text:
THE MIRETTES were a female vocal trio composed of former members of the Ikettes in the Ike & Tina Turner Revue.[1]

History

Robbie Montgomery, Venetta Fields and Jessie Smith were the first official incarnation of the Ikettes, a backing trio for Ike & Tina Turner.[2] In 1965, the Ikettes had a top 40 pop hit with “Peaches 'N' Cream” and a top 20 R&B hit with “I'm So Thankful” on Modern Records.[3] As their popularity grew, Ike Turner sent a different set of Ikettes on the road with “The Dick Clark Caravan of Stars” and kept Montgomery, Smith, and Fields on tour with his revue which caused much annoyance to the trio. They also were not receiving the extra money from their hits, so they left the revue in late 1965.[4]

After trying unsuccessfully to continue using the name the Ikettes under management of Tina Turner's sister, Alline Bullock, they signed to Mirwood Records and changed their name to the Mirettes in 1966.[5][6] After their two singles on the label did not chart, they signed to Revue Records where they had some success. Their first single, “In the Midnight Hour” reached No. 45 on the _Billboard_ Hot 100 and No. 18 on the R&B chart.[7][8] Their next two singles made little impression, as did a single on Minit Records in 1968 entitled “Help Wanted.” In June 1968, they performed at the Soul-In show held by the Chicago chapter of the National Association of Television and Radio Announcers (NATRA).[9]

A transfer to Uni Records in 1969 was more fruitful for them, but the songs were not big hits.[10] That same year they sang on _The Lost Man_ soundtrack produced by Quincy Jones.[11] In 1970, they signed to the independent label, Zea Records, and released the raunchy “Ain't My Stuff Good Enough.”[12][13] Venetta Fields left the group and was replaced by former Ikette Pat Powdrill before they broke up in 1971.[14]

Discography

Studio albums

  --------------------------------------------------------------
  Title                    Details
  ------------------------ -------------------------------------
  _In The Midnight Hour_   Released: 1968 Label: Revue Records

                           Catalog Number: RS – 7205

  _Whirlpool_              Released: 1969 Label: Uni Records

                           Catalog Number: 73062
  --------------------------------------------------------------

Vocal credits

-   1969: _The Lost Man (The Original Soundtrack Album)_

Other appearances

-   1970: _A Little Shot Of Rhythm & Blues_ (Rhapsody Records)
-   2006: _The Mirwood Soul Story Volume 2_ (Kent dance)
-   2010: _Northern Soul Of Revue_ (Soul World)
-   2016: Quincy Jones – _The Cinema Of Quincy Jones_ (Decca Records)
-   2017: _Mirwood Northern Soul_ (Kent Dance)

Singles

+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| Single      | Release     | Label & Cat | Peak chart  | Album       |
| (A-side,    | date        | #           | position    |             |
| B-side)     |             |             |             |             |
+=============+=============+=============+=============+=============+
| US Hot      | US          |
| 100         | R&B         |
| [15]        | [16]        |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “He's All   | Apr 1966    | Mirwood –   | —           | —           |
| Right With  |             | 5514        |             |             |
| Me” b/w     |             |             |             |             |
| “Your Kind  |             |             |             |             |
| Ain't No    |             |             |             |             |
| Good”       |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “Now That I | Mar         | Mirwood –   | —           | —           |
| Found You,  | 1967[17]    | 5531        |             |             |
| Baby” b/w   |             |             |             |             |
| “He's All   |             |             |             |             |
| Right With  |             |             |             |             |
| Me”         |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “In The     | Nov 1967    | Revue –     | 45          | 18          |
| Midnight    |             | 11004       |             |             |
| Hour” b/w   |             |             |             |             |
| “To Love    |             |             |             |             |
| Somebody”   |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “Help       | May         | Minit –     | —           | —           |
| Wanted” b/w | 1968[18]    | 32045       |             |             |
| “John's Big |             |             |             |             |
| Chance” by  |             |             |             |             |
| Huggy's Ork |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “The Real   | May         | Revue –     | —           | —           |
| Thing” b/w  | 1968[19]    | 11017       |             |             |
| “Take Me    |             |             |             |             |
| For A       |             |             |             |             |
| Little      |             |             |             |             |
| While”      |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “I'm A      | Nov         | Revue –     | —           | —           |
| Whole New   | 1968[20]    | 11029       |             |             |
| Thing” b/w  |             |             |             |             |
| “First      |             |             |             |             |
| Love”       |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “Stand By   | Feb 1969    | Uni – 55110 | —           | —           |
| Your Man”   |             |             |             |             |
| b/w “If     |             |             |             |             |
| Everybody'd |             |             |             |             |
| Help        |             |             |             |             |
| Somebody”   |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “Heart Full | Apr 1969    | Uni – 55126 | —           | —           |
| Of          |             |             |             |             |
| Gladness”   |             |             |             |             |
| b/w “Ain't  |             |             |             |             |
| You Trying  |             |             |             |             |
| To Cross    |             |             |             |             |
| Over”       |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “Whirlpool” | Jul 1969    | Uni – 55147 | —           | —           |
| b/w “Ain't  |             |             |             |             |
| You Trying  |             |             |             |             |
| To Cross    |             |             |             |             |
| Over”       |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “Sweet Soul | Sep 1969    | Uni – 55161 | —           | —           |
| Sister” b/w |             |             |             |             |
| “Rap, Run   |             |             |             |             |
| It Down”    |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “Ain't My   | 1970        | Zea – ZEA   | —           | —           |
| Stuff Good  |             | 50002       |             |             |
| Enough” b/w |             |             |             |             |
| “The Time   |             |             |             |             |
| And The     |             |             |             |             |
| Season”     |             |             |             |             |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+
| “—” denotes |
| a recording |
| that did    |
| not chart.  |
+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

title: The Mirettes

question: Who comprised the Mirettes?

answer: Former members of the Ikettes in the Ike & Tina Turner Revue.

question: Who were the Mirettes?

answer: A female vocal trio. Different women were in it during different incarnations of the group.

question: In what year did the Ikettes change their name to the Mirettes?

answer: 1966.

question: Who produced the "The Lost Man" soundtrack?

answer: Quincy Jones.

question: Write a ~8 sentence summary.

answer: The Mirettes were a 1960s female vocal group with three members and many incarnations featuring different women. The first incarnation featured former members of the Ikettes, which was the group in Ike & Tina Turner's Revue. The Ikettes consisted of Robbie Montgomery, Venetta Fields and Jessie Smith. Initially, the Ikettes formed a backing trio, but as they were not receiving any extra money from the songs they sang, they left the revue in 1965. In 1966 they signed to Mirwood Records under the name The Mirettes and had some success. A transfer to Uni Records in 1969 was more fruitful but produced no major hits. They moved to Zea Records, had one hit, and Venetta Fields left the group. Pat Powdrill, another former Ikette, replaced her briefly before the group permanently disbanded.


split: test

text:
It was initially a writing project for the final assessment of the last French course in Quebec cegep. It was initially written in French and translated afterwards, albeit an essential translation more than a direct, word-by-word one. I do not intend much with it, and such the critique is not to be with any specific aim other than quality. I have no intention of publishing for now, be it this story or another, but am still interested in improving. I will leave the untranslated preface, although I am not quite sure how relevant it is: I wrote it as asked by the initial guideline of the course, not because I felt it important. The references are important in an analytic sense, but one does not lose much of the story by not knowing. Easter eggs, if anything.

-----------------------------------------

Préface-Avertissement :

Cette création s’inspire de Comment faire l’amour avec un Nègre sans se fatiguer (1985) de Dany Laferrière par opposition thématique. Le Vieux de Laferrière recherche son émancipation : il adule et embrasse le rêve américain profondément narcissique, et se retrouve ainsi, par la suite, accepté par la société québécoise postmoderne. Joseph, au contraire, c’est le blanc dit émancipé, tristement individualisé qui ne se reconnaît pas, comme bien d’autres, dans ces traits conditionnés par la société macabre hypermoderne. Ce Joseph, dans son cheminement, déconstruira son narcissisme aux suites d’un premier contact interpersonnel signifiant, contact quasi-impossible dans notre monde contemporain. Ainsi, thématiquement – en présentant l’envers de la médaille d’un nègre du Québec d’autrefois – nous rejoignons le roman Frontières ou Tableaux d’Amérique (1995) de Noël Audet et son thème unifiant de déchéance du rêve américain, à travers ses personnages forcés à un individualisme qui ne leur sied guerre. Nous retrouverons aussi l’antithèse du Montréal du Vieux; la ville reste symbole de sa société contemporaine, mais ce temps n’est plus à l’espoir de débauche hédoniste, au contraire, mais bien un temps d’une société qui n’accepte pas la décadence des valeurs révolues d’Oncle Sam et de Marilyn Monroe. Y sera représentée Mary Wang, la huitième Marie, Miz Gin, l’alter-égo de Miz Littérature, qui n’est plus une WASP envahie qui se révolte contre sa culture, mais bien une immigrante chinoise – l’envahisseur – qui se révolte contre sa culture qui tend à reprendre l’erreur du capitalisme états-unien. Joseph, c’est Joseph Bélanger-Leblanc, le fermier noble. Il est rude et cru comme le Vieux, mais pourtant émotif et profond comme le personnage éponyme de Palomar (1997) d’Italo Calvino, car il n’y a pas d’aliénation sans opposition, et Joseph, c’est l’archétype de l’aliéné hypermoderne, dans toute sa complexité apparente.

-----------------------------------------

It is one of those mornings when we are alone of all our billions that the cold reminds us our solitude. The cold embraces us, isolates us from one another, filling every breach through which we might escape it. Then, it is the unsettling *angoisse de l’âme* that settles in, Charles’ *spleen* read aloud to a shaking rendition of Boulez’s Anthème below a crimson sky on the sea falling, a glass of gin clutched in the left hand, the other hand empty. It is but autumn arriving to this beautiful city of Montreal. Once the festivities are over and the forgotten joyfuls home, settles down the glacial air that separates us with its stinging weight. It is my city, a town ruined in pretending no warmth is lost. Yet it never fails freezing when the leaves leave us for southern reaches.

∙∙

“Oh mon Dieu!”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Even inside the bus, coldness does not separate us any less. The teeming couples would not fathom rebelling against their thick furs, losing themselves in a frustrated silence which lovers attempt to bury under confining music, as if unknown to one another. It makes me feel sick, this anonymous freezing of our time taking roots.

∙

Marie cries out, as Joseph brutally penetrates her. She, tied to the four corners of the bed, at his mercy; the medieval torture has for only goal the liberation of the soul, so may it elevate itself to the high heavens of the divine kings, pursuing Marie’s wail.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

“F=ma=-kx, solve for y. It is a quadri-dimensional progressive wave system.” [sic] I happened to have an optical thermo-directional mechanics course this morning. It doesn’t mean anything: I was not attentive, my eyes preferring listening to the clicking hand of the fleeting time, only in wait for the break to go fuck Miz Gin with proper normative étiquette: absent of love, eyes gazing – lifeless eyes – at some arbitrary speck of dust on the off-white wall. After, goodbye. Clean up, fare well until we meet again tomorrow. There is nothing better than making love at noon, ‘tis said.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

His fist tightly shut, he hits her, pounding. Marie viciously finds herself in ecstasy, in front of this sought attention. Finally! liberation of her entwined phantasms.

∙

The teacher throws up his memories to a wall painted with students – may he feel comforted of speaking alone. “Did you enjoy the novel’s reading?” And a student, whispering under his unborn beard: “Some shit!” But we do not want to know, we do not want to learn, we do not want to understand, so we keep quiet. “So?” Yes, teacher, we know of the illustrious Narcissus Laferrière. Except – in personal accordance – I would gladly stuff that dreaming nigger like a turkey, with a side of cranberries, to accompany his beautiful American dream beginning with hole and ending in thanksgiving. But I am drifting from the point, please excuse me. Being granted a role in *les grands homes*, I may fathom compliance, but I wish nothing dooming me to the loneliness of a frozen mountain peak. Especially if we must be alone from the very start, less chance is not even.

∙

She orgasms, a laugh escaping through the breach of her torn lip. If her parents could see her – a shock it would drive home. She shivers at the innocuously comfortable thought; it is the love of pain that mends the pains of love.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Miz Gin, Marie Wang, guides me to the melancholy club. In it, hundreds, thousands, billions; an entire universe of lesser gods dance in the hall with mirror walls. And we too dance. Marie is breathtaking. She warms up like a professional; one would be tempted to forget the absence of pole. The others around, despite, do not appear to see her.  The poor blokes gaze in her general direction, but the stare passes directly through her. The photonic information is not recognized. Does not compute. The music is drowning the electromagnetic wave and – maybe for it – they resemble automata: incapable of meaningful communication, instinctive machines, unable to understand their given. Nor do they seem any troubled by the impossibility of knowledge. Were I a greater god, I would replace the minds of every partners and not an eyebrow would be raised in questioning. It gives me nausea, a dizziness of the soul deploring its sidereal distance from any sincere subject. They are, at this instant, but objects of my story, despite my crying invitation. And Miz Gin that is still dancing of all her person...

∙∙

 “Plus fort, my white nigger!”

He takes her from behind. They go on fucking, fucking away the remorse coating their guts.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

The walls are made out of dead trees, and pieces – of art – occupy them, balancing the monotony of the uncultivated life with the perfect spirit of beauty, a beauty I will as overwhelming as exalting. A perfume penetrates and populates every point in the room, meticulously coating the skin, filling the lungs and calming the hearth of being. This odour capsizes me: my eyes are afire of an unalienable happiness. A beer lies on the table ahead of me, attached to the wall. A tall pitcher, filled to the half, but there is only a single bock for the whole of the table. It is in my hand that I shall carry it, the left, because there is no hand anymore at the end of my right arm: there is my – my – Miz Gin, my Marie. At the extremity of my arm, it is her body, albeit I do not know where it starts, where my previous person ends. Her body continues from mine: I would not know how to untangle it, as she goes on petting my right hand, in the middle of our new being, with hers.

∙∙∙∙

Their perversions vaporize on his American white pine, as she impales her sex – with gracious joy – up to the vice that grips her throat.

∙∙∙∙∙

And I am drunk of a comfort that pervades me. The sea is not tempest-ridden yet: she is still a maternal beating that kindly rocks a child. It is Freud’s intemporal return to the mother, the impossible reinsertion in the warm and humid placenta, which makes us see the feminine sex. The return that – although rejected by the common reason of contemporary science – pulls on the soul’s string with such agility that we cannot fail to vibrate in unison.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Blood spoils drop-by-drop the white residence bed, recalling into reality the metaphysical sex.
This blood is Marie’s promise.

–

Mademoiselle Wang tells me I fainted at the club. Maybe have I neglected breathing? I do not know. I foremost intended avoiding the heart’s demise, for getting back up from such a fall would not be a simple answer of summing electromagnetic and gravitational forces. She understood: we are now at the pub. She is quiet. She will remain quiet. There is nothing left to say. Her silence, it is more eloquence than past. I could have ripped my ears off of my body that I would not have spoken as much in my life, because the past’s word is empty, and Marie and I, Marie Wang and Joseph Bélanger-Leblanc, we have known each other – now – since the dawn of time and for immemorial eternity. Our souls tame one another, the first in decades.

∙∙∙∙

In unison: “Oh, yes!”

For better and worse; Joseph, elevated by this virginal oath, removes himself softly, squirming his hips as not to sever the link uniting them, that united them. A tear rushes at the sheets to dilute the blood. His.

∙∙∙∙∙

Man is a wave on the ocean. The image designates and defines humanity in all its insignificance. He is but a quantum wave sailing on the sea that is the universe, our mother. Yours and mine. And I am partly her, without distinction. I am but a wave, a negligible tremor of existence, but I am not alone for it.  I am not alone, because I am only a movement of the world and these movements imbricate together, are born and die of the same wind. It is the wind of the sea, under a sky of ink painted on rice paper, rocking us endlessly with its brush.

title: L'Assommoir (Late Cross-Post with /r/writing)

question: What is the main point of the story?

answer: There doesn't seem to be an obvious point. The story depicts the narrator and his girlfriend. They seem to be a functioning couple for the most part. She's an exceptional dancer, and the narrator thinks other people's failure to notice her is their loss. They like kinky sex, and the narrator especially likes having sex at noon. One night at a club, the narrator faints, and the couple has to spend the rest of the night at a bar instead.

question: What are the couple's future plans?


text:
We often get asked where our apples are from. We have a local supplier outside the village of St. Jacobs that provides us with quality graded apples… Read more “Our Apples”

Tuesday market is almost here! You can expect The Fritter Co. to be making fritters mid June to the end of August on Tuesdays, Thursday and Saturdays.

Yes… it has been thirty years that we have been making these mouth watering apple fritters for your taste buds.

We’re happy to share that we’ll finally be flipping fritters for you again on Thursday! That’s right, on Thursday, March 6th you’ll be able to purchase some warm… Read more “We’re Back!”

We had hoped to launch a website under different circumstances. Along with all of the other vendors in the main building at the St. Jacobs Farmers’ Market, we… Read more “After the Fire”

question: What is the purpose of the text?

answer: To promote the products of the Fritter Co. and raise awareness of the brand; the text suggests these list / acts as headlines for articles, interlaced with promotions

question: Who are 'we' in the text?

answer: The Fritter Co., vendors of apple fritters

question: Who is the target audience?

answer: People in the local area who can visit their stall; potentially repeat customers who would be interested in their product.

question: Where is this situated?

answer: The company's stall is in the main building at the St. Jacobs Farmers' Market.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This text promotes the Fritter Co., vendors of apple fritters at the St Jacobs Farmer's Market, and seeks to build their brand with articles explaining their business and product in more depth.


text:
“I don't know about this.” Mark said, pacing back and forth in his sheik but shaggy boardroom while

 scrolling up and down on his phone. He placed the phone down on the boardroom table.

	“What do you think, Tom?”

	Tom sighed. This was the 15th time he'd been asked what he thought in the last hour. He

 grabbed the phone off of the table. There hadn't been any changes that he could tell from the last

time he had chimed in.

        “Looks fine, Mark.” Tom replied.

        “Are you sure? You don't think it's too aggressive?”

        “I think if that's what you want to do then you should do it.”

        “Right. I should do it.” Mark reassured himself. He grabbed the phone from Tom's hands. “But I

don't know. Maybe it's too much. Maybe this is too much.”

	Tom rubbed his eyeballs. The other nine employees sitting around the table had long lost

 interest in Mark's concerns or their standings in the company. They all just wanted to go home.

	“I mean, do you think maybe it makes me come off as controlling? Cause I want to sound

confident, but I don't want to be controlling, you know? Does it make me sound like a dick? Pete,

what do you think?”

        Pete's left eyelid slid open from his nap.

        “It's fine.” he mumbled and then slipped back to sleep.

        Mark let out a frustrated whimper. He walked towards the double pane glass window and

thumped his head against it. The San Diego city lights twinkled below.

       Elaine, a first year web design supervisor who Mark had hired just a month ago, adjusted herself

in her seat.

      “Mark?” she called out softly. “If I were you I wouldn't give it so much thought. People gravitate

to you for who you are, so just be who you are. I think that's important.”

      Mark took a deep breath. He looked down at his phone one last time.

      “You're right.”

His thumb tapped the phone. The board members unanimously rolled back in their chairs.

      “If she doesn't think the Chinese place is a good place to go for a first date, big deal. She can

suggest another place. I'm open. But at least now someone's made a decision and we're not playing

the 'I don't care where we go' game.”

      Tom yawned.

      “Did you look over the new app update, Mark?”

      “The what?”

      “The new update. It takes effect tonight.”

      “Oh, yeah, yeah. Sounds good. Get that going. Can't believe we haven't been requiring social

security numbers this whole time.”

       The board members sauntered out of the room.

title: New Facebook Update Eve [HM]

question: Which characters are going on a date?

answer: Mark is going on a date with a woman.

question: Describe the narrator.

answer: The narrator is a guy named Tom who works for Facebook.

question: What is the relationship between Tom and Mark?

answer: Tom and Mark are coworkers.

question: Where does the story take place?

answer: The story takes place in a boardroom.

question: Explain the new app update.

answer: The new app update requires users to enter their social securit numbers.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The employees of Facebook are gathered at the boardroom prior to the launch of a new update. Mark (Zuckerberg?) is contemplating an upcoming date he has, where he intends to take a woman to a Chinese restaurant. The new app update requires users to provide their social security numbers.


text:
A GIRL raped by up to 70 Telford grooming gang members from the age of 12 saw just ONE of the men convicted over the vile crimes.

The victim was pregnant at 13 and suffered four years of abuse and faced death threats from the network of paedophiles in the town.

[ A girl raped by up to 70 members of a Telford sex gang saw just one man convicted over the vile crimes]

2

 A girl raped by up to 70 members of a Telford sex gang saw just one man convicted over the vile crimesCredit: Alamy
The girl – whose ordeal only ended when she fled Telford aged 16 – told The Sunday Mirror the men 'stole her childhood' and said all she wants "is justice".

She added: "All I want is justice, because the men who raped me are walking around scot free.

"I am terrified they’re doing what they did to me to other innocent young girls in Telford.

The now 19-year-old said she bumps into her abusers 'every time she goes home'.

Balraj Singh, 23, was the only man convicted of abusing her.

He was jailed for three and a half years for sexual activity with a child, according to reports.

[ The now 19-year-old said she bumps into her abusers 'every time she goes home']

2

 The now 19-year-old said she bumps into her abusers 'every time she goes home'Credit: Alamy
A DNA test on the aborted foetus identified a man who got her pregnant but charges were dropped when he said he believed she was 16.

A campaign now means the teenager has been told she has grounds to take others to court.

Lawyer Laura Farris, of Littleton Chambers said there was a “decent” chance of persuading the CPS to reverse its decision not to prosecute key suspects.

A CPS spokesperson said: “The CPS is committed to supporting victims. In respect of this investigation, there was not enough evidence to proceed with other suspects.”

When questioned by the newspaper assistant Chief Con-stable Martin Evans said: "The case was recently reviewed, where it was identified that a detailed and thorough investigation was carried out."

[]

PUB PROBLEMS

All the loopholes which mean you can order a pint WITHOUT a meal in Tier 2

[]

OFF THE MARK

Doomsday Covid death scenario versus what actually happened revealed

[]

SO VILE

Firefighter & wife 'raped girl, 7, to show her how to have baby & stitched wounds'

[]

HO REALLY

Xmas 'travel disruption' loophole means Brits can see bubbles after December 27

[]
Latest

FALLEN EMPIRE

Philip Green's Arcadia empire collapses with 13K jobs at risk

[]

AIR BLOCK

Labour MPs 'siding with dangerous crooks' by trying to block deportation flight

At least 1,000 children - some as young as 11 - are feared to have been drugged and abused by perverts in Telford, Shrops, since the 1980s.

But their nightmare ordeal went on for decades as authorities repeatedly failed to stamp out a network of paedophiles in the town.

Telford and Wrekin Council say they will hold a public inquiry.

Telford victim reveals abuse that forced her into two abortions before she was 18

------------------------------------------------------------------------

WE PAY FOR YOUR STORIES! DO YOU HAVE A STORY FOR THE SUN ONLINE NEWS TEAM? EMAIL US AT TIPS@THE-SUN.CO.UK OR CALL 0207 782 4368. YOU CAN WHATSAPP US ON 07810 791 502. WE PAY FOR VIDEOS TOO. CLICK HERE TO UPLOAD YOURS.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

question: Summarize unjust events in the article.

answer: A girl was raped by up to 70 Telford grooming gang members from the age of 12. The victim was pregnant at 13 and suffered four years of abuse and faced death threats from the network of pedophiles in the town. Just one of the men was convicted of the rape. A DNA test on the aborted fetus identified a man who got her pregnant but charges were dropped when he said he believed she was 16. At least 1,000 children - some as young as 11 - are feared to have been drugged and abused by perverts in Telford, Shrops, since the 1980s. But their nightmare ordeal went on for decades as authorities repeatedly failed to stamp out a network of pedophiles in the town.

question: What does the article say about the UK laws?


text:
//This is my first submission here so I'm not exactly sure of the rules. I've submitted under an alias because I'm not sure I'm ready to have this associated with my main account. This is also the very first piece of fiction, or writing at all for that matter, that I've put together. I welcome any and all feedback.//

In the moment that Jack made the decision to die there was no relief. He knew that there would be no solace in the decision; he had saved no one, not even himself. It was a failure on every level, but saving his own life would be worse. He was shivering as he held his son close; the adrenaline had run out and every last ounce of energy drained from his body. The crying was coming back into focus. He hadn't heard it for minutes - or was it hours? How long had he been out there? It didn't matter any longer. It didn't matter if he had minutes or hours left. Jack's only thoughts were focused on his son.

Jack had never been a good father. For the first two years of his son's life he barely saw him. While on the surface it seemed like he was working to provide for his family, in reality he worked to create a barrier between him and them. He clung to the office for as long as possible before slipping back home. Friends and family never saw work for what it was. When they saw them together in the evening and weekends everything looked picture perfect. There was endless doting, teaching and fun. Now that the evenings were long and the air warm it was sailing season again, something Jack and his son found both exhilarating and calming. It was the perfect activity for them - Jack could disappear into his own mind and escape the world while his son felt the spray of the ocean on his face, driving his sense of adventure.

Conspicuously absent from the boat was Cate. She never found any joy in sailing or for the ocean. Too dirty. Too stressful. Too much work. "I'll stay home, and I wish you wouldn't take our son out either. I don't like it." It was the same set of excuses and negativity every week.  Cate's depression had left her unable to find the good in anything and it had become viral, spreading to everyone around her. Jack had even noticed his son starting to mimic her. There was more sulking, more of a focus on the problems in his life. He was slowly losing what made him a joy to be around, and with so little time with him every day Jack felt like there was nothing that could be done about it.

There was nothing particularly special about that day. Just like every day in California there was a slight breeze over the harbor and the gulls were swarming. The seagulls had increased in numbers since Jack was a kid, likely because of overcrowding in the harbor. More boats meant more money for the harbor, so why wouldn't they build more slips in every dock and overcrowd what little space there was left? You would have thought that increasing dock prices would have attracted a better crowd but instead it seemed there was a sense of entitlement with the new tenants. Fuck the harbor, right? Someone else will clean up the trash.

When they left the house Cate wasn't there. She hadn't been at the house all morning which was odd. Normally she slept in on the weekends. Or maybe she just laid in bed hiding from the responsibilities of her life. It didn't matter - regardless, it was nice to know Jack would have the morning alone with his son.

Sunscreen - check. Hats - check. Speakers - check. They always listened to Jack's favorite albums on the boat. His son didn't care what was playing; his love for music was the one thing that was clearly from his father. As they passed a couple of college kids on the dock one of them bumped Jack's son nearly knocking him into the water. Jack joked with the kids that his dad reflexes saved the day once again, but Jack's face was clearly saying "Watch where the fuck you're going, kid."

They shoved off, slowly floating through the harbor. The wind was low that day on the water, so Jack had to manually paddle them to get going. Jack's son was fidgeting with the speakers; at 4 years old he was particularly adept with technology. About 30 seconds in they heard the familiar "bloo-bloop" which meant bluetooth was connected. It was time for some jams. The moment they turned the corner out of the harbor the wind picked up and they were off. There was no destination in mind, but Jack's son had been wondering what happened when you got so far that you couldn't see land. They had never been that far before - not because there was any danger but because Jack's son typically got too bored to go that far.

The wind was strong and the sky clear. As they sailed out perpendicular to the wind the gulls started thinning out. Apparently it's too much work to catch food that doesn't come from a shiny bag or greasy paper, so most of them stay by the docks these days. Jack's son was excited about losing sight of land. There wasn't an ounce of fear in him.

Just as the last hill and building dropped off the horizon the music stopped. Jack had made sure the battery was charged before they left - he had forgotten in the past and his son had melted down in the boat many times because of it - so Jack assumed the bluetooth had simply disconnected. One day they'll get it right. "Dad, water. Dad...water. WATER!" yelled Jack's son. They had taken on water before; boats do that. But the intensity in Jack's son's voice let him know that this was different. Jack saw the speaker floating in a couple inches of water while more was gushing in. He lurched forward, trying to plug the hole with his hands but realized quickly there was no stopping it. Shit shit SHIT! Of course there were no life jackets. Today of all days. Check check check that list went without a thought of life jackets. They hadn't capsized in two years and the life jackets were always strapped to the bow of the boat. Where were they now?

It was clear they were in trouble, but Jack did everything he could to calm his son down. He took him into his arms as the boat sank, turning to its side as water slowly seeped in to the hull. They sat there as long as the boat would hold them and swam away moments before the last bit went under. Jack's son could tread water but not well, so every bit of Jack's energy went into keeping them both afloat. It wasn't long until Jack's son clung to him, unable to keep his own head above water any longer. Swimming toward land was their only option, but with no land in sight it would be a miracle if they made it.

Adrenaline is a funny thing. It'll fill your entire body and mind with a sense of focus, so singular that everything else fades away. But in the middle of the ocean the only thing that fades away is the ocean behind you and the screams of your child. So you swim. Jack swam. There was no way to know if he made any progress; land never came into sight. They may have been stuck in the current or they may simply have been too far. At a certain point Jack knew that his son was only weighing him down and that his only chance of survival was letting him go. That was never an option. As the adrenaline wore down and every ounce of hope left him, Jack could not let go of his son. In the moment that Jack made the decision to die there was no relief.

Jack's head went under first. He held up his son's body, keeping his head above water as long as he could. Jack's head popped back above a few more times. The very last time he heard his son screaming out "Mommy!!??!" As his head went under for the last time Jack was filled with disappointment. Not only had he failed himself and his son, but his son's last words were crying out for his mother, not him. His mother could have saved him. She would have. She had said all along that boats were dangerous and she didn't want her son to sail.

Jack struggled to hold his breath. His mind flashing back, seeing his son grow up. How happy his wife had been when he was born and how slowly her smiles turned into blank stares. Her warnings about the boat and the ocean. His mind flashed to that morning. That boat. Where had his wife been? Why wasn't she home? How had the hole been created, and where were the life jackets? Jack thought there had been nothing particularly special about that day, but in his last moments he realized that nothing had been right. The ocean swallowed him, with his last sight being his son's feet kicking through the water, keeping himself afloat.

title: [RF] - Sail On

question: Why did Jack decide to die?

answer: Because Jack is no longer able to stay afloat and chooses to use the last of his energy to keep his son above water a little longer.

question: How does Jack plan to die?

answer: He is going to drown.

question: What is the last sight Jack sees before he dies?

answer: His son's feet kicking through the water.

question: Where does the bulk of the story take place?

answer: On Jack's sinking boat.

question: Who is Cate?

answer: Jack's wife and the mother of his son.

question: What does Jack realize at the end of the story?

answer: He realizes that his wife was the one who made the hole in the boat and removed the life jackets.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Jack takes his son out on a boat. His wife, who has depression, is suspiciously absent from the house. While out on the water, the boat begins to sink. Jack struggles to swim back to shore with his son, but eventually accepts that he is going to die. Before he drowns, he realizes Cate was the one who removed the life jackets and made a hole in the boat.


text:
JOHN CUNNINGHAM (1819–1893) was a Scottish minister who served as Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland in 1886.

He was instrumental in broadening appointments within the Church of Scotland to other Presbyterian bodies. He was also the main mover in introducing organs into Scottish churches (Scottish services were previously in plainsong in most churches).

Life

[Crieff Parish Church] He was born in Paisley on 9 May 1819, the son of Daniel Cunningham, an ironmonger, living and working at 53 High Street.[1]

He was educated at Paisley Grammar School then studied Divinity at both Glasgow University and Edinburgh University. At the latter he won Prof Wilson's prize for poetry with his poem “The Hearth and the Altar”. He was licensed to preach by the Presbytery of the Church of Scotland in Paisley in 1845. He worked briefly in Lanark then was ordained at Crieff in August 1845. He served as minister of Crieff Parish Church for 41 years.[2]

In 1860 Edinburgh University awarded him an honorary doctorate (DD). In 1867 he came to fame whilst still at Crieff in a court case known as the “Crieff Organ Case”, where he won the right to install an organ in his church. The court case caused a wave of church organs to be installed across Scotland.[3]

In 1886 he succeeded Very Rev Alexander Ferrier Mitchell as Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. He was elected Principal of St Mary's College, St Andrews in the same year (replacing John Tulloch) and also awarded a further doctorate (LLD) from Glasgow University. In 1887 he got a third doctorate (LLD) from Trinity College, Dublin.[4]

He died in St Andrews on 1 September 1893.[5]

Family

In December 1846 he married Susan Porteous Murray (d.1902) only daughter of Crieff banker, William Porteous and Susan Porteous. They had at least seven children.

They had a daughter, Susan Porteous Cunningham (1852-1913). She married Rev Robert Davidson, minister of St Cyrus.[6]

They were parents to the anatomist Daniel John Cunningham.[7]

Publications

-   Popery and Scotch Episcopacy Compared (1849)
-   Church History of Scotland 2 vols (1859) (second edition 1882)
-   The Quakers: An International History (1868) (second edition 1897)
-   New Theory of Knowing and Known (1874)
-   Home Spun Religion (1880)
-   The Religion of Love (1880)

[1] Paisley Post Office directory 1830

[2]

[3] Children of the Fasti, by Brian Orr

[4] ODNB: John Cunningham

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title: John Cunningham (moderator)

question: Who is John Cunningham?

answer: John Cunningham was a Scottish minister who served as Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland in 1886.

question: What was a major accomplishment of his?

answer: One of his major accomplishments was that he broadened appointments within the Church of Scotland to other Presbyterian bodies. He also introduced organs into Scottish churches.

question: Where did Cunningham study Divinity?

answer: He studied Divinity at Glasgow University and Edinburgh University.

question: How many publications are attributed to Cunningham?

answer: six

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: John Cunningham was a Scottish minister who served as Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland in 1886. One of his major accomplishments was that he broadened appointments within the Church of Scotland to other Presbyterian bodies. He also introduced organs into Scottish churches.


text:
The INTERNATIONAL ICE HOCKEY ASSOCIATION was a governing body for international ice hockey. It was established in 1940 when the Canadian Amateur Hockey Association wanted more control over international hockey, and was in disagreement with the definition of amateur used by the International Olympic Committee. The Amateur Hockey Association of the United States co-founded the association, with the British Ice Hockey Association joining later. The association oversaw the relationships between the National Hockey League, and leagues within the national amateur associations. W. G. Hardy served as its president, and planned for an amateur hockey World Series after World War II. The association was merged into the Ligue Internationale de Hockey sur Glace in 1947.

Background

In the wake of Canada not winning the gold medal in ice hockey at the 1936 Winter Olympics, the Canadian Amateur Hockey Association (CAHA) pushed for an updated definition of amateur that met the realities of present-day sport in Canada, and would permit Canada to use its best non-professional players at international competitions. The revisions were led by W. G. Hardy and George Dudley on behalf of the CAHA, and were opposed by the Amateur Athletic Union of Canada (AAU of C) and its president W. A. Fry. The CAHA requested four changes to the amateur code of the AAU of C, which included; that players who tried out unsuccessfully for a professional team should be reinstated as amateurs; that professional and amateur hockey teams should be allowed to play exhibition games against each other; that players should be allowed to seek legitimate employment in hockey; and that players should be reimbursed by their employers for time lost from work while competing on behalf of their clubs.[1] The AAU of C rejected three of the four proposals, which led to the CAHA separating from its parent organization.[2]

International hockey in the United States in 1937 was governed by the Amateur Athletic Union. After the CAHA split ways from the AAU of C, the American union terminated its working agreement with the CAHA in March 1937, that had allowed for the transferring of players and exhibition games between the two countries.[3] In August 1937, the AAU issued an ultimatum to the Eastern Amateur Hockey League (EAHL), not to have any Canadian-born players in its league. EAHL president and hockey promoter Tommy Lockhart then entered into negotiations with the CAHA, and reached an agreement to transfer a limited number of Canadian players to the league. The EAHL then broke away from the AAU as its governing body.[4] Lockhart recognized the need for a national governing body to efficiently manage hockey within the United States,[5] and founded the Amateur Hockey Association of the United States (AHAUS) later in 1937.[6]

In September 1938, the CAHA and AHAUS reached a working agreement which regulated international games in North America, set out provisions for transfer of players between the organizations, and recognized of each other's authority.[7] Since both the CAHA and the Amateur Athletic Union were members of Ligue Internationale de Hockey sur Glace (LIHG), the American union protested the CAHA affiliation with AHAUS. The CAHA felt that AHAUS was the most comprehensive ice hockey governing body in the United States, and stayed with the 1938 agreement. The decision would potentially lose Canada its membership in the LIHG, and the ability to compete at the Ice Hockey World Championships or ice hockey at the Olympic Games.[8] The LIHG ruled in favour of the protest, but the CAHA continued its association with AHAUS. LIHG president Paul Loicq subsequently chose to allow for the continued negotiations.[9] By then, the AAU of C decided to adopt the definition of amateur as laid out by the respective world governing body of each sport as recognized by the International Olympic Committee (IOC), and looked to bring the CAHA back under its jurisdiction.[10] The CAHA updated its constitution to define an amateur player as one who, “either has not engaged or is not engaged in organized professional hockey”, and ultimately declined to rejoin the AAU of C.[11]

Foundation of the association

On April 15, 1940, the CAHA and AHAUS agreed to form a new governing body known tentatively as the International Ice Hockey League, and invited the British Ice Hockey Association (BIHA) to join. Hardy who was also the CAHA president, stated that “the purpose of the new association is to promote the game of hockey among the three Anglo-Saxon nations”.[12] He was named president of the new body, and Lockhart was named first vice-president. The BIHA was asked to nominate the second vice-president position.[13]

Hardy explained the International Ice Hockey Association as a means of shifting the control of world hockey from Belgium to Canada, “where it rightfully belonged”.[14] He also noted the inactivity of the LIHG resulting from World War II. He sought for acceptance by the IOC on terms acceptable to the CAHA. A constitution for the new association was delegated to a committee including future CAHA presidents Hanson Dowell and W. B. George.[15][16] The constitution stated that the associations president must be an executive officer or a past-president of the CAHA. The CAHA gave C$500 to the association, and an honorarium to Hardy for expenses.[17]

Professional–amateur relations

Amateur and junior ice hockey teams in Canada were upset about losing players to professional leagues without compensation, and Hardy set about to negotiate reimbursement of the Canadian teams when a player became professional.[18] The CAHA had introduced player contracts for the 1940–41 season, with the goal to keep junior-aged and amateur players under service in Canada instead of leaving for professional leagues.[19]

In September 1940, Hardy announced a one-year agreement was reached with the National Hockey League (NHL) to reimburse the amateur associations, which included $250 for signing an amateur and another $250 if the amateur played in the NHL.[20] The new professional-amateur agreement was signed by Frank Calder on behalf of the NHL in October 1940, and also applied to leagues in the BIHA and the Eastern Amateur Hockey League in the United States.[21] The distribution of the development funds from the NHL was based on the service time the amateur had with each respective club.[22] The agreement included allowing the NHL to sign a limited number of junior age players.[23]

Hardy decided on disputes of players becoming professionals, and reinstatements as amateurs.[24] He committed to decide on all application within 15 days to expedite transfers and reinstatements due to wartime enlistments and travel restrictions.[25] He stated, “we believe that the movement between professional and amateur ranks should be made as easy as possible”, which included former professionals being welcomed back in amateur.[26]

By 1942, the agreement had brought in $17,241 in development fees to junior teams. Demand for junior-aged players during the 1941–42 NHL season was higher due to war-time travel restrictions on older players.[27] Calder reported there was a general agreement with the amateur leagues that a junior-aged player should be able to determine his own financial future due to the war.[28]

In 1943, Hardy recommended adjustments in amateur payments for players becoming professional, since many later enlisted shortly after signing a contract.[29] He felt that under normal circumstances, junior-aged players should not be signed to professional contracts. He negotiated wartime measures with the NHL, without opposition being raised by presidents of the provincial associations.[30] The Pacific Coast Hockey League began in 1944, and competed for junior-aged players. Hardy ruled that since the league operated under affiliation with AHAUS, the existing international transfer rules and professional–amateur agreement would apply to the new league.[31]

In April 1945, Hardy was re-elected president, and Lockhart was re-elected first vice-president. Frank Sargent was elected the second vice-president, and Dudley was elected the secretary.[32] By 1946, the professional–amateur agreement provided more than $45,000 in development fees. The association and the NHL agreed to enforce suspensions for players not fulfilling a tryout contract.[33] Hardy then declined transfers to those under such a contract.[34]

In May 1946, the NHL proposed a flat payment of $20,000 to cover all players being signed to professional contracts, whereas the CAHA requested $2000 for any player remaining in the NHL for more than a year.[35] Hardy felt the CAHA was at a disadvantage to press too hard, and wanted to maintain good relations with the NHL and AHAUS.[36] The flat rate offer was later accepted with the stipulation that a junior-aged player could sign a contract at age 16, but not play professional until age 18.[37]

Lockhart threatened to resign as vice-president and withdraw AHAUS from the association in January 1947, after the CAHA requested a $100 fee for international transfers. He refused the fee, stating the CAHA had no authority to make that request. Several players had left Canada without proper documentation, but Hardy ultimately allowed the players to remain in the United States.[38]

World hockey relations

At the 1944 CAHA general meeting in Montreal, a motion was passed to sever relations with the LIHG. Another a motion of confidence was passed in the International Ice Hockey Association, and closer relationships between the CAHA, AHAUS and the BIHA.[39]

In April 1945, Hardy envisioned an amateur hockey World Series after World War II, involving teams from Canada, the United States, England and Scotland.[40] The proposed series would be an annual event between the North American and European champion to begin in 1947 or 1948.[41]

Hardy expected hockey to grow after the war, and said proper rules had been established to limited transfers and prevent raiding of Canadian rosters. He expected a large number of Canadian soldiers stationed in Europe to remain there playing hockey.[42] Post-war plans were discussed on how to co-ordinate classification of clubs for international competition.[43] In May 1946, the Swedish Ice Hockey Association and French Ice Hockey Federation expressed interest in joining the association.[44]

Merger with the LIHG

The association met in August 1946 in New York City, along with guests from the Scottish Ice Hockey Association, French and Swedish associations.[45] At the meeting, it was agreed to propose a merger with the LIHG to oversee international ice hockey. A proposal would also be submitted for the Ice Hockey World Championships to alternate between Europe and North America, with the Olympic hockey tournaments played under the same rules as the CAHA and the NHL.[46] Hardy's resolution from 1941 stated the merger was acceptable if the CAHA definition of amateur was approved, the membership and voting system was acceptable to the CAHA, and that AHAUS be admitted as a member to the merged organization. The CAHA sought to have Hardy nominated as vice-president of the new governing body, and Dudley as its secretary.[47]

The CAHA attended the LIHG meeting during the 1947 Ice Hockey World Championships in Prague, and pushed for the definition of amateur to be anyone not actively engaged in professional sport.[48] Incoming CAHA president Allan Pickard stated that the CAHA and AHAUS would operate with complete autonomy under the structure of the agreement to join the LIHG.[49] The LIHG agreed to a merger where the presidency would alternate between North America and Europe every three years, and recognized AHAUS as the governing body of hockey in the United States. A decision on increased voting power for the CAHA was deferred, and the CAHA was permitted to have its own definition of amateur as long as teams at the Olympic games adhered to existing LIHG rules. Hardy agreed to the merger and accepted the vice-presidency of the LIHG.[50] The Association was dissolved on July 1, 1947.[51] The LIHG was renamed the International Ice Hockey Federation in 1948, and Hardy served as its president from 1948 to 1951.[52]

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title: International Ice Hockey Association

question: Summarize how the International Ice Hockey Association was founded.

answer: The International Ice Hockey Association was established in 1940 when the Canadian Amateur Hockey Association wanted more control over international hockey, and was in disagreement with the term "amateur" that was used by the International Olympic Committee. The Association was co-founded by the Amateur Hockey Association of the United Sates. It was later joined by the British Ice Hockey Association. Hardy, the president of the Canadian counterpart, explained that the new association was to promote the game of hockey among the three Anglo-Saxon nations, and to shift the control of world hockey from Belgium to Canada.


text:
Hi, all. Would like some gracious feedback. I am just wondering what direction people would like to see this story go. (Pardon any grammatical errors)

The Wanderer

Griff was hitting his 11 a.m. slump (a little early) and turned his gaze to the large windows next to his cube to break from the blue burning in his eyes and felt the twinge of a buzz in his ear. But this was no regular day dream. Griff caught glimpse of a boy in a tree about 35 feet up. Was this a daydream at all? He sort of resembled a child with a large loin cloth. But the boy climbed down the tree almost as instantaneously as Griff caught his gaze. Had no one else just seen that? He debated on whether to ask someone. Confused, he walked out from his desk and down the aisle to approach the large, wall sized windows. It looked like the boy who had climbed down the tree was now headed for the lake on the fringe of the woods. That was odd he thought. Griff returned to his desk, and pondered what he just witnessed. That child didn't look as if he had belonged to this time period, let alone this part of the country.
Griff, Griff Bookstrom that is, sat back down and started up with his keystrokes again. It came effortlessly to him and he wasn't sure if that were an average man’s dream or something to be wary of. He never wanted to be stuck in a monotonous job, making half way decent money, helping no one but big business just to support himself to continue payments on his car, his schooling, his lifestyle; never to enjoy a single moment for himself. But look at that, here he was. Not skiing in the Alps, hiking Kilimanjaro, racing rally cars; nope, just sitting behind a desk from 8-4, sometimes 5.
Griff is an inspection specialist for a big mechanical contractor. Now, this was nothing to be ashamed of. Heck, most people these days were lucky to have a job. His girlfriend, Remy, whom he lives with, only works part time as a waitress and full time as a budding novelist (How cliché?). But she was thinking about going to Law School. That was the sad reality of life. There was no American Dream anymore. That thought makes me chuckle. American Dream; is that even an operationalized thought? There is no definition that one can really stick too. It changes with the era, just like music.
Please excuse my rudeness, all this “Griff” talk, if you will and I have yet to introduce myself. I am "the one Griff cannot see" (not yet at least). But that's a long name and boring name; so just know me by the image of create of me. I don't think Griff wants to see me and that right there folks, that's what hurts. He has been on this Earth for nearly 25 years, yet he hasn't opened his mind enough to see me. Well that's not entirely true. Once when Griff was just a little guy, I was quite certain that he saw me standing in the back yard by his swing set. But then again, a squirrel may just as well have grabbed his attention. Damn rodent was just burying his nuts like I wasn’t there or something (Ba-dum-ch).
Kids, their openness is unfortunately only equally matched by their misunderstanding of the world around them and the inability to communicate and be taken seriously by someone who has the power to change the world. Yes I am speaking about the adults. You are probably an adult, if not a young adult. I believe YOU are the ones with the power in the world but most are so corrupted and so closed minded or lazy that nothing substantial will be changed. But I digress.
5 o'clock (or 17:00 for “those” people) and Griff heaved a sigh of relief of the ending work day. He had almost forgotten about his window experience entirely until the buzzing drone in his ear made him turn face in the parking lot and catch the eye of the boy in the cloth at the edge of the building. The boy stood frozen for a second and took off into the woods again, heading for the lake. Griff, who really wasn't thinking, walked towards the woods himself at an eager pace. He slowed after a few seconds as not to draw attention. He decided against telling anyone about the boy because he was certainly going insane.
May I interject briefly? Oh good, glad you agree. I don't think it's very smart of Griff to be following this kid. Anyway, I'll continue…
The boy now stood at the edge of the lake that now seemed to be about 25 feet away. Now, he was no physics or math whiz but he presumed that with a good jump, he could catch this kid. Then what? Griff paused briefly, if for a second to think "maybe I should turn around and go home."
Griff I say you should've turned around.
Griff did not hear me, nor did he turn around and call it a day. Instead his wild intention to follow this boy was in full fruition and after a brief look around, Griff called out "hello." That's the best he had. He wasn't entirely sure what else to say and broke into a full sprint when he received no response. As he approached, the buzzing in his head took over again, louder this time, and growing more obtrusive with each step. It was as if his body was beginning to vibrate. The buzzing was impairing his vision and quickly the world was closing to the size of a pinhole. Griff dropped; and he dropped hard.
Darkness.
Griff returned to consciousness at the sound of a bark. Startled, he opened his eyes. "Hey are you okay, guy?" A man called out. Griff nodded and gave a limp wave. The man was hesitant to approach but his dog, Abby, was not. Her tongue was giant and excited; she left no part of his face dry. She just wanted to play I s'pose. "Down girl, leave the man alone. Are you sure you're alright? I got a bottle of water if you'd like a drink, you look absolutely parched." He felt it. What happened? How long had he been out?
I'll tell you. He was out for 23 mins and 6 seconds to be exact. I'm sort of a stickler for time.
Griff meagerly got to his knees, and with some strain, stood up. "Thank you sir but I'm alright, just out...enjoying...nature I guess" Griff palleted. "Well, alright then. C’mon Abby let's finish our run before mommy gets mad about our tardiness from dinner." And the two continued their run.
Griff watched them run on and for a moment forgot what he was doing standing behind his place of work at nearly 5:30 with a splitting headache. And boy did it hurt. He returned to his car and sat down behind the wheel. And just sat there. He stared blankly out of the windshield and mentally tried to grab at what was happening. After about three or four minutes he snapped out of it and stuck the key in the ignition and drove home.
Griff pulled into his driveway and realized he didn't have a good story as to why he was so late but didn't bother coming up with one in the moment. He could wing it right?
Just a little insight, he couldn't wing it. He's not good at that stuff.
"Hey honey where have you been? Bad traffic?" Remy wondered.
"Haha, no darling, the traffic was naught. I was actually busy chasing evil fairies into the woods. You know typical Wednesday stuff" he spat out. "What's for dinner? I'm starved." Griff continued.
"Well I wasn't really in the cooking mood so I was thinking maybe we can go grab a steak with the fixings down at Outback? Possibly grab a movie on the way home, or have a Netflix binge?"
He laughed "That sounds like the best way to end this day. I'm gonna go grab so Tylenol® my head is killin me; long day at work.
As Griff excused himself to the medicine cabinet, Remy spoke up "Whatcha got there?"
“Huh?"
"In your back pocket? Whatcha got in your back pocket?"
"Oh ...umm...this?" Griff stuttered, patting his rear. As he reached for his pocket in that 2 second window he was sure that he could pull just about anything out. What he did pull out was an ornate wooden box that measure about 4 inches square. He opened it and saw the head of a lilium laying on a velvet pillow.
A lily? Griff thought. What could that possibly me...
"Oh it's beautiful, honey, thank you!" Remy cut through his thought
"Only a beautiful flower (head?) for my beautiful woman" he choked out.
"I love how delicate and unorthodox it is. You are simply amazing"
"...Thanks sweetie. Why don't you..uh..go put it on our dresser?!"
"Yeah, good idea. Then I swear we'll go; I can hear you tummy grumbling from here"
"Yup, great." Griff said dismissively, half listening. He was hungry. He could feel his sugar levels dropping and without that recent adrenaline rush, might be on the ground from exhaustion/ hunger. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of OJ. Griff instantly felt a little better with his first gulp. The unknowingness was getting to him. He needed to research Lily's as soon as he got home; and without Remy knowing.
Well, I'll be the first to say it. The kid did good. Well, he did alright. I myself could've done better. And that whole Lily thing; cmon Griff? At least he thinks its symbolism and not some wedding invitation.
 I remember once when Griff was a teenager, maybe 15,  he attended a wedding for his distant uncle Charlie. He was the kind of uncle you'd have to take a vacation just to see. It wasn't intentional that he and Griff weren't close. It's just that he was physically far enough away and Griff was the type of kid who didn't want to make an effort to call. He had a thing about adults, especially relatives. He didn't fear them, he just never felt their equal, or like he would be taken seriously with them. Why should they? He was just a kid, right? He would only see him once a year, if that, at Easter.
At the wedding, Griff had been chatting up his future aunts' cousins' daughter (so there was no weird familial stuff going on here, don’t get weird). Things were going so well. Weddings have a way to put everyone in an open, lovely mood. In his pubescent muddled mind, Griff thought to steal a flower from the bride’s bouquet for his new beau was a good idea. It wasn't. As a matter of fact, I think it was a Lily. Actually, I know it was; I don't forget things, or people, or places for that matter. Although I’m quite certain this Lily has nothing to do with the Lily currently harbored in his room. Hmm… or does it? I’m no psychic.
With the newly picked Lily in hand, giddy Griff trotted back to swooning Jessica. I felt that Griff's theft of this Lily was wrong so I may have stuck my foot out as Griff unsuspectingly passed by and he may have tripped and broken his nose. The blood may have made Jess a little squeamish to the point of fainting. And I may have cackled to myself for hours about the ordeal. I truly felt bad though. Jess was a nice girl. The two lovebirds were now broken on the ground in one fell swoop as if the branch holding them up was tired of their little loving feet. But I digress.

title: [FN/ MF] "The Wanderer" (looking for further direction)

question: What does the story say about the narrator?

answer: The narrator introduces themselves as :the one Griff cannot see". Griff may have noticed them once when he was a boy. The narrator believes adults are corrupted, closed-minded, and lazy. They think it's a bad idea for Griff to be following the boy. At the end of the story, they agree that the kid did good. Because of Griff's theft of the Lily, they trip Griff and make him break his nose.

question: What does the story say about how to be a good narrator?


text:
TATTOO

“Well, what do you think it meant?”

“I dunno… I think it means everything’s gonna be all right.”

“Yeah?” Clark replied.

“Yeah,” Joseph answered.

Clark gently nodded his head, with a slight grin, bearing a deep, but detached, appreciation for Joseph’s sentimentality. Joseph sat behind the steering wheel, completely still, as his mind sank into its own familiar world of thought; however, still aware of the dim four-lane interstate, which lay prostrate underneath the rusting, mud spackled Oldsmobile—a mile of tire tracks for each minute Delaware came closer. But with the keen sound of a sparking disposable lighter, his attention was brought back. Clark had finished packing the glass pipe and was taking the first hit with a white Bic. Joseph looked at Clark, back at the highway, and then, startled, back at Clark.

“White lighter!” Joseph exclaimed, forcing Clark to halt the smoking process, already at its crown.

“It doesn’t matter, man,” he squeezed out, wildly contorting his face as if it helped keep the smoke in his lungs. He swallowed, exhaled, and said, “Besides, it’s the only lighter we got.”

“I got Capricorn.”

“What’s that?”

Joseph shifted his weight to the left and, after a short struggle with the seatbelt, produced a metal lighter from his right pant pocket and handed it to Clark, who was adjusting his rebellious hair with his hands.

“You know, you really do look a lot like James Dean,” Joseph said.

“Yup. And I guess it’s just something I’ll have to deal with,” he said with a smile, examining the lighter.

“It’s a Colibri pipe lighter. The ‘Capricorn Flame.’”

Taking his eyes off the road for only a moment, Joseph pointed to the brass plate on the lighter where the name was engraved in script.

“It’s a side light, so you don’t have to tilt it and burn your fingers and shit. And it’s Electro-Quartz, no flint. Check out how smooth it sparks.”

“How do you…” Clark said while fumbling with the lighter, until he found the trigger on the side. And as Joseph claimed, it was infinitely easier and more reliable than Clark’s own lighter—like someone clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Once he had a flame, he immediately got back in the routine, and used it to take another hit, giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“What the hell does ‘Capricorn Flame’ mean?” he asked while passing the blue and orange pipe to Joseph, trying desperately not to cough.

“Well, when I bought it, I had the hardest time coming up with a name until Winter break, when me and my friends from back home shroomed together. They were always my friends, but it wasn’t until these last couple weeks, and especially that night, that we really connected and became, you know, real tight. I asked if anyone had an idea what I could name it and Ross said it should have something to do with how we all bonded over winter break. The lighter would embody the meaning of that night. Being just after New Year’s, the constellation was Capricorn and so it became The Capricorn Flame.”
Clark made no immediate response, save a sound to signify that he understood, as he hypnotically nodded his head to an invisible beat. Then he said,

“You’re fucking stoned, man.”

“Anyway you look at it,” Joseph continued, “a lighter’s a lighter. But each of mine is special to me in a different way.”

After a commercial for Gulf War commemorative plates, the music began again; and as the blue, wood-paneled, station wagon continued north on I-95, through midnight Maryland, Clapton’s Cocaine spilled out of the speakers, becoming entangled with the swirling marijuana smoke. Joseph snapped his fingers and, smiling, pointed at the radio.

“Yes!” he shouted. “Check it out; that’s awesome!”

“Nah man, it’s just overplayed. Anyway, you didn’t finish telling me why it ‘meant’ what it meant,” Clark replied, about to take his next hit.

“Oh, right. Well, on the way up there I could hardly hear it because the reception was so bad, but then on the way back they were playing it again and I got it so clear. I’d like to think that means something.”

“You already told me that.”

“Oh, well then that’s it.”

“No. But why Cocaine?” Clark asked. “Why any song?”

“Christina loves Clapton.”

“But you were driving to see Kate.”

Clark formed his mouth so that the escaping smoke shot out in rings, which broke on the windshield, spreading against the glass further and further until the smoke gradually melted into the darkness.

“No, not like things are going to be all right with Kate, or Christina or whatever; just things in general, I guess. Kate won’t happen; I can’t get her. What I’m saying is that I shouldn’t worry about it—that it doesn’t matter.”

“You think you’ll ever have a real chance with Christina?” Clark asked, passing the bowl.

“I hope so,” Joseph replied. “I love that girl.”

Clark nodded once again and grabbed hold of the wheel long enough for Joseph put his lips to the glass pipe and draw the pungent euphoria into his lungs. He took a couple more hits and handed it back. Clark leaned back a little to look at the side of Joseph’s head, squinting to see well in the moonlight.

“Yeah, you can still see it,” he said. “But not as easily.”

Joseph rubbed there with his fingers. All that was to be found was his scalp and the short prickly hair that he was not quite used to. A month had passed and no longer could he feel the Braille-like scabs. There were no regrets, but he reminisced about the time the ink was fresh, when he could trace the letters with his finger and see it in his mind.

“Another month or two and no one will be able to see it,” Clark added.

“Bingo.”

Cocaine was done, and a commercial for condoms was halfway through when Joseph switched stations. Smiles crept on both of the boys’ lips as they heard trumpets, saxophones, and drums trickle in through the speakers. A piano took over the beat and drove shivers up and down their spines as it leapt back and forth, through the space between their ears.

“Check that beat, man,” Clark said. “Listen to what it’s sayin.”

“What’s it saying?”

“I dunno, man, just listen.”

So he listened. Joseph had heard music before, this jazz was nothing new. But he still loved it. Like so many times before, the melody was making Joseph move his body. Maybe it was just the THC in his blood, or the love in his heart; either way, he was feeling the music.
After another mile or two, traffic started slowing. Joseph could see flashing lights up ahead. As the car slowed almost to a stop, the jazz on the radio was squelched by the sudden approach of an ambulance siren. Clark put the pipe away.

Traffic was now single file, and the accidental caravan of strangers was guided by road flares and police officers. Joseph put the windows up and turned the music off.

“Let’s see what’s goin’ on,” he said.

The ebullient lights of ambulances, fire trucks, and police cruisers were eerily quiescent from inside the car. A Mitsubishi was hardly recognizable underneath a burning minivan. About ten feet away from the small pileup, a Firebird was overturned. Clark couldn’t tell whether there was actually blood splattered on the road or not—perhaps water, motor oil, transmission fluid, or simply a hallucination. And if it was indeed blood, perhaps it belonged to the man being loaded into one of the ambulances. The chance of survivors looked grim.

“If these people didn’t die here,” Clark said, “How much longer would they have lived?”

“I dunno,” Joseph replied. “Just dumb luck I guess, right? I don’t suppose God was playing Hotwheels… But then again, what kid doesn’t love a good collision?” Joseph proceeded to childishly imitate the audile anatomy of a car accident: failing brakes, squealing tires, honking horns, and finally the report of crunching steel.

“Is that how it happened?” Clark asked.

“Maybe.”

“So if the Mitsubishi hadn’t swerved…”

“If the guy in the firebird hadn’t panicked…”

“If he wasn’t playing with the radio…”

”If the minivan hadn’t been there…”

“Would anyone still be alive?” Clark asked.

“I guess it’s not for anyone to say, really,” Joseph replied. “Maybe one of them could’ve been president. Maybe he could’ve brought peace to the world.”

“Or destruction. He could have been married three times for all we know.”

“Twice, I believe.”

“The douche bag failed his ninth grade math final,” Clark laughed.

“But he still got into Harvard,” Joseph replied with stiff hint of resentment.

“But now the prick’s dead.”

“Yeah. Aint that a kick in the pants. Maybe he was one of those weird people who liked to listen to Lynard Skynard and Neil Young. I could never figure those kinds of people out.”

“Hey, I like them.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Joseph and Clark exchanged glances and they each shrugged their shoulders.

[xxxxxxx]

Before Clark and Joseph entered Q-Stix Billiards, they each finished smoking their cigarettes under the torn awning.

While they would rather be enjoying their nicotine inside, the gentle intimacy of Main Street made them feel awkwardly content—the warm, hollow touch of street lamps; the innocent, ignorant eyes of wandering inebriates. Even simple black asphalt seemed strangely genial. But there was no reason to stay outside any longer, for at that moment the boys decided that their cigarettes had nothing more to offer them, and so they disposed of their butts on the infinite, generic, black asphalt. Of course, they tossed them in a completely usual and discreet manner—Joseph, with a graceful flick of the wrist; and Clark, by positioning it between his thumb and middle finger and shooting it out. The paper of the cigarette against the nail of his middle finger, and the skin of his thumb, made a distinct sound—indescribable, but unmistakable—assuring that anyone who heard it would have no doubt that it was in fact a cigarette that was being propelled from someone’s fingers.

Amanda, Tim, and Ross were already inside, waiting for Joseph and Clark. The three were killing some time at the small collection of arcade games in the corner, but now that the weary travelers from madness to midnight have arrived, they could all rent a table.

“Now we can finally shoot some fuckin’ pool!” Tim shouted, putting his depleted collection of quarters into his pocket on his way to the counter.

“Wait, wait, wait,” hurriedly came from Amanda as she looked at Joseph.

“What? You have to pee again?” yelled Ross. “You diabetic or something?”

“Where is it?” she asked, inspecting the left side of Joseph’s head.

“Other side,” responded Joseph, generally desensitized to the innocent curiosity of those he knew. Yet ignorance still enraged him.

After a few breaths, Amanda asked, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Hey. shut up alright? You got people who do what’s important to themselves, and you got people who do what is expected of them. I don’t give a fuck what people expect of me. It means something to me and that’s all that matters.”

“Damn, touchy,” Tim said.

“I’m just tired of everybody not being able to understand that it should be beyond scrutiny. I wish people could just acknowledge that they don’t understand and respect the fact that it does not concern their understanding. Understand?”

“Yeah fine, man, whatever. Let’s just play some pool. And no bullshit shots.”

“All shots are bullshit,” replied Ross.

“Fine, some just more than others.”

Joseph noticed that by the Silent Scope console, Clark and Amanda were already flirting.

“Anybody tell you you look like James Dean?” she asked, with a crook in her smile and a glint in her eye.

As the five of them walked to the counter, Joseph veered off course. He pushed open the red faux-wood bathroom door and immediately went to the sink. He wet his hands and ran them through his hair, over his face and then dried his hands with the last available c-fold. Then he reached into his left pant pocket and pulled out a box cutter. He slammed the tail on the sink, pulled up his shirt and took the razor to his left love handle.

The incision made, he gasped for air. Reveling in the temporary peace, he heard someone coming, and as the red door opened, Joseph shoved his hand inside the empty paper towel dispenser. The stranger went in the one of the two stalls.

Joseph hastily wet the bleeding flesh, and tried his best to dry it with single ply toilet paper, which fell apart. Then he washed his hands once more and pulled back the hair above his right ear.
He stared into the mirror.

“Such a big fuss over three little letters,” he says.

And like a hundred tines before, Joseph took his hand down and walked away from the mirror.

title: [RF] Tattoo

question: What does the text say about the "Capricorn Flame"?

answer: Joseph has a lighter that's engraved with the "Capricorn Flame". He gives it to Clark because he says it's a side light which makes one less likely to burn their fingers when lighting a pipe. Clark is impressed with how easy it is to use. Joseph describes how he and his friends named the lighter as a reminder of a night they became very close. The night they became close the constellation was Capricorn, so they named the lighter after that.

question: What does the text say about Christina?

answer: Christina is someone Joseph is romantically interested in. Joseph chooses to play Cocaine by Eric Clapton because Christina loves Clapton. Joseph doesn't think he has a chance with Kate, but is still holding out for a chance with Christina. He says he loves her.

question: Summarize everything related to drugs.

answer: Clark and Joseph are driving around smoking a pipe of marijuana. Joseph gives Clark a side light to make smoking out of the pipe easier for them. Joseph named the lighter after the Capricorn constellation on a night he did shrooms with some friends. Clark thinks he tells the story because he's stoned. Joseph believes either the euphoria of the THC or the love in his heart is making him feel the music they're listening to.

question: Summarize how Joseph feels about tattoos.

answer: Joseph had just gotten a tattoo on his scalp a month prior. He runs his hands on his scalp expecting to feel Braille-like scabs over the letters of his tattoo, but finds that the tattoo has healed. He has no regrets over the tattoo, but misses when the ink was fresh and he could trace the letters with his fingers and see it in his mind.

question: Summarize the car crash scene.

answer: While Joseph and Clark are driving they notice ambulances, fire trucks, police, and an accidental caravan of strangers being guided by road flares. While in traffic, they see that there was a car crash. One car was unrecognizable under a burning minivan, and teen feet away from the pileup was an overturned Firebird. The two wonder if they see blood splattered, and the chances of survivors looks grim. This makes Clark and Joseph wonder about dumb luck and fate. They wonder about who the victims might have been, and how now they're just dead.

question: Summarize Clark's thoughts on Joseph cutting himself.


text:
With the first Android P developer preview inching ever-closer to its arrival, I've been thinking a lot about the state of Google's Android software and where it stands in the grander mobile tech ecosystem.

Even within Android itself, after all, it's hard to talk about the "new" features of a major release without acknowledging the fact that, in some form, many of those features have often long existed in third-party manufacturers' implementations of the software.

Take Nougat, for example. The big headline feature from 2016's Android 7.0 release was the addition of split-screen mode — the ability to view two apps on-screen at the same time. Another noteworthy element was an expanded Quick Settings area, with an added set of always-present toggles atop the regular notification panel and a newly customizable set of tiles when you swipe down from that view.

Both of those features, of course, are things that had long been available in the Android-based software created by Samsung and other device-makers and provided on their respective phones. They just hadn't been a part of Google's actual native Android OS or the broader Android _platform_ up until Nougat.

This same notion came up a couple weeks ago, when I was discussing the significance of a screenshot editing and sharing feature being tested in Google's standalone Google app. I pointed out that such a feature would make an awful lot of sense as a system-wide Android element — and some astute readers noted that such an option already _is_ available (albeit, in a somewhat different form) on certain third-party devices.

Now, don't get me wrong: There are plenty of instances where this strange-seeming duality doesn't hold true. Pretty much every Android OS update contains foundational improvements and platform-wide feature additions that haven't been (and often couldn't be) implemented at any other level before. But there are certainly enough examples of areas where Google seems to be "playing catchup" with what its ecosystem partners have already done to make you realize it's more than a fluke; it's a bit of a trend, especially as of late.

And when you stop and think about it, it's not entirely surprising. All software walks the line between simplicity and feature density. You want your product to be simple enough that it's immediately intuitive and easy to use, particularly when a wide range of users is involved (a la smartphones) — but you also want it to have enough features to satisfy the productivity-hungry power-user crowd.

Most products excel at one end of that spectrum or the other. Striking the balance between the two areas and managing to be intuitive yet _also_ jam-packed with advanced options is easier said than done — and much more the exception than the rule. (Believe me, I spend far too much time searching for the apps and services that _do_ accomplish that impossible-seeming task.)

Android itself, believe it or not, has traditionally leaned toward the former side of the spectrum — that is, toward simplicity over feature density. 2011's Ice Cream Sandwich era was when Google really started focusing on simplifying the Android experience and making it more polished, intuitive, and user-friendly, but the base operating system has always been more of a fertile foundation than a jungle-like greenhouse. Sure, it's long supported an array of tools and extensions that add all sorts of advanced functionality — but most of those tend to be things that you as a user can _opt_ to install, if you're so inclined, as opposed to things that are built directly into the OS-level software.

Third-party OEMs like Samsung, meanwhile, have traditionally taken the exact opposite approach: throwing everything but the kitchen sink into the equation and overwhelming people with mountains of options, even when they offer a questionable amount of practical value.

Here's where things get really interesting, though: Over time, Google has been moving increasingly toward the "feature density" end of the spectrum while third-party manufacturers have been ever so slowly inching back toward the "simplicity" side. Think about it: Over the past several years, the core Android software has grown more and more feature-dense (and has become less simple and intuitive as a result) while many third-party manufacturers have been making at least some effort to scale back bloat and focus on interface improvements with their own custom Android implementations.

So here's the million-dollar question to mull over as we wait for Android P to arrive: How long til those two sides effectively meet in the middle? When you think back to how far apart they once were — the seas of difference in philosophies between Google's core Android software and the implementations of, say, Samsung, HTC, and Sony around 2011 or 2012 — and then consider how relatively close they've grown together now, you know what you realize?

It's kind of already happened.

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Copyright © 2018 IDG Communications, Inc.

question: Summarize the main point of the article.

answer: The author notes that Google's vision for Android used to be simplicity over features whereas the third-party phone makers threw in every feature they could think of. However, as time passed, their respective visions eventually met somewhere in the middle of the feature vs simplicity trade-off.

question: What does the article say about the features of the Android operating system?

answer: The author notes that earlier versions of Android tended to have fewer features in general, with the third-party manufacturers adding lots of features. The author notes that the trend somewhat reversed lately. The specific features mentioned in the article are the split-screen mode (third-party first), quick settings area (ditto), and screenshot editing and sharing (currently on third parties, tested for base Android). The author also says that there are many features in the base Android operating system not found first in third-party phones but doesn't give specifics.

question: What does the article say about how to change Android versions on a phone?


text:
The ANCIENT CHRISTIAN COMMENTARY ON SCRIPTURE (ACCS) is a twenty-nine volume set of commentaries on the Bible published by InterVarsity Press. The ACCS is a confessionally collaborative project as individual editors have included scholars from Eastern Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, and Protestantism as well as Jewish participation.[1] Notable scholars who contributed to the series’ publication include Andrew Louth, Peter W. Ochs, Benedicta Ward, Frances Young, Christopher A. Hall, Gerald L. Bray, and Manlio Simonetti. The ACCS was first conceived of in 1993 and inspired by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger.[2] The Methodist scholar Thomas C. Oden, one of the leading paleo-orthodox theologians of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, serves as the overall ACCS series editor and the ACCS uses the ecumenically-minded Revised Standard Version of the Bible for its biblical translation.

Format

The ACCS covers both the Old Testament and the New Testament, including portions of the deuterocanonical writings which have varying degrees of acceptance among Christian traditions. Its format is such that some volumes contain only a portion of one biblical book (for instance, the ACCS commentary on Genesis is divided between Genesis 1-11 and Genesis 12-50) while other volumes of the ACCS contain multiple biblical books (for instance, Old Testament IV covers Joshua, Judges, Ruth, and 1-2 Samuel). The ACCS was modelled after the Talmud, with Oden explaining that “We are trying to do for the Christian community what the Talmud was seeking to do for the Jewish liturgical memory.”[3]

The ACCS’ editorial team employed the latest in digital technology, including Boolean searches, to track down Greek and Latin sources for texts, including many which had not yet been translated into English.[4] The ACCS editors also made use of _The Fathers of the Church_ (85 volumes) and the _Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers_ (38 volumes), drawing from the church fathers’ various writings, sermons, poetry, and letters.[5] Oden explains that from the array of texts available, editors were “encouraged…to select the best, wisest, and most representative reflections of the ancient Christian writers on any given biblical passage” in order to keep each volume concise.[6] In this way, the ACCS attempts to provide consensual commentary rather than propagating one particular biblical interpretation.

Mission and scope

The ACCS's mission is to provide the accumulated wisdom of patristic exegesis on the biblical text by assembling and presenting the comments of both well-known church fathers such as Augustine, John Chrysostom, Jerome, and Gregory the Great as well as lesser-known figures including Pseudo-Macarius and Fulgentius of Ruspe and writings of the church fathers whose work does not yet appear in modern English.[7] As one article explained, “Dr. Oden and his colleagues have chosen a form of presentation with, as he puts it, ‘venerable antecedents’ in Eastern Orthodoxy, medieval scholasticism, and the Reformation tradition of _glossa ordinaria_ -- line-by-line commentaries on Bible texts.”[8] The ACCS employs a presentation style with roots in the Christian tradition. Commentary was drawn from writings originally composed between the New Testament era to 750 AD.[9] The ACCS also provides early non-European biblical interpretations as many of the early church fathers were based in the eastern Mediterranean world and in northern Africa. While the early Reformers were well-versed in patristics, many modern evangelicals are unfamiliar with the church fathers and the ACCS was designed as a means of “ressourcement," particularly for evangelicals interested in patristic thought.[10]

The ACCS was largely funded through subscription, with approximately half of the original twenty-thousand subscribers committing through to the project’s completion.[11] The first three volumes to be released covered the books of Matthew, Mark, and Romans. The ACCS has also been translated into other languages, including Chinese and Russian and is available in both print and electronic formats. The ACCS is consistently listed as a highly recommended commentary series by biblical scholars.[12][13]

Related projects

The ACCS was released alongside The Church's Bible commentary series edited by Robert Louis Wilken and published by Eerdmans, a similar commentary series that featured longer extracts from the church fathers and which included writings that went up to 1000 AD.[14] The ACCS helped to inspire the similar _Reformation Commentary on Scripture_, also published by Intervarsity Press and which is still currently ongoing and which collects portions of biblical interpretations from Protestant Reformers such as Martin Luther, Martin Bucer, and John Calvin. Timothy George of Beeson Divinity School serves as its general editor. The ACCS also helped to inspire the five-volume _Ancient Christian Doctrine_ series and the 15-volume _Ancient Christian Texts_ series which provides readers with homilies and more extensive commentary from the church fathers.[15][16]

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title: Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture

question: What is the purpose of ACCS?

answer: It aims to collate the wisdom of Biblical commentators roughly from 100 AD to 750 AD.

question: Why would the ACCS use an ecumenically-minded version of the Bible?

answer: Its mission is to collate all the respected commentary from the first few centuries AD. Since these commentaries come from many different sects, the ACCS uses an ecumenically-minded Bible to avoid playing favorites.

question: What time period does the ACCS cover in its scope of ancient commentaries?

answer: Between the new testament and 750 AD, which means approximately from 100 AD to 750 AD.

question: Which Christian sect does the ACCS favor?

answer: It doesn't favor any over the others. The ACCS's mission is to collate all the respected, ancient commentary.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: The Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture (ACCS) is a twenty-nine-volume set of commentaries on the Bible published by Varsity Press. Its editors span various faiths from Eastern Orthodoxy to Judaism. Its structure is similar to the Talmud, as it aims to do for the Christian community what Talmud did for the Jewish liturgical memory. The ACCS contains the ancient wisdom of early Christian commentators.  It covers both the old and the new testament. The ACCS is highly regarded as a commentary series by biblical scholars.