2,560 x 1,440) Super AMOLED variety. It looks crisp, and the Cirque du Soleil video I watched was neat. When I turned quickly, I wasn't able to discern any major irregularities ("screen-tearing" or other nasty hitches). It's got a 96-degree field of view (just four shy of Oculus Rift's latest kit) and a 60Hz refresh rate. There's a square touchpad, a back button and a volume rocker on the right side of the headset; the touchpad is used for tap-based selecting, while the back button is both for exiting software and enabling pass-through video mode (both of which I'll get to in the next section).

Gear VR isn't very large (198 x 116 x 90mm), nor is it very heavy (exact specs aren't available), and I wasn't ever uncomfortable wearing it. The padding around the eyes can be replaced easily, which Namkung calls a necessity for longtime users.

[]

Samsung's been working on the Gear VR for approximately 1.5 years now, and Namkung says some of the development units -- the ones we heard about so much back in May -- got a little rough around the edges after prolonged use.

Audio is handled by the Note 4, and it's of the "3D spatial sound" variety. That just means that it sounds like it's going to both of your ears despite the fact that it's coming out of the Note 4's non-stereo speaker setup. This actually works better than expected: Audio consistently sounded like it surrounded me, which makes the immersive experience all the better.

SOFTWARE

This is Oculus' first consumer product and, bizarrely, it's on a Samsung device. Oculus VR CTO John Carmack personally led the mobile software development team at Oculus, and the software interface is all built in collaboration with Samsung. It's basic: Point a reticle in the middle of the screen at what you want to select and tap the touchpad to select it. The options are sparse and base level, and the only content management that exists right now is a store of sorts. It looks like the Google Play store to an extent, except it's floating in space.

There were a few demos to check out, and they were mostly video. The aforementioned Cirque du Soleil performance that puts you directly on stage for the show was a standout, as was an underwater game where a whale floated past. None of this was meant to demonstrate launch content, but to demonstrate the potential of the hardware.

Gallery: Samsung Gear VR (Hands-on at IFA 2014) | 35 Photos

[]

Do I want to sit and watch a film in a VR headset? I'm not sure that I do, but maybe you do! It's a neat gimmick to turn and look around the stage where Cirque du Soleil performs, and Samsung's got a bunch of heavy-hitting Hollywood folks on board with VR, but it's hard to get excited about just yet. Without interactivity, it's just a 360-degree, head-mounted display device, and that's not what I want from virtual reality. When filmmakers start shooting with VR in mind, then we'll see.

Gallery: Samsung Gear VR software | 5 Photos

[]

The most important software on Gear VR is video passthrough. By long-pressing the back button on the headset, the Note 4's 16-megapixel rear camera shows a feed of the real world (albeit a slightly delayed one). While this can be used for augmented reality applications, it's also sure to be a standard in all VR headsets going forward. Using a headset and want to sip your tasty beverage? Video passthrough. The dog's barking and you're wondering what's up? Video passthrough. You want to do literally anything without having to remove the whole headset? Video passthrough. Seriously, this is a standard-setting situation. Expect it from the competition.

Okay, one major question remains: Since the Note 4 is a phone, what happens if you get a notification when you're using it with Gear VR? Samsung doesn't know. Namkung said his team is split on the decision, with some arguing the phone aspect should trump the immersion of VR. In so many words, people won't want to ignore their phone just because they're using Gear VR. But getting a ringing phone call in your face all of a sudden sounds pretty intense! It's certainly an issue Samsung is aware of, though the decision hasn't been made just yet. Might I suggest making it optional?

WHEN DOES GEAR VR COME OUT? HOW MUCH DOES IT COST? _WHAT'S THE DEAL?_

[]

The only information on availability is "this year," and there is no price just yet; it'll be available for purchase online and through "select carriers." Considering how low-tech Gear VR is, and the fact that Samsung's pushing a product into a market that doesn't really exist just yet, I expect the company will aim as low as possible in terms of pricing.

When you do get one, it comes with a 16GB microSD preloaded with a variety of "360-degree videos and 3D movie trailers from major studios" (that'll go into the Note 4, naturally). Oh, and you'll need a Note 4 (not a Note 4 Edge -- _just_ the Note 4), as Gear VR is built to work with only that device.

_Dana Wollman and Zach Honig contributed to this report._

_All products recommended by Engadget are selected by our editorial team, independent of our parent company. Some of our stories include affiliate links. If you buy something through one of these links, we may earn an affiliate commission._

[Comment]

 Comments

question: What device is being discussed in this article?

answer: The Samsung's Note 4 is being discussed in this article.

question: What does the Note 4 pair with?

answer: The Note 4 pairs with the Gear VR headset.

question: Who is Samsung's product manager?

answer: Samsung's product manager is Joo Namkung.

question: What does the Gear VR have for tracking head movement?

answer: The Gear VR has an accelerometer and a gyrometer for tracking head movement.

question: How long has Samsung been working on the Gear VR?

answer: Samsung has been working on the Gear VR for approximately 1.5 years.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: This article describes a new virtual reality device, Samsung Note 4, which pairs with the Gear VR. The article continues to describe the hardware, software, and set up of the device. All the mechanics built into the device are described in detail.


text:
« previous post | next post »

This is a topic that we have frequently broached on Language Log:

-   "Character Amnesia" (7/22/10)
-   "Character amnesia revisited" (12/13/12)
-   "Spelling bees and character amnesia" (8/7/13)
-   "Character amnesia and the emergence of digraphia" (9/25/13)
-   "Dumpling ingredients and character amnesia" (10/18/14)
-   "Character amnesia in 1793-1794" (4/24/14)
-   "Japanese survey on forgetting how to write kanji" (9/24/12)

In several recent messages to me, Guy Almog has raised the issue once again.  This is not unexpected for someone whose ongoing research focuses on the changing writing and reading habits of native Chinese and Japanese speakers, and mainly with issues of memory and forgetfulness of hanzi / kanji.

I'm not sure when I began to employ the expression "character amnesia ".  So far as I know, the first time I used the term in print was in the 7/22/10 LLog post cited above.  But I'm fairly certain that I was already using it in my classes, lectures, and correspondence long before that time.

I remember being very happy when Jennifer 8. Lee published her noteworthy article titled "In China, Computer Use Erodes Traditional Handwriting, Stirring a Cultural Debate" in the 2/1/01 NYT because it brought to public attention a phenomenon that I had already been witnessing for at least a decade before that time.  Namely, my Chinese friends who were coming to rely on computers for the bulk of what they wrote in Chinese complained about the stark attrition of their ability to write characters by hand, and they directly attributed this loss of handwriting ability to their use of computers.

Jennifer 8. Lee did not use the expression "character amnesia" in her 2001 article, but I distinctly recall bringing her remarkable piece to the attention of many friends, students, and colleagues, and was probably already using the expression "character amnesia" from around that time, if not before.

It's very interesting that Guy has dug up a Japanese review for a Sony DD-IC2050 electronic dictionary device that was published 18 days after Jennifer 8. Lee's article that, as Guy says:

…contains the sentence: “文字拡大機能も引き続きあって、加齢眼にもやさしいし、漢字健忘症に も役立つ。” (Something like: “[It] has a function of continuous characters-enlargement, good for “elderly eyes” and is also useful for KANJI AMNESIA”).

 (see here) [emphasis added by Guy])

Guy also located a tellingly titled "Calligraphy still holds the key to mastering kanji" (3/18/09) article by Mark Schreiber in The Japan Times that begins:

I recently encountered a new term that’s a real mouthful: IT依存性漢字健忘症 (IT _izonsei kanji kenbōshō_, KANJI AMNESIA due to dependence on information technology). The word acknowledges that the proliferation of word processors has weakened people’s ability to recall both individual kanji characters and compound words.

(see here [emphasis added by Guy])

Clearly, the idea that electronic devices for composition with Chinese characters are related to character amnesia was in the air around that time.

Computers and other electronic devices are both a cause of and a solution for character amnesia.  This is a formulation that William Hannas has often put forward.

As I've observed over and over again, people who use computers and other electronic devices as their primary means for writing in characters constantly bemoan the fact that they forget how to write them by hand.  Consequently, they grow reliant on these devices to write with characters.

I would suppose that the expression "tí bǐ wàng zì 提笔忘字" ("picking up the brush / pen, [you] forget [how to write] a character"), or something like it, has been around as long as characters have existed.  It's like "on the tip of my tongue", when you forget a word you want to say — the same sort of feeling, though the one has to do with writing and the other with speaking.  Both of these are entirely natural phenomena.

Guy has been trying to trace the origins of this expression, "tí bǐ wàng zì 提笔忘字" ("picking up the brush / pen, [you] forget [how to write] a character"), which is sometimes used as a translation of sorts for "character amnesia", and vice versa.  So far, the oldest usage he has found was in a 1957 article by Yán Wénjǐng 严文井 titled “Yī ge wàiháng de yìjiàn 一个外行的意见” ("An outsider's opinion").  He also wonders whether it can be counted as a chéngyǔ 成語 ("set phrase").

April 22, 2016 @ 8:20 pm · Filed by Victor Mair under Language and computers, Writing, Writing systems

Permalink

question: What is "character amnesia"?

answer: Character amnesia, as described by the author, is the phenomena in in which individuals lose their ability to write hanzi or kanji by hand due to their reliance on computer typing systems.

question: Is there a relationship between the use of computers and loss of hanzi/kanji handwriting ability?

answer: This is not explicitly answered, but the author seems to be doing historical and cultural research on this subject.

question: Who is Jennifer Lee?

answer: Jennifer Lee wrote an article titled, "In China, Computer Use Erodes Traditional Handwriting, Stirring a Cultural Debate" that was published in the New York Times.

question: What is the oldest use of the idea of "character amnesia"?

answer: A 1957 article by Yan Wenjing that is titled “Yī ge wàiháng de yìjiàn 一个外行的意见” which can be translated to "An Outsider's Opinion."

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article gives some insight into the phenomena known as character amnesia, in which individuals are find they are unable to write hanzi/kanji by hand due to their reliance on computer typing systems.


text:
I'm writing a story entitled "the exudes of man". Now this is just a sample, and I understand that the tile probably does not fit the chapter, but I don't want to give the whole book away!
Just a heads up, I understand my spelling and grammar is not top notch,  so I would greatly appreciate it if you could help me out :) Also, if you have any suggestions, or even theories on what you think will/should happen, choose would be much appreciated

Cheers!

Mountains scraped the sky, where mist met the sun. A single beam of light shone upon the Arolla Pines that surrounded the clearing. Blood dripped from beneath the sunlit trees, but there was no need to guess why, for corpses hanging from the tall elegant trees were a more common sight than nought. In the distance a horn bellowed as shrieks filled the hazy air. Horns could only mean a hunt. Or perhaps a find. Either way it was better to be in the foot hills, were curious feet were less likely to find you. The safety the mountains offered was countered by the only thing deadlier than being found. Being frozen.
The haze of morning quickly faded into the heat of the early afternoon. Step after step he was brought closer to the rolling foothills, mindlessly he stared at them glimmering in the near distance. Noon had come & passed sooner than he would have thought, for in mid-summer, days seem to last forever, but now in late fall, they wilted away like paper.
“damit, the ice is coved in blood!”
 “well, don’t let that slow you down, there's nothing’ scary about a corpse”
the sounds of men, once a welcome & righteous sound, now only struck fear. Any time you can hear a man, he's close enough to kill you.
“search him. The last one had food, maybe this one has some to.”
 “I won’t be going anywhere near this un, he only looks half dead” perhaps it was a blessing those men started to argue, for when men yell, no one sees shadows move. Or mayhaps it was a cure, better to die a clean death, then to find yourself in a trap.
A fiery red mountain peak passed slowly on the left, only to revile the amber sun, bleeding light on to the sky. There would be no sun rise on the morrow. Darkness would blanket the land soon. There was a time when the light of the moon brought life & a certain mystery, but know it seemed, the moon brought no light at all.
 A low hanging branch of tall and twisted silver fir swayed in the wind, with goldcrests chirping in disapproval. Then, suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. With the disappearance of the goldcrests came the bellowing of the horns. The world froze in terror, as the cold screeches scraped the freezing winter air. They were entering the foothills.

title: A short story I'm writing

question: Who are the main characters of the story?

answer: The narrator; Two men who confront him; Others who blow horns and hunt are also referred to.

question: What are the main events?

answer: The narrator makes his way alone to the foothills to find shelter from the cold and protection from the hunt. He is confronted by men who start arguing giving him an opportunity to slip away. He hears the bellowing of the horns, the world freezes in terror.

question: Where is this story set?

answer: It is set during late fall in a mountainous region with pine woods.

question: Explain what is being hunted.

answer: From the text it would seem people are being hunted.

question: Explain the reason for the hunt.

answer: It is not stated in the text. It is implied that it is for sport with bellowing of horns and the way the corpses are disposed of.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator makes his way alone to the foothills to find shelter from the cold and protection from the hunt. He notes the ice covered in blood from dripping corpses in the forest clearing. He is confronted by men who start arguing giving him an opportunity to slip away. He hears the bellowing of the horns, the world freezes in terror.


text:
Somewhere, there's a little boy who wants nothing more than a PC for christmas. He's been good all year and wrote a letter to GabeN asking for a gaming PC, even if it's just a small one.
His parents found the letter and were not amused. The peasantry in his family ran deep and his mother said that they couldn't afford a $5000 PC.
"But mom, a PC is not more expensive than consoles! With steam sales and humble bundles you'll save money in no time", the little boy pleaded, but to no avail.
"GabeN isn't real and you're getting a PS4 for christmas", exclaimed his mother.
"Also you're a fat fag and I fucked your mom last night", added his enraged father.
The little boy was heartbroken. He didn't want another paperweight with potato graphics for christmas, all he wanted was a glorious battle station. Why couldn't they understand?
Christmas Eve came and went, his parents made him play CoD: Ghosts all evening on their PS3. The boy's eyes were starting to hurt from the low resolution and terrible framerate, but his father insisted that he cannot be done until he fulfilled his quote of racist expletives in voice chat for the day. They played until deep in the night and when he asked them if he could rest his eyes from the terrible graphics, they said that his eyes couldn't tell the difference anyway. His peasant parents taunted him saying this would be the only gaming he'd ever experience.
The boy shed a single tear and as it touched the ground, a wondrous thing happened. There was a loud noise on the roof and they all held their breath. Suddenly, down the chimney came the glorious presence of almighty GabeN. The peasants averted their eyes, for they could not comprehend his glorious resolution. The boy, however, watched in awe as GabeN approached and said in a soothing voice: "Boy, you have shown yourself willing to transcend the peasantry your house has been cursed with. No child shall be left wanting for a true gaming experience."
As he said these words, GabeN scratched his glorious beard and there appeared, right next to the TV, a battlestation.
"No, you cannot have a PC in the living room", shouted the parents, only now regaining the senses. GabeN, smiling at their childlike ignorance, merely said: "Go ahead, boy" and the boy turned on the PC. Instantly, the room was filled with bright lights. The SSD hard drive allowed the PC to power up in mere seconds. On the Desktop, there was but a single icon. It was a circle with a strange, Greek letter in the middle, that the boy did not immediately recognize. When he started the game, it struck him. The Lord GabeN had gifted him with Half-Life 3, the game of legends. Upon seeing the ingame graphics, his parents were weeping tears of disbelief.
"How can this exist?", the father stammered.
"How could we have been so blind?", the mother cried.
They each hugged their child and GabeN saw that his work was done. As he set out to leave, the family asked him how they could ever repay his kindness. He answered: "I ask only that you help other peasants in need of guidance." With those word he vanished, only the sparkling of his beard lingering a few more seconds.
The family played and played all through the night until they fell asleep by their new PC. In the chimney, faintly glowing, there were only the remains of their consoles.

title: Praise Gaben (By /u/Saufsoldat)

question: What is the message of the narrative?

answer:
The story is comparing the hardware performance of consoles with PCs using a not-so-subtle setting of a Christmas-themed story. In particular, the story is comparing the graphics of the PS3 with PCs. Much of the story's details are exaggerated, but it appears to have been done to achieve a humorous effect (the success of which is subjective).

The story focuses heavily on comparing the graphics between the two systems and doe snot really go into detail about comparing the gaming experience (it does mention financial savings in terms of software despite what is given to be a huge initial cost in purchasing the hardware). However, the story does not discuss the kinds of games available and what the playing experience is like. Because of this, we can safely say that the message is mostly giving a humorous approach to saying that PCs have better graphics.

question: Why does the little boy want a PC?

answer: The little boy considers the graphics of the PS3 to be low resolution, and that his eyes hurt because of it. So he wants to have a PC which will deliver better graphics.

question: How does the story resolve?

answer: When the Santa Claus analog of GabeN appears and gifts the child with what is apparently a high end PC system at the time of the story's writing. The parents' minds about PCs change when they see the graphics. They spend all night playing the PC while the consoles are disposed of in the chimney fire.

question: Who is GabeN?

answer: In the story, GabeN plays the role of Santa Claus -he is the recipient of the child's letter and he brings the gift. The story does not directly state who he is, though readers who are familiar with the video game industry would know that he is Gabe Newell, who is a prominent figure in the industry.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: A child writes to GabeN for a PC for Christmas, his parents find the letter and scold him. They want him to play the PS3 but the child says his eyes hurt because of the low resolution graphics. GabeN arrives and brings the child a PC. When the parents see the graphics of the PC, they abandon the consoles and play with child on the PC.


text:
Media mogul Rupert Murdoch has been re-elected chairman of Twenty-First Century Fox despite protests from shareholder groups who sought to separate the chairman and chief executive positions of the family-dominated company.

Shareholders elected the 82-year-old chief executive officer, his two sons, Lachlan and James, and the rest of the company's 12-person board during the meeting on Friday at the Fox studio lot in Los Angeles.

Shareholders Christian Brothers Investment Services and the British Columbia Investment Management Corporation in Canada unsuccessfully proposed the appointment of an independent chair of the company, citing "the level of family control, and the influence this may bring to the impending reorganisation".

Proxy advisory firm Institutional Shareholder Services recommended shareholders vote against Mr Murdoch and eight other directors including his sons, saying the company should have put its poison pill plan to a shareholder vote.

News Corp announced the poison pill provision in May before Mr Murdoch split News Corp into two companies, with News Corp retaining the newspaper and other media assets and Twenty-First Century Fox holding the movie, TV and other entertainment properties.

The poison pill would be triggered to prevent a hostile takeover if a buyer acquired 15 per cent or more of either company.

"Our new company deserves a fresh start," Timothy Schaler, an investor adviser for Christian Brothers, said at the meeting.

"For the board to ignore such a mandate shows disregard for corporate governance."

In addition to its recommendations to vote against the Murdochs, the ISS proxy advisory firm recommended a rejection of Twenty-First Century Fox president Chase Carey and board members David DeVoe, Roderick Eddington, James Breyer, Viet Dinh and Alvaro Uribe.

It endorsed independent directors Delphine Arnault, Jacques Nasser, and Robert Silberman, who were added to the board in June.

Twenty-First Century Fox countered the ISS rejection of board members by contending it needs Rupert Murdoch's "unique insight and strategic vision" in the joint CEO-chairman role and said the current board has delivered good returns for shareholders.

ISS's recommendations were a reversal from last year when it urged shareholders to back the slate.

But in 2011, ISS recommended clients vote against almost all of the board members amid News Corp's telephone hacking scandal that prompted the closing of the News of the World tabloid and scotched its bid for the remaining stake of British pay-TV provider BSkyB.

REUTERS

Posted 18 October 2013

question: When was the article written?

answer: Sometime after 2011

question: Who is Rupert Murdoch?

answer: A media mogul, and chairman and CEO of Twenty-First Century Fox

question: How did Institutional Shareholder Services recommend shareholders vote?

answer: They recommended shareholders vote against Murdoch and his sons

question: Who published the article?

answer: Reuters

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: Rupert Murdoch was reelected as the chairman of Twenty-First Century Fox despite protest from shareholder groups.


text: I grab my coat from the dusty old closet. Slipping the coat over my arm, I grab my hat and fit it snug on my head. I open the door into the world. It greets me with a gush of wind that pushes me aback. Taking a step onto the wooden porch that creaks with each step, I shut the door. I swing the coat over my shoulder and put my arms into it’s sleeves. Then I run. I run with each step pounding hard against my knees. The trees around me start to blur. I push myself harder. The wind at my back, I spread my arms. I can see the land ahead comes to an end. I keep going. I know I can fly. As I come to the edge I thrust myself forward. Giving no second thought that I can’t achieve my goal, I take a leap of faith. As I soar though the air, I can see the ground below and it makes my heart flicker with light. I can smile one last time.

title: To Smile One Last Time

question: Who is this?

question: Why can they fly?

question: Where are they going?

question: Is flying a metaphor?

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator puts on a coat and a hat, opens the door, believes in themselves, and flies off the porch.


text:
MARK J. MAZUR is an American economist who formerly served as Assistant Secretary for Tax Policy in the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

Early life and education

Mark Mazur received a bachelor of arts in financial administration from Michigan State University and earned a Ph.D. in economics from Stanford University.[1][2][3]

Career

Mazur early worked as a tax accountant for General Motors before spending four years teaching public finance at Carnegie Mellon University. Later, he entered government, working first as a staff member on the U.S. Congress' Joint Committee on Taxation and, later, in several middle management positions at the White House and the U.S. Department of Energy. He eventually moved to the Internal Revenue Service where he was appointed to the senior-level position of director of research, analysis, and statistics of income.[4][5]

In 2009 Mazur was appointed Deputy Assistant Secretary of the Treasury for Tax Analysis. He was named Assistant Secretary for Tax Policy in 2011, being confirmed to the post by the U.S. Senate the following year.[6][7][8]

In 2017, Mazur left the U.S. government to accept a position as director of the Tax Policy Center, a joint project of the Urban Institute and the Brookings Institution.[9][10][11]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

title: Mark Mazur

question: Who is Mark Mazur?

answer: He is an American economist who formerly served as Assistant Secretary for Tax Policy in the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

question: Describe Mazur's early life.

answer: He received a B.A. in financial administration from Michigan State University and earned a Ph.D. in economics from Stanford University.

question: Where was Mazur from?

answer: That information isn't specified, but it is clear he's from America.

question: What happened in 2017?

answer: Mazur left the U.S. government to accept a position as director of the Tax Policy Center.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article is about Mark Mazur, an American economist who served as Assistant Secretary for Tax Policy in the U.S. Department of the Treasury.


text:
MARY ALDEN OSGOOD CHILDERS (14 December 1875 – 1 January 1964) was an American-born Irish writer and Irish nationalist. She was the daughter of Dr. Hamilton Osgood and Margaret Cushing Osgood of Beacon Hill, Boston, Massachusetts. Her older sister was Gretchen Osgood Warren. Molly married the writer and Irish nationalist, Erskine Childers. Their son, Erskine Hamilton Childers, became the fourth President of Ireland.

Early life and family

Childers, affectionately called “Molly”, was born into a reputable Bostonian family that lived at 8 Beacon Street, Beacon Hill, Boston, Massachusetts. Physically disabled from the age of three following a skating accident, Childers was educated at home and was not mobile for the first 12 years of her life. Eventually she was able to move enough to ride horses, but she was never capable of walking without crutches. Her father, Dr Osgood, was a student of Dr Louis Pasteur and spent time with him in France and Switzerland. It was this research with Pasteur that enabled him to bring the first rabies antitoxin back to Boston, and in turn the United States. The Osgood's ancestry was directly linked to John Quincy Adams and Anne Hutchinson, and Molly was very proud and outspoken about this connection. Molly's mother Margaret Cushing Osgood encouraged her to read and to pursue a life in academia, as her disability would hinder other careers. The Osgood family home on Beacon Street was next door to the Boston Athenæum. Molly spent years of her childhood inside this library, reading for hours every day; several members of the Osgood family were among the first proprietors of the institution.[1][2][3]

Marriage

In late 1903, Molly was seated next to Erskine Childers at a dinner given by her aunt on Beacon Hill.[4] Erskine was in Boston on a ceremonial trip with Lord Denbigh and the Honourable Artillery Company.[5] By January 1904, after some weeks of courtship, the two were married at Trinity Church in Boston.[6] One Boston newspaper described their wedding as the most “distinguished gathering” of the season.[7]

Charities

During World War I, Molly was involved in politically difficult work with the Committee for Relief in Belgium. Due to the changing diplomatic situation with Germany during 1915–1918, the Belgian wartime refugees displaced by the conflict were at the centre of a cross-channel tug-of-war over the supply of desperately needed aid. Molly raised funds for them alongside her sister and mother. In January 1918, King George V conferred an MBE on her for this work.[8] She was also awarded the Médaille de la Reine Elisabeth from Queen Elisabeth of Belgium. She and her husband Erskine Childers were members of the Irish White Cross Society, which existed before the Irish Red Cross, she as a trustee, and he as a member of its executive committee.[9] Activist Maud Gonne was also a member of this organisation.[10] From 1916 to 1918, Molly was honorary secretary of the Chelsea War Refugees Fund.[11][12] After the Great War, in 1920, she joined the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF), one of the world's oldest peace organisations, later to be merged into the UNESCO of the United Nations.

Ireland and Republicanism

She was central to the July 1914 Irish Volunteers Howth gun-running on her and her husband's yacht Asgard. A photograph taken at the time with fellow-sailor Mary Spring Rice shows her beside the rifles and ammunition boxes.

Allegation of spying

In 2006, historian Michael T. Foy published a book _“Michael Collins's Intelligence War: The Struggle Between The British and the IRA 1919–1921”_[13] in which he suggested that Molly Childers might have been a spy for the British during the Irish War of Independence. Foy speculated that she volunteered for British intelligence before the couple moved to Ireland in 1918.[14] The claim was described by reviewers in Irish newspapers as “dramatic”,[15] “sensational”[16] and “a bottle of smoke”.[17]

The author discovered in British archives a series of intelligence reports which appeared to indicate that a woman with high-level access to Sinn Féin had been passing intelligence to the British forces. However, the name of the agent had been obscured by blue pencil in the British files stored in the UK National Archives at Kew.[18] The author noted circumstantial evidence which, in his opinion, suggested that Molly Childers might have been the spy, including the assertion that Childers had not shared her husband's enthusiasm for Irish independence, and the spy's use of American phraseology. He proposed that Molly Childers had “the qualities to carry off such a dangerous role” and that she “consistently displayed intelligence, courage, decisiveness and single-minded determination”, but acknowledged that there was no conclusive evidence.[19] However, Foy went beyond scholarly speculation when he claimed that Childers was the only person who could fit the profile of the spy.[20]

Nessa Childers, the daughter of Molly's son President Erskine Hamilton Childers, dismissed the evidence as “circumstantial”, saying in a television interview that “it just doesn't fit with her character”. She questioned the evidence that the spy was female, and noted that “Up until the day she died she had photographs of Liam Mellows, Liam Brady and Rory O'Connor on her bedside and she revered them. It doesn't follow that such a person could have put those people's lives at risk.”[21]

Historian Peter Hart, who has consistently challenged republican historiography, said that Foy's theory “does seem to fit the facts as presented”, but noted that “all the other facts we know about thoroughly republican Molly suggest that it simply cannot have been true, and there are other good reasons to be cautious”. Hart noted that the inaccuracy of some of the intelligence suggested a source trying to tell British “hardliners just what they wanted to hear”.[22]

[1]

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[7] _The Boston Globe_, 6 January 1904.

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title: Molly Childers

question: Summarize everything related to Childers' family.

answer: Childers was born into a reputable Bostonian family. Due to her being disabled for the majority of her early life, she was educated at home. Her father's ancestry is linked directly to John Quincy Adams and Anne Hutchinson. Childers married Erskine Childers in January 1904. Childers' son, Erskine Hamilton Childers, became the fourth President of Ireland.

question: Explain the allegations against Childers' involving spying.

answer: Historian Michael T. Foy published a book in 2006 titled "Michael Collins's Intelligence War: The Struggle Between The British and the IRA 1919-1921" where he suggested that Molly Childers might have been a spy for the British during the Irish War of Independence. Foy found a series of intelligence reports which indicated that a woman with high-level access to Sinn Fein had been passing intelligence to British forces. However, the name of the person had been obscured in the documents. Childers' granddaughter, Nessa Childers, dismissed the evidence as "circumstantial."

question: What major conflicts was Childers' involved with?

answer: During World War I, Childers was involved with the Committee for Relief in Belgium. She was also involved with the July 1914 Irish Volunteers Howth gun-running on her and her husband's yacht Asgard.


text:
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We inspire balance through movement and connection so that we can show up for each other, our communities, and our planet. As a Certified B Corporation, our social and environmental values are the core of our business.

Learn more about Fully

question: What is Fully?

answer: A furniture company.

question: What is a Jarvis?

answer: A standing desk.

question: Are the reviews generally positive?

answer: Yes.

question: Who is the text's audience?

answer: Offices, office workers, and especially people working from home.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The text introduces Fully, a furniture company, and their various products, specifically the Jarvis, a standing desk. The text also includes reviews, which are generally positive.