Snowed in at the cabin. His best friend keeps her warm. 🎬 🎬 #cabin# #skilodge# #milf# #milfporn# #aimilf# #aiwaifu# #aigirl# #aiporn# #aigenerated# #nsfwai# #nsfw# #porn# #adult# #pov#

ENCHIN A wild and wacky mission: Delivering smiles to ENGENE! #ENHYPEN# #엔하이픈# #ENCHIN# #엔친# #WONCHU# #원츄# #NoxStar# #녹스타# #JAKEY# #제이키# #SnoWe# #스노위# #KISHU# #키슈# #PU_NI# #퓨니#

My friend Takako teaches a special class at a public elementary school in Yokohama. It's for kids who just moved back to Japan after living abroad. This year, nine of them came home from America. On the first day, she asked them one question. "Tell me about one American grown-up you will never forget." She expected Mickey Mouse. She got a crossing guard named Miss Pat. "Miss Pat high-fived every kid. Even the kids who were late. Especially the kids who were late." (Hiro, 8, Ohio) "A man at the hardware store let me push the big cart with the wood on it. It was the best day of my life. I was five." (Tsubasa, 9, Missouri) (Takako asked if anything better has happened since. He thought about it for a long time. He said no.) "My soccer coach was the slowest runner I have ever seen. He wore a cowboy hat to every game and yelled 'BIG HUSTLE, BUDDY!' at me a thousand times. I never scored one goal. He never stopped yelling." (Kaede, 9, Texas) "On my first day, the library lady gave me a library card with my name on it. I couldn't read English yet. I told her. She said, 'You will.'" (Yuna, 8, Minnesota) (Yuna now reads English better than Takako. Takako would like this to stop.) "An old man on our street sat on his porch every morning and saluted my scooter when I went by. I don't know why. So I saluted back. We did this for two years. We never talked one time." (Ryusei, 7, Georgia) "The dentist gave me a sticker for not crying. I cried. He gave me two stickers." (Kokoro, 6, Utah) (Takako has checked. This is not how stickers work.) "A police officer came to our school and let me sit in his car and turn on the lights. Then he let me turn on the siren. Then he said, 'Don't tell the chief.'" (Haru, 7, Iowa) (Haru has told everyone. Including, probably, the chief.) "At church, a grandma I didn't know held my hand during the prayer. Every Sunday. She never asked my name. She just always found me." (Mana, 9, Alabama) Then the boy in the back raised his hand. He hadn't said a word all morning. Takako thought he was too shy to answer. Yamato. Ten. Montana. "When I was seven, my mom got sick," he said. "She was in the hospital in the city for three months. My dad had to work. I didn't have anybody." His best friend's dad was a rancher named Mr. Doyle. "Every day after school, Mr. Doyle picked me up in his truck. He drove me forty minutes to see my mom. Every day." "He never came inside. He waited in the truck. I asked him why. He said, 'That's family time, son. I'll be right here.'" "And he was. Every day. Even when it snowed. Even when it was dark. When I came out, his truck was always right there, with the lights on." "He didn't talk much. He played country music. He let me hold the horse treats. He taught me to say thank you for the food before we ate. He said even ranch hands say grace." Takako asked if his mother got better. He smiled for the first time all morning. "Yes. She came home in March." "On the last day, Mr. Doyle shook my hand like I was a grown-up. He said, 'You were a good hand, son.'" Takako asked him what a good hand was. Yamato thought about it very carefully. "It's somebody who helps," he said. "Even when nobody asks them to." Takako told me she's been watching him since. Every day, after the last bell, when everyone else runs for the door, one ten-year-old boy stays behind. He stacks the chairs. He carries the janitor's bucket. He wipes the board. Nobody has ever asked him to. So, America. You think you're just grown-ups doing grown-up things. A crossing guard. A librarian. A man waiting in a truck in the snow with the lights on. You don't know which kid is watching you. Right now, in a classroom in Yokohama, a ten-year-old Japanese boy is stacking chairs nobody asked him to stack. That's Montana.

There's a word in Japanese that I need Americans to know. Osekkai. It means helping someone who did not ask for help. Giving advice nobody wanted. Fixing a problem that belongs to a stranger. In Japan, it's a little bit rude. We even have a polite phrase for refusing it: "yokei na osewa." Roughly: "That's unnecessary help, thank you." I'm telling you this because I have come to a conclusion. America is the osekkai capital of the world. Here is my evidence. All of it comes from Japanese people I know who have lived in your country. A man in aisle 9 of a Home Depot explained cordless drills to my coworker for twenty minutes. Brands. Batteries. Torque. A story about his brother-in-law. He did not work at Home Depot. He has never worked at Home Depot. He was just there. My coworker went back six times that year. The man was there every time. (Texas) A woman at a grocery store took the cantaloupe out of my friend's cart, smelled it, put it back on the pile, and handed him a different one. She did not say one word. She did not work there either. (Ohio) A stranger at a gas station told my cousin his back tire looked low. Then he got down on the pavement and checked it. Then he filled it. Then he checked the other three, "since I'm down here anyway." (Kansas) My sister-in-law tried to parallel park on a busy street. Three men on the sidewalk stopped what they were doing and talked her in like a pit crew. "Cut it! Cut it hard! You got it! YOU GOT IT!" When she made it, they applauded and walked away. She has never seen them again. She thinks about them weekly. (Illinois) A man at a Little League game walked over and told my brother he was holding the bat wrong. My brother was 41. He was not playing. He was holding his son's bat while his son tied his shoe. He fixed his grip anyway. (Pennsylvania) A woman at a Target told my wife's friend that her baby needed a hat. Then she went and bought the baby a hat. (Minnesota) I laughed at all of these. For years. Then my coworker's daughter, Riko, got a job in Denver. She was 26. She lived alone. Across the hall lived a woman named Arlene. 74. A retired school nurse. Widowed. And, as Riko put it, "the most osekkai human being in the state of Colorado." In October, Arlene told Riko her coat was too thin. She taped a note to Riko's door explaining the recycling schedule. With diagrams. She asked who Riko's doctor was. Riko didn't have one. Arlene looked very worried about this for a whole week. She gave Riko her phone number, "for emergencies." Riko thanked her politely and had absolutely no intention of ever using it. Riko told her father, on the phone, that her neighbor was very kind and a little bit exhausting. In January, Riko got sick. A cough. Then a fever. Then she couldn't get out of bed. She didn't tell anyone. She didn't call in. In Japan, the worst thing you can do is be a burden. She thought she would sleep it off. On the third day, Arlene looked out at the parking lot. It had snowed twice that week. Every car in the lot had been dug out and scraped. Except one. Riko's car was still buried. Three days of snow. Untouched. Arlene knocked. No answer. She knocked again. She called the building manager. She told him to open the door, right now, and that she would explain later. They found Riko on the bathroom floor. Fever of 104. She could barely say her own name. Pneumonia. The doctor said another day or two alone and it could have been much, much worse. Arlene rode in the ambulance. She stayed in the hospital all night, in the plastic chair, in the coat she had told Riko to buy. When Riko woke up, the first thing she did was cry and apologize. For the trouble. For the night. For everything. Arlene took her hand. "Honey, this isn't trouble," she said. "I've been waiting since October for you to need something." Then she said the sentence Riko wrote down that night, on the back of a hospital menu, and still has. "Where I come from, minding your own business is how people die alone." Riko lives in Tokyo again now. Last month, a young man moved into the apartment next to hers. On his second day, she knocked on his door and told him his coat was too thin. He looked at her like she was out of her mind. She says that's how she knows it's working. So, America. You're the man in aisle 9 who doesn't work there. You're the lady who knows a better cantaloupe. You're a retired nurse looking out a window at one car nobody has dug out. The whole world thinks you're a little bit nosy. Please. Never mind your own business.

Snow Panic, an 8-player online arcadey skiing game the developers describe as "SSX meets Mario Kart," has been announced for PC. Check out the first details and trailer: