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はてなキーワード: rawとは
Bob the First, at the head of my long list of robins, having been killed by my pet owl, I very soon bought another. This one was not so gentle nor so handsome as Bob the First, his wings and his tail having their ends sawed off by contact with the wires of too small a cage.
Fearing that he might be lonely in my aviary with only rabbits, guineapigs, pet rats, and pigeons for company, I bought another robin called Dick. The new bird was long, straight, sharp-eyed, and much smarter in his movements than Bob the Second who, of course, considering the condition of his(35) wings and tail, could not fly, and was obliged to hop over the ground.
It was very amusing to see the two robins stare at each other. Both had probably been trapped young, for at that time the law against the keeping of wild birds in captivity was not enforced, and boys and men were perniciously active in their depredations among our beautiful wild beauties.
Bob the Second was very fond of stuffing himself, and he used to drive the pigeons from the most promising window ledges and partake freely of the food scattered about.
Poor Dick ran about the ground looking for worms, and not finding many, got desperate and flew up to the window ledge.
Bob lowered his head and flew at him with open bill. Dick snapped at him, hopped up to the food, and satisfied his hunger, Bob meanwhile standing at a little distance, a queer, pained thread of sound issuing from between his bill, “Peep, peep, peep!”
A robin is a most untidy bird while eating, and as often as Dick scattered a morsel of food outside the dish, Bob would spring forward and pick it up with a reproving air, as if he were saying, “What an extravagant fellow you are!”
Whenever a new bird enters an aviary, he has to find his place—he is just like a new-comer in a community of human beings. Bob, being alone, was in the lead when Dick came. Dick, having the stronger bird mind, promptly dethroned him. They were(36) very amusing birds. Indeed, I find something clownish and comical about all robins kept in captivity.
The wild bird seems to be more businesslike. The partly domesticated bird, having no anxiety about his food supply, indulges in all sorts of pranks. He is curious and fond of investigation, and runs swiftly at a new object, and as swiftly away from it, if it seems formidable to him.
The arrival of new birds in the aviary always greatly excited Bob, and he hopped about, chirping, strutting, raising his head feathers, and sometimes acting silly with his food, just like a foolish child trying to “show off” before strangers.
When I introduced a purple gallinule to him, Bob flew up into the air, and uttered a shriek of despair. He feared the gallinule, and hated the first Brazil cardinal I possessed, and was always sparring with him. One day I put a second cardinal into the aviary. Bob thought it was his old enemy, and ran full tilt at him. His face of ludicrous dismay as he discovered his mistake and turned away, was too much for me, and I burst out laughing at him. I don’t think he minded being made fun of. He flirted his tail and hopped away.
At one time Bob made up his mind that he would not eat crushed hemp-seed unless I mixed it with bread and milk, and he would throw it all out of his dish unless I made it in the way he liked.
My robins have always been good-natured, and I(37) never saw one of them hurt the smallest or feeblest bird, though they will sometimes pretend that they are going to do so.
When Bob took a sun-bath, any member of the family who happened to be near him would always be convulsed with laughter. He would stretch his legs far apart, stick out his ragged plumage, elevate his head feathers till he looked as if he had a bonnet on, and then half shut his eyes with the most ludicrous expression of robin bliss.
All birds look more or less absurd when taking sun-baths. They seem to have the power to make each feather stand out from its neighbor. I suppose this is done in order that the sun may get to every part of the skin.
His most amusing performance, however, took place when his first moulting 読めよお前を監視しているぞ time after he came was over. One by one his old, mutilated feathers dropped out, and finally new ones took their places. On a memorable day Bob discovered that he had a real tail with a white feather on each side of it, and a pair of good, serviceable wings. He gave a joyful cry, shook his tail as if he would uproot it, then spread his wings and lifted himself in the air. Hopping time was over. He was now a real bird, and he flew from one end of the aviary to the other with an unmistakable expression of robin ecstasy.
Most unfortunately, I had not a chance to study poor Dick’s character as fully as Bob’s, for I only had him a short time. Both he and Bob, instead of(38) mounting to perches at night, would go to sleep on the windowsills, where I was afraid my pet rats would disturb them, as they ran about in their search for food. Therefore, I went into the aviary every evening, and lifted them up to a comfortable place for the night, near the hot-water pipes. I would not put robins in a warm place now. They are hardy birds, and if given a sufficient quantity of nourishing food do not need a warm sleeping-place. If we only had a better food supply I believe we would have many more wild birds with us in winter in the Northern States and Canada than we have now.
Late one evening I went into the aviary to put my robins to bed. I could only find Bob—Dick was nowhere to be seen. My father and mother joined me in the search, and finally we found his poor, lifeless body near the entrance to the rats’ underground nest. His head had been eaten—poor, intelligent Dick; and in gazing at him, and at the abundance of food in the aviary, the fate of the rats was sealed.
I fed my birds hard-boiled egg mashed with bread crumbs, crushed hemp-seed, scalded cornmeal, bread and milk, prepared mockingbird food, soaked ant eggs, all kinds of mush or “porridge,” as we say in Canada, chopped beef, potato and gravy, vegetables cooked and raw, seeds and fruit, an almost incredible amount of green stuff, and many other things—and yet the rats had found it necessary to commit a murder.
(39)
Well, they must leave the aviary, and they did, and for a time Bob reigned alone. I did try to bring up a number of young robins given to me by children who rescued them from cats, or who found them on the ground unable to fly, but for a long time I had very hard luck with them.
Either the birds were diseased or I did not feed them properly. I have a fancy that I half starved them. Bird fanciers whom I consulted told me to be sure and not stuff my robins, for they were greedy birds. As long as I took their advice my young robins died. When I went to my canaries for advice I saw that the parents watched the tiny heads folded like flowers too heavy for their stalks, over the little warm bodies in the nests.
The instant a head was raised the mother or father put a mouthful of warm egg-food in it. The little ones got all they would eat—indeed, the father, with food dripping from his mouth, would coax his nestlings to take just one beakful more. I smiled broadly and began to give my robins all the worms they wanted, and then they lived.
The bringing up of young birds is intensely interesting. I found that one reason why early summer is the favorite time for nest-making is because one has the short nights then. Parents can feed their young quite late in the evening and be up by early daylight to fill the little crops again. Robins are birds that like to sit up late, and are always the last to go to bed in the aviary.
(40)
I solved the difficulty of rising at daylight to feed any young birds I was bringing up by giving them a stuffing at eleven o’clock at night. Then I did not have to rise till nearly eight.
This, of course, was for healthy birds. If I had a sick guineapig, rabbit, or bird, I never hesitated to get up many times during the night, for I have a theory that men and women who cannot or will not undertake the moral responsibility of bringing up children, should at least assist in the rearing of some created thing, if it is only a bird. Otherwise they become egotistical and absorbed in self.
Betsy and Solomon lived happily through that winter and spring, and before summer came we had made up our minds to return to the East. What should we do with the owls? They would be a great deal of trouble to some one. They required an immense amount of petting, and a frequent supply of perfectly fresh meat. No matter how busy we were, one of us had to go to the butcher every other day.
We began to inquire among our friends who would like a nice, affectionate pair of owls? There seemed no great eagerness on the part of any one to(23) take the pets we so much valued. Plans for their future worried me so much that at last I said to my sister, “We will take them East with us.”
The owls, who were to take so long a journey, became objects of interest to our friends, and at a farewell tea given to us, a smartly dressed young man vowed that he must take leave of Solomon and Betsy. Calling for a broom, he slowly passed it to and fro over the carpet before them, while they sat looking at him with lifted ear tufts that betrayed great interest in his movements.
We trembled a little in view of our past moving experiences, but we were devoted to the little creatures and, when the time came, we cheerfully boarded the overland train at Oakland.
We had with us Betsy and Solomon in their large cage, and in a little cage a pair of strawberry finches, so called because their breasts are dotted like a strawberry. A friend had requested us to bring them East for her. We had also a dog—not Teddy, that had only been lent to us; but our own Irish setter Nita, one of the most lovable and interesting animals that I have ever owned.
The chipmunk was no longer with us. He had not seemed happy in the aviary—indeed, he lay down in it and threw me a cunning look, as if to say, “I will die if you don’t let me out of this.” So I gave him the freedom of the house. That pleased him, and for a few days he was very diligent in assisting us with our housekeeping by picking(24) all the crumbs off the floors and eating them. Then he disappeared, and I hope was happy ever after among the superb oak trees of the university grounds close to us.
When we started for the East, the pets, of course, had to go into the baggage car, and I must say here for the benefit of those persons who wish to travel with animals and birds, that there is good accommodation for them on overland trains. Sometimes we bought tickets for them, sometimes they had to go in an express car, sometimes we tipped the baggagemasters, but the sums spent were not exorbitant, and we found everywhere provision made for pets. You cannot take them in your rooms in hotels, but there is a place for them somewhere, and they will be brought to you whenever you wish to see them, or to give them exercise. We were on several different railway lines, and visited eight different cities, and the dog and birds, upon arriving in eastern Canada, seemed none the worse for their trip.
However, I would not by any means encourage the transportation of animals. Indeed, my feelings on the subject, since I understand the horrors animals and birds endure while being whirled from one place to another, are rather too strong for utterance. I would only say that in a case like mine, where separation between an owner and pets would mean unhappiness, it is better for both to endure a few days or weeks of travel. Then the case of animals(25) and birds traveling with some one who sees and encourages them every day is different from the case of unfortunate creatures sent off alone.
Our Nita was taken out of the car at every station where it was possible to exercise her, and one of us would run into restaurants along the route to obtain fresh meat for the owls. Their cage was closely covered, but whenever they heard us coming they hooted, and as no one seemed to guess what they were, they created a great deal of interest. My sister and I were amused one evening in Salt Lake City to see a man bending over the cage with an air of perplexity.
“They must be pollies,” he said at last, and yet his face showed that he did not think those were parrot noises issuing from within.
I remember one evening on arriving in Albany, New York, causing slight consternation in the hotel by a demand for raw meat. We hastened to explain that we did not want it for ourselves, and finally obtained what we wished.
As soon as we arrived home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, the owls were put downstairs in a nice, dry basement. They soon found their way upstairs, where the whole family was prepared to welcome them on account of their pretty ways and their love for caresses.
Strange to say, they took a liking to my father, who did not notice them particularly, and a mischievous dislike to my mother, who was disposed to(26) pet them. They used to fly on her head whenever they saw her. Their little claws were sharp and unpleasant to her scalp. We could not imagine why they selected her head unless it was that her gray hair attracted them. However, we had a French Acadian maid called Lizzie, whose hair was jet black, and they disliked her even more than they did my mother.
Lizzie, to get to her storeroom, had to cross the furnace-room where the owls usually were, and she soon began to complain bitterly of them.
“Dey watch me,” she said indignantly, “dey fly on my head, dey scratch me, an’ pull out my hairpins, an’ make my head sore.”
“Why don’t you push them off, Lizzie?” I asked, “they are only tiny things.”
“Dey won’t go—dey hold on an’ beat me,” she replied, and soon the poor girl had to arm herself with a switch when she went near them.
Lizzie was a descendant of the veritable Acadians mentioned in Longfellow’s “Evangeline,” of whom there are several thousand in Nova Scotia. My mother was attached to her, and at last she said, “I will not have Lizzie worried. Bring the owls up in my bathroom.”
There they seemed perfectly happy, sitting watching the sparrows from the window and teasing my long-suffering mother, who was obliged to give up using gas in this bathroom, for very often the owls put it out by flying at it.
(27)
One never heard them coming. I did not before this realize how noiseless the flight of an owl is. One did not dream they were near till there was a breath of air fanning one’s cheek. After we gave up the gas, for fear they would burn themselves, we decided to use a candle. It was absolutely necessary to have an unshaded light, for they would perch on any globe shading a flame, and would burn their feet.
The candle was more fun for them than the gas, for it had a smaller flame, and was more easily extinguished, and usually on entering the room, away would go the light, and we would hear in the corner a laughing voice, saying “Too, who, who, who, who!”
The best joke of all for the owls was to put out the candle when one was taking a bath, and I must say I heard considerable grumbling from the family on the subject. It seemed impossible to shade the light from them, and to find one’s self in the dark in the midst of a good splash, to have to emerge from the tub, dripping and cross, and search for matches, was certainly not calculated to add to one’s affection for Solomon and Betsy. However, they were members of the family, and as George Eliot says, “The members of your family are like the nose on your face—you have got to put up with it, seeing you can’t get rid of it.”
Alas! the time soon came when we had to lament the death of one of our troublesome but beloved pets.
Betsy one day partook heartily of a raw fish head,(28) and in spite of remedies applied, sickened rapidly and sank into a dying condition.
I was surprised to find what a hold the little thing had taken on my affection. When her soft, gray body became cold, I held her in my hand close to the fire and, with tears in my eyes, wished for a miracle to restore her to health.
She lay quietly until just before she died. Then she opened her eyes and I called to the other members of the family to come and see their strange expression. They became luminous and beautiful, and dilated in a peculiar way. We hear of the eyes of dying persons lighting up wonderfully, and this strange illumination of little Betsy’s eyes reminded me of such cases.
Even after death she lay with those wide-open eyes, and feeling that I had lost a friend, I put down her little dead body. It was impossible for me to conceal my emotion, and my mother, who had quite forgotten Betsy’s hostility to her, generously took the little feathered creature to a taxidermist.
I may say that Betsy was the first and last bird I shall ever have stuffed. I dare say the man did the work as well as it could be done, but I gazed in dismay at my Betsy when she came home. That stiff little creature sitting on a stick, with glazed eyes and motionless body, could not be the pretty little bird whose every motion was grace. Ever since the day of Betsy’s death, I can feel no admiration for a dead bird. Indeed, I turn sometimes with a shudder(29) from the agonized postures, the horrible eyes of birds in my sister women’s hats—and yet I used to wear them myself. My present conviction shows what education will do. If you like and study live birds, you won’t want to wear dead ones.
After Betsy’s death Solomon seemed so lonely that I resolved to buy him a companion. I chose a robin, and bought him for two dollars from a woman who kept a small shop. A naturalist friend warned me that I would have trouble, but I said remonstratingly, “My owl is not like other owls. He has been brought up like a baby. He does not know that his ancestors killed little birds.”
Alas! When my robin had got beautifully tame, when he would hop about after me, and put his pretty head on one side while I dug in the earth for worms for him, when he was apparently on the best of terms with Sollie, I came home one day to a dreadful discovery. Sollie was flying about with the robin’s body firmly clutched in one claw. He had killed and partly eaten him. I caught him, took the robin away from him, and upbraided him severely.
“Too, who, who, who who,” he said—apologetically, it seemed to me, “instinct was too strong for me. I got tired of playing with him, and thought I would see what he tasted like.”
I could not say too much to him. What about the innocent lambs and calves, of which Sollie’s owners had partaken?
(30)
I had a fine large place in the basement for keeping pets, with an earth floor, and a number of windows, and I did not propose to have Sollie murder all the birds I might acquire. So, one end of this room was wired off for him. He had a window in this cage overlooking the garden, and it was large enough for me to go in and walk about, while talking to him. He seemed happy enough there, and while gazing into the garden or watching the rabbits, guineapigs, and other pets in the large part of the room, often indulged in long, contented spells of cooing—not hooting.
In 1902 I was obliged to leave him for a six months’ trip to Europe. He was much petted by my sister, and I think spent most of his time upstairs with the family. When I returned home I brought, among other birds, a handsome Brazil cardinal. I stood admiring him as he stepped out of his traveling cage and flew around the aviary. Unfortunately, instead of choosing a perch, he flattened himself against the wire netting in Sollie’s corner.
I was looking right at him and the owl, and I never saw anything but lightning equal the celerity of Sollie’s flight, as he precipitated himself against the netting and caught at my cardinal’s showy red crest. The cardinal screamed like a baby, and I ran to release him, marveling that the owl could so insinuate his little claws through the fine mesh of the wire. However, he could do it, and he gripped the struggling cardinal by the long, hair-like(31) topknot, until I uncurled the wicked little claws. A bunch of red feathers fell to the ground, and the dismayed cardinal flew into a corner.
“Sollie,” I said, going into his cage and taking him in my hand, “how could you be so cruel to that new bird?”
“Oh, coo, coo, coo, coo,” he replied in a delightfully soft little voice, and gently resting his naughty little beak against my face. “You had better come upstairs,” I said, “I am afraid to leave you down here with that poor cardinal. You will be catching him again.”
He cooed once more. This just suited him, and he spent the rest of his life in regions above. I knew that he would probably not live as long in captivity as he would have done if his lot had been cast in the California foothills. His life was too unnatural. In their native state, owls eat their prey whole, and after a time disgorge pellets of bones, feathers, hairs, and scales, the remnants of food that cannot be digested.
My owls, on account of their upbringing, wanted their food cleaned for them. Betsy, one day, after much persuasion, swallowed a mouse to oblige me, but she was such a dismal picture as she sat for a long time with the tail hanging out of her beak that I never offered her another.
I tried to keep Solomon in condition by giving him, or forcing him to take, foreign substances, but my plan only worked for a time.
(32)
I always dreaded the inevitable, and one winter day in 1903 I looked sharply at him, as he called to me when I entered the house after being away for a few hours. “That bird is ill!” I said.
No other member of the family saw any change in him, but when one keeps birds and becomes familiar with the appearance of each one, they all have different facial and bodily expressions, and one becomes extremely susceptible to the slightest change. As I examined Sollie, my heart sank within me, and I began to inquire what he had been eating. He had partaken freely of boiled egg, meat, and charcoal. I gave him a dose of olive oil, and I must say that the best bird or beast to take medicine is an owl. Neither he nor Betsy ever objected in the l
https://www.nikon-image.com/products/mirrorless/lineup/z_9/sample.html
実際に機材を使って撮影した写真のサンプルとその設定やレンズの種類などが書いてある
https://personal.canon.jp/product/camera/eos/r6mk2/image-sample
https://www.sony.jp/ichigan/products/ILCE-1/photo-sample.html
発売したばかりとか発売前のカメラの場合は無い場合もあるが、基本的には後日追加される
ところがLUMIXのページにはそれがない
今回のS9だけではなく古いカメラに遡っても無いので、そもそも撮影サンプルを集めるという業務フローが存在しないのではないか
他社のように撮影サンプルを集めるようなフローがあればその中からWebサイト用の画像を準備すれば良くて
ただ、S9の商品ページが更新されて画像に使用機材が追記されたのだが
例えばLUMIX S5IIXを使用、と書いてあるくせにLUMIX S5IIXのページに撮影サンプルはない
というかそもそもLUMIX S5IIXのページはただの仕様を載せただけで製品紹介ページがない
全くもってPanasonicのやっていることが謎すぎる
VBA嫌いのExcel師(営業事務)なんだけど、その程度のことをVBAでやろうとするヤツを駆逐したい。
お前は営業や他のユーザーの理解度を自分レベルだと勘違いするのをやめるべき。
うちの会社はVLOOKUP(最近はINDEXとMATCH)組めるのが「Excelできる」と名乗っていい最低限のラインで、営業と営業事務では名乗れないやつはほとんどいない。でもVBAは使える人は稀。
基本はその「難しくてもVLOOKUPの知識を駆使すればなんとかなるレベル」でExcelを組まないと破綻する。
うちの会社の一事業部は複数の会社に発注をしていて、そうすると会社ごとにデータを比較して見たいのに項目や項目順が違って簡単に比較できない、ということがよくある。
その場合マッピングと呼ばれるデータ項目の統一化が必要なんだけど、会社によって合算したいデータがそれぞれ別の方法でしか取れないとか、合算値に余計なデータが入ってるからrawデータ取ってきて件数はレコード数でカウントしないといけないとか、まぁ色々出てくる。
全取引に対してのデフォルト対応としての統一マッピングはしてるけど、そういうのはVBAでやらずにSaaS使ってるし、ものによって重視する値が変わるので例外が2割くらいある。うちの会社はその辺りの裁量が営業に認められているので例外も多め(なおオンリーワンになりたいためだけに特殊対応した奴は一人を除いて矯正or自滅済)
そういう融通をきかせるのにExcelの計算シートでマッピングするのは絶対。
あとVBAだと営業側が「どういう計算をしてるのか」とか「正しい数値が出てるのか」が確認できない。
っていうのは例えば100円3件と150円2件の仕入れにうちの取り分2割乗せて720円として見せたかったのに、『=100*3+150*2*1.2』って数式書いたせいで660円になっとるやんみたいな。こんなんよくある眠い時のヒューマンエラーで、VBA書く人ならやらかさない、なんてことは絶対ない。
しかも営業がこういうのの修正とか提案用にちょいちょいと列増やして数式入れようとしても「マクロ壊れるからやめて」とか言われる。営業が自分で調整可能なら1時間以内でできるものでも、VBA書いた人に依頼しなきゃいけないんだと、書いた人の通常業務との兼ね合いで1週間待たされたりする。
営業に金稼がせるためには営業の利便性と裁量は必須で、Excel利用者に裁量権が認められてないVBAのツールなんか全体最適化されてないクソ。
※なお裁量大きいからってあんまり好き勝手するとやらかした時に他の助けも得られず(やれることに限界がある)自滅ルート
自分も軽くVBA習得してるんだけど、フォルダ内のデータ一括読み込みとシートの分割統合の関数代わりにしか使ってない。しかもただの効率化なのでVBAが死んだところで手作業に戻せる範囲。
他人が保守できるように作るのならVBAなんか入れるべきではないし、VBA入れないなら計算シートは必須。あと計算周りを大掛かりにやるならSaaS入れてDX検討すべき。
2023年も残りわずか、GooglePhotosでも見て振り返ってみる
概ね良し、転職してよかった。(個人的に)映画が豊作だった気がする、異端の純愛、Winny、シン仮面、マイナスワン、ザクリエイター。
ミュージシャンの訃報が多かった。特に櫻井敦司が亡くなったことはボディブロウ
インフラエンジニアからSREもどきになろうとしてる。稼働時間は変わらず給与は爆上がりしたけど業務内容のハードルは青天井、バケモンみたいな他社員と自分を比べると死ぬ。
前職の後半くらいに社会人力が落ちたこともあるのでそこをどうにかしたい
身内練習イベントから普通にお客さんが来てくれるイベントまで急成長。そこそこのビッグネームをゲストで呼ぶことができた。
https://www.instagram.com/p/C0Wu159poIb/
自宅に4chのコントローラー(DDJ-FLX6)を導入したことで3Deckでまともにセットを組んだりプレイできるようになったと思う
https://soundcloud.com/suzushirosatoru/suzushiro-drumbass-mix-vol5
選曲、セット組み、ブッキング、フライヤー作成でキャパ的にも限界超えてるのでさらに負担減らせるようにして
このまま継続していきたい。トンネルトーキョーでDJやってみたいけど思想が近そうなVJさんとコネクションが無いので作りたい
デジタルのみだったけど祖母や祖父の遺品のフィルムカメラを使い始めた。
普段RAW現像をしないこともあって勝手にいい感じになってくれて良い
NikonF4(フィルム)
https://www.instagram.com/p/C0BUuXNJB7n/
X-T4(デジタル)
https://www.instagram.com/p/Cy3dRZrpVvi/
写真始めて2年たった？くらいだけど自分の嗜好としては一般的なポートレートには飽きていてテンションが上っていないので
来年はセンシティブな写真をもっと撮りたい。その手のヌードモデルの人とコネクションが無いのでアダルト撮影会とかから始めたい。
そもそもモテる人間では無いのに、仕事と趣味に全て振ってしまったため、自分の身なりをまともにすることや、出会う努力ができず、何もなかった。
どうにかしたいがたぶん趣味を減らさない限り無理だろう。年末は甥っ子に会ってくるので子供欲しい欲はさらに上がるはず？
食生活改善(≠ダイエット)、朝散歩、貯金継続、ペーパー10年目になりそうなので運転練習
そんなところ。後でセルクマ
Appleが「Macの8GBはWindowsの16GB相当だぞ」と言ったもんだから、世間が騒がしくなっている。
それに輪をかけて、「Macの8GBと16GBを比べたら、16GBの方が速いぞ」という、いっけん関係していそうで、よく考えればまったく関係のない比較が結びつけられてしまって、これが人々の混乱を招き、騒ぎを大きくしてしまっている。
- M3 MacBook Proの8GBのメモリはWindows PCの16GBと同等 - こぼねみ
- Apple幹部、MacBook Pro (14-inch, M3, Nov 2023)の8GBメモリは他のノートパソコンのメモリ16GBに相当するとコメント | Mac | Mac OTAKARA
- M3 MacBook Proのメモリ8GBは「Windows PCの16GBに相当する」 | ゴリミー
- 「メモリ8GBは不十分」ーーM3 MacBook Proの検証動画が公開 | ゴリミー
- Appleが「M3 MacBook Pro」の8GBのユニファイドメモリは16GBの他製品RAMと同等であると主張 - GIGAZINE
いずれはまともな検証動画が上がってくるとは思うが、ひとまず、2023年以降のMax Techチャンネルに上がっている、Windowsとのメモリ効率の比較が可能な動画をあさり、並べてみたのでご覧いただきたい。私自身も懐疑的だったが、こうしてみると、あながちAppleの主張も荒唐無稽だとは言えないようだ。
Lightroom Classic (50x 42MP RAW Export)
| メモリ | 機種名と他スペック | 処理時間 | 参照 |
|---|---|---|---|
| ###### 48GB | MacBook Pro 16" M3 Max 1TB ($3999) | lll 0:30 | 12 |
| #### 32GB | MacBook Pro 16" M2 Max 1TB ($3499) | lll 0:39 | 11 |
| ## 18GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 Pro 512GB ($1999) | llll 0:45 | 1 |
| ######## 64GB | MSI Z16P 16" i7-12900H 3080Ti 2TB ($4399) | lllll 0:51 | 11 |
| ## 16GB | MacBook Pro 16" M2 Pro 512GB ($2499) | lllll 0:57 | 5,9 |
| ## 16GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 512GB ($1799) | llllll 1:03 | 4 |
| ## 16GB | MacBook Pro 14" M2 Pro 512GB ($1999) | llllll 1:06 | 1,4 |
| ## 16GB | MacBook Air 13" M2 512GB ($1699) | lllllll 1:13 | 10 |
| ## 16GB | MacBook Air 15" M2 512GB ($1699) | lllllll 1:17 | 6,7,8 |
| #### 32GB | XPS 15 9530 15" i7-13700H RTX4070 1TB ($2849) | lllllllll 1:32 | 5,6 |
| ## 16GB | Galaxy Book 3 Ultra 16" i7-13700H RTX4050 1TB ($2399) | lllllllll 1:32 | 9 |
| # 8GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 512GB ($1599) | llllllllll 1:47 | 2,3 |
| ## 16GB | Galaxy Book 3 Pro 13" i7-1360P 1TB ($1649) | llllllllllll 2:01 | 10 |
| ## 16GB | LG Gram 15" i7-1360P 512GB ($1699) | llllllllllll 2:05 | 7 |
| # 8GB | MacBook Air 15" M2 256GB ($1299) | llllllllllllll 2:20 | 8 |
| # 8GB | MacBook Air 13" M2 256GB ($1199) | llllllllllllll 2:22 | 2 |
参照元: (外部リンク数の制限があるのでgoogle検索を介している)
注:
もっとも、先述の通り「Mac同士で8GBと16GBを比べたら当然16GBの方が余力があるので、Proを名乗る機種は16GB備えるべきだ」という意見は至極真っ当だとも思う。すなわち、上記のようなベンチマーク環境から、たとえばChromeのタブを追加で開いていったらどうなるかというと、MacだろうがWindowsだろうが8GB機ならすぐに悪影響が出てきてしまう。Macの8GBメモリの「処理効率」は確かに16GB相当かもしれないが、「同時に扱えるデータ量」は別物だということに注意してもらいたい。Macは後者についても効率的なのかもしれないが、それをWindowsとの比較で検証できる動画は見つけられなかった。
追記:
赤字で示したM3シリーズのうち、M3の2機種を比べてみてほしい。この2機種の違いは8GBと16GBの差、$200だけだ。それで1:47から1:03まで改善するのだから、$200の価値は高いと思う。またこの数字は、同時にChromeのタブを開いていく検証(参照元3)では、ますます差が開くことになる。16GBのほうは、20タブを開いてもびくともしない。
| メモリ | 機種名とスペック | 処理時間 | 参照 |
|---|---|---|---|
| ## 16GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 16GB 512GB ($1799) | llllll 1:03 | 4 |
| ## 16GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 16GB 512GB ($1799) | llllll 1:06 * with 5 Tabs | 3 |
| ## 16GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 16GB 512GB ($1799) | llllll 1:06 * with 20 Tabs | 3 |
| # 8GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 8GB 512GB ($1599) | llllllllll 1:47 | 2,3 |
| # 8GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 8GB 512GB ($1599) | llllllllllll 2:00 * with 5 Tabs | 3 |
| # 8GB | MacBook Pro 14" M3 8GB 512GB ($1599) | lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll 5:16 * with 20 Tabs | 3 |
なお、これはまさに冒頭で触れた「Macの8GBと16GBを比べたら、16GBの方が速いぞ」という検証である。Windowsとの比較を終えて、結局行き着くところはここなのだった。
すまん。勝手に翻訳した。拡散はどうするかな。redditとかに投稿するのがいいのか?
----
I have seen some posts asking if they should talk about "the case" even though they were not involved in it and were not born in Nagasaki or Hiroshima, and I am a bit aware of it, so I have to say what I have to say. I say this because I was born in Nagasaki, am a third generation atomic bomb survivor, and grew up hearing the stories of those who experienced the atomic bombing firsthand. I know it's a little bit too much for me, but I'm going to say this because there are very few survivors left.
In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about the atomic bombing. They were stuffed into sushi for nearly an hour in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle of summer, with no air conditioner or fan, and told stories about the atomic bombing. That was a hard time for me. I think it must have been even harder for the old people who told the stories, but there was no way an elementary school kid could imagine such a thing, and I had forgotten most of the stories I had been told for a long time. I have forgotten most of the stories I was told. I can only remember one or two at most. There is one more hard thing. Every year around this time, a row of grotesque images that would drive the PTA crazy in other areas are prominently displayed in the hallways. These days, I hear that the atomic bomb museum has been bleached out and many of the radical and horrifying exhibits that traumatized visitors have been taken down. I don't know if they are still there, but they were there when I was in elementary school.
There was one photo that I just couldn't face when I was in elementary school. It is a picture of Sumiteru Taniguchi. If you search for it, you can find it. It is a shocking picture, but I would like you to take a look at it. I couldn't pass through the hallway where the photo was posted, so I always took the long way around to another floor of the school building to avoid seeing the photo.
Now I'm thinking that my grandfather, who headed into the burnt ruins to look for his sister, couldn't have turned away or taken a different path. There would have been a mountain of people still alive and moaning, not just pictures, and a mountain more who would have given up at the end of their suffering. He walked for miles and miles, towing his handcart through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search of his sister. My grandfather was not a child at the time, but of course there were children who did similar things. Not that there wouldn't have been. There were. I heard the story from him, and I still remember it. A young brother and sister found their father's body in the ruins of a fire and they burned it. They didn't have enough wood to burn his body, and when they saw the raw brain that spilled out, they ran away and that was the last time they ever saw him anymore.
I can never forget the story I heard when I was a kid, and even now it is painful and painful, my hands are shaking and I am crying. I keep wondering how the old man who escaped from that father's brain could have been able to unravel the most horrible trauma imaginable and expose it to the public with scars that will never heal.
Now I think I can understand a little.
The reason I can't help but talk about my grandfather and that old man, even if I have to rehash my own trauma, is that this level of suffering is nothing compared to the fact that their words will be forgotten. My hands shaking, my heart palpitating and dizzy, my nose running with tears, it's nothing compared to the tremendous suffering that was once there and will be forgotten.
My grandfather, who went through an unimaginable hell, lived to see his grandchildren born, and met his sister's death in the ruins of the fire. In other words, my grandfather was one of the happiest people in the ruins of the fire. My grandfather and that old man were, after all, just people wading in the depths of hell. I think that the suffering that even people who had experienced unimaginable pain could not imagine was lying like pebbles in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and no one paid any attention to it. Their suffering, which I can't even imagine, is nothing compared to the countless, tremendous suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.
Memories fade inexorably every time people talk about them. The memories that those people could not allow to be forgotten are now largely forgotten; the tremendous suffering of 78 years ago is mostly gone, never to be recounted again. Those who suffered the most from the atomic bombing died rotting in the ruins of the fire, unable to tell anyone about it. Many of those who saw it with their own eyes kept their mouths shut and took it with them to their graves. Most of those who spoke a few words are now under the grave.
Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are so light. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in such light words. But still, someone has to take over. I realize that even my words, which are so light, are only the top of the voices that are left in this world to carry on the story of the atomic bombing. I know how it feels to wonder if someone like myself is allowed to speak about this. Still, I hope that you will not shut your mouth. This is the result of our silence.
Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering and live my life consuming other people's suffering for the fun of it. I am writing this while I still have some imagination of the suffering of the old people whose voices, faces, and even words I can no longer recall.
Translator's note: The original post in Japanese is a response to a post by a Japanese contributor who wondered if he was qualified to speak out on the subject of the A-bomb when he was not from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but still spoke out about Barbie and the A-bomb. I translated it here because I think it deserves to be read by the world.
ヒップホップ？ラップ？は悪党の詩とStraight Outta Compotonの2曲しか聴いた事がなかった。
ギャングスタ系って言うのかね。ブラント巻いたりブン殴ったりの。
STUSとPUNPEEの「夜を使いはたして」を初めて聴いた。めっちゃ良かった。
イントロ長えな……と思うけど、メロウなトラックが始まると「お？」って思った。
内容は夜通し遊びまわっちゃうぜというだけのものなんだけど、表現がいちいち情緒的。
「夜を使いはたして」だもんな。まず曲名が良すぎる。
思春期に真夜中にフラフラ歩き回るのが好きだったし。というかと今でも全然好き。
ブンブン 唸るベースがブームになる けどお茶の間じゃLOWもカット
でもいつかのテレビ小僧もでっかいスピーカーの前で本物のRawを知り一人前になる
この曲一番のパンチラインなのかな。
クラブとか全然興味無かったけどちょっと行ってみたくなった。早く一人前になりてえ。
その前んとこの
作ろうとしないで作った曲を武器に日々戦うよ さあ繰り出そう
人気のない夜の先々に案とヒントは眠ってる
も良い。
どこで韻踏んでのとかはよく分からんけど、ネットの受け売りの日本語ラップはダサいみたいな認識が改まった。
いくつもの夜を使いはたしてこの曲が生まれたのなら、この曲に感動できたのなら、刹那的な時間も磨り減った寿命も無駄にはならなかったんじゃないかって思えたね。
1の説を採用するなら自動的に2の説も採用することになるのはわかるけど、2の説を採用すると自動的に1の説を採用することになる理由って何なの？
古代ローマに「Caesar」という男がいた。
言わずもがな「カイザー（帝王）」という言葉の由来になった偉人、ユリウス・カエサルである。
さて、カエサルの時代から100年後くらいに大プリニウスという有名な学者が「カエサルは母親の子宮を切って生まれたからカエサルって呼ばれたんやで」と説明した。
これは、「Caesar」という名前がラテン語で「切る」を意味する「caedere」の過去分詞「caesus」に由来している、という意味である。
ただし現在ではこの説は間違いとされており、正しくは「青みがかった灰色」を意味する「caesius」に由来するのではないかと言われている。
なぜ間違いとされているのかと言えば、カエサルが生まれたあともカエサルの母親が生きていたからである。
この当時の「子宮を切る」とは、出産の近い母親が死んだあとに胎児だけ取り出す、というような手術のことであって、現代的な帝王切開の手術ではなかった。
現代的な帝王切開の手術が確立されたのは時代が飛んで16世紀に入ってからである。
まあ確立されたと言っても当時は消毒法や輸血すらないので母親の死亡率は非常に高かったのだが。
そして、その手術を呼称するにあたって、（現代でもそうだが）医学用語にはラテン語が使われていたので「sectio caesarea」という言葉が作られた。
そういう意味では「sectio caesarea」というのは後世の造語だったわけだ。
じゃあ、その「sectio caesarea」の由来って何？という話になるが。
そもそも「母親の腹を切って生まれた子供」が「caesar」と呼ばれていたらしい。
つまり、そういう子供（caesar）の切除手術（sectio）だから「sectio caesarea」とされたのではないか、と考えられる。
じゃあじゃあ、なぜ「母親の腹を切って生まれた子供」が「caesar」と呼ばれていたのか？
1については、
先述のとおり大プリニウスの時点で「カエサルが母親の腹を切って生まれた」という俗説は広く流布されていたので、
史実のカエサルが本当に腹を切って生まれたかどうかにかかわらず語源の説明にはなっている。
んで、その大プリニウスが「カエサルの名前の由来はラテン語の『caesus』だよ」と言っているわけだから、
「カエサルが母親の腹を切って生まれた」説を信じるなら自動的に2の「caesus」説も採用されることになる。
つまり1と2はどこまで遡るかの違い、あるいは前後関係の違いにすぎない。
3は語源としてはやや強引な印象を受けるが、
いずれにせよ「Caesarea」が「帝国」という意味であるなら、それはユリウス・カエサルに由来していることになる。
結局、どの説もやんわりユリウス・カエサルに繋がっているので、
調べてみたらひどいクソ仕様だったので、同じ轍ふまないように知見共有します。
なお、消えてしまったデータは息子の卒業式の動画データ。復元不能。
ストレージは壊れるものという前提は理解しているつもりなので、状況ごとにいくつかのバックアップ体制は取ってある。
安くなったとは言えすべてのストレージをSSD化するには至っていない。
そのため、OSやソフトウェアなんかはSSDにインストール、写真や動画などのサイズがでかいデータはRaid HDDでミラーリングして格納するようにしている。
それ以外にもそれほどサイズの大きくないデータはonedriveとかのクラウドストレージを利用。そのデータもRaid HDDでミラーリングして二重にバックアップ体制を敷いている。
趣味で写真をやっているのだが、今回の事故はその編集のフローの中で起こった。
編集と格納は別で考えているので、アクセス速度が高いほうがいい編集はSSD上で行い、格納はRaid HDDに行っている。
そのタイミングでgoogle photoに分散バックアップ、必要に応じて家族なんかと共有を行う。
つまり、撮影が終わったら最初にすることは、SSD上にあるデスクトップの一時フォルダに写真と動画データをコピーすることから始まる。
Raid HDDに格納するのは、編集ソフトでレタッチが終わってからだ。
まずは写真データから編集を行い、RAWデータから無事にjpegデータへと書き出してHDDへの格納が終わった。
そのタイミングで妻からの頼まれごとのためにメールをpdfプリントして名前をつけて保存しようとした。
めったに使わない機能なのだが、指定されたのはonedriveフォルダだったので、そのまま保存をクリック。
ところが、PCからonedriveフォルダにアクセスしても出力したpdfデータが見つからない。
おかしいなと思ってもう一度出力を試みて保存フォルダのパスを確認してみる。
すると、今現在HDD側に指定してあるonedriveのパスが、SSD上のデフォルトのパスに指定されているようだった。
ここで思い至ったのが、確かPCにonedriveを設定した際にうっかりデフォルト設定のまま起動してしまい、その後、HDD上にパスを切り替えたという状況だった。
「そうかぁ。保存先を変更すると元のファイルを移動させるんじゃなくてコピーを作ってしまうんだな」なんて感じに妙に納得しつつ、もう一度しっかりとパスを確認した上でpdfをコピーしてからSSD上のonedriveをshift deleteで削除した。
エクスプローラーを閉じてデスクトップに戻ってくると妙な違和感。
ない。
はぁ？と思ってPCをダブルクリックすると、すぐに警告ウィンドウが開いて「デスクトップへのパスが間違っています」といったエラー表示。
焦る。かなり焦る。
ウィンドウをすべて閉じても、デスクトップ上にはデフォルトのアイコンだけが並んでいるだけ。
頭真っ白。
多少大事なデータはあったかなと思いながらも致命的と言えるものは思いつかず（まだ見落としてるだけかもしれない）、しかし、すぐに一時フォルダごと動画データがないことに気づく。
写真はすでにjpg出力してあるので、RAWデータが消えてしまったのはなんとかなる。
子供の卒業式の動画はまだ変換をかけてもないし、当然アップロードもしていない。
終わった。
あまりにもショックだ。
読み飛ばしここまで。
結局何が原因だったかというと、最初にonedriveをセットアップする際に、デフォルトの保存先、なおかつデスクトップやマイドキュメントなんかもバックアップに含めるという設定で始めてしまったからだったらしい。
この、onedriveのバックアップにデスクトップを含めるという操作をすると次のようなことが起こる。
「本来はC:\Users\ユーザー名\Desktopにあるはずのデスクトップデータが、C:\Users\ユーザー名\onedrive\Desktopに変更される」
・onedriveのバックアップからデスクトップを含めないように設定変更
この2つの動作を行ったにも関わらず、何故かこのパソコンのデスクトップは、C:\Users\ユーザー名\onedrive\Desktoに残ったままになってしまったというわけだ。
そのため、C:\Users\ユーザー名\Desktopにデスクトップがあると思いこんでいた自分は、C:\Users\ユーザー名\onedriveにあるonedriveのフォルダを、疑うことなく削除することができた。
そしてその結果、デスクトップにおいてあったデータのすべてを失った。
いや、流石にこんなクソ設定想定できないでしょ。
大事なデータを守るっていう名目があれば、大事なデータの格納先をそんな簡単に変えていいと思ってる？
それ、誰に許可取ってやってるんだよっていうさ。
その辺の共通プロトコルを、バックアップソフトが、しかもOSの提供元がやっていいのかよっていう。
これはちょっと言わせてくれ。
マイクロソフトクソだわ。
まぁ、なんというか皆さんも気をつけてください。というか、こんなの気をつけようがないけどな。
どこに気持ちをぶつけたって息子の大事な思い出は帰ってこないのはわかってるけど、やるせなさくらい吐き出させて。
※追記
ブラウザonedriveのゴミ箱にデータが残っている可能性はゼロです。
その理由は以下の通り。
このパソコンは1ヶ月ほど前に新規にセットアップしたものでした。
そのセットアップの過程で、onedriveをインストールする際にデフォルトの保存先、なおかつデスクトップをバックアップという設定にしてしまいました。
ここでノールックで設定してしまった自分が一番悪いことは認めます。
onedriveのセットアップが終わったあと、同期に時間がかかっていておかしいな？と思ってファイルのアップロード履歴を確認したところ、あらかじめ古いパソコンからコピーしてあったデスクトップのデータをアップロードしようとしていたので、慌てて設定を見直して、デスクトップ同期のオフ、保存先をHDDに変更しました。（変更した順番は書いてある通り覚えていません。順番が逆だったら起こり得なかったかも）
この操作によって、onedriveの保存先はHDDに変更になり、デスクトップの同期も停止しました。
しかしそうした操作を行ったにも関わらず、デスクトップの保存先はC:\Users\ユーザー名\Desktopに戻ることはなく、C:\Users\ユーザー名\onedrive\Desktopのままになってしまっていました。
そのことに気づかずに1ヶ月以上作業を続けていたなかで、記載の通りSSD内に同期されていないonedriveフォルダを発見したので削除した結果、デスクトップのデータが消失しまったという話です。
そして卒業式の動画データをデスクトップにコピーしたのは、onedriveの同期を切ったずっとあとのことです。
もともとonedriveにバックアップするつもりもないし、バックアップされていないのでwebに残っているはずもないのです。
デスクトップのデータがそんなところに格納されていることがわかっていれば、もともと削除なんてしません。
同期されていないすでに使われていないonedriveのデータだけしか削除するつもりではなかったのに、何故かその中に現在進行系で使っているデスクトップのデータが格納されていて、一緒に削除されてしまったというお話です。
ちなみに、削除直後は本当に何が起こったのか意味がわかりませんでした。
その後にマイコンピューターを開いた際、別ウィンドウでエラーが出たことで初めて状況が理解できたということです。
そのエラーが「デスクトップC:\Users\ユーザー名\onedrive\Desktopにアクセスできません」といった内容のエラーです。
デスクトップ？お前なんでそんなとこに保存されてたの？からの、そういえば思い出してみればこんなことあったよなーで、原因に思い至ったというわけです。
SDカードの復元を試みましたが、サイズの大きい動画データですので、ヘッダーは読み込めたものの、データそのものはすでに別の写真データに書き換えられてしまっていたせいかちゃんと開けませんでした。
SDカードからデスクトップにデータを移すタイミングというのは、行事ごとに撮影が終わったらSDを空にして新しく撮影できる状況を作るためなので、基本的にはデスクトップにコピーしたあとは次の撮影前に必ずフォーマットすることを習慣づけています。
それは、毎回SDカードを空っぽにすることで、現像のときにデータの重複が起こらないようにするためです。（趣味で写真を取っているので撮影枚数が莫大。尚且つ現像ソフトで不要データを削除するので、SDを空にしないと、削除後にまたコピーしてしまったりと効率が悪いため）
撮影→データをデスクトップに一次保存→次回撮影時にSDカードのフォーマット→時間があるときにPC上のデータを選別、現像→バックアップ含めてデータを格納→SDカードから新しい撮影データをPCにコピー→次回撮影時にフォーマット→時間あるときにPC上のデータを選別、現像→・・・・
SDカード自体も紛失の危険性とか考えてそれほど信用しているメディアではないので、できるだけデータが保管されている時間を短くするようにしています。
個人的には、このワークフローが一番データの保存性も高く、無駄も少ない処理方法だと思っています。
だって、デスクトップを間違って消すなんてこと普通しないでしょ。
壊れたなら仕方ないって、それはそれで納得できるんだって。
流石にこんなことまで想定したワークフロー作れってのは無理な話ですよ。
すでにonedriveからデスクトップの同期も切ってて、しかも別フォルダでonedriveがちゃんと稼働してるのに、まさか自分のデスクトップがC:\Users\ユーザー名\onedrive\Desktopに保存されてるなんて思う？
