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Smuin Ballet dancers Erica Felsch, Rex Wheeler, Mengjun Chen and Tessa Barbour in "White Christmas," choreographed by dancers Ben Needham-Wood and Michael Smuin. Photo by Keith Sutter, Courtesy Smuin Ballet.
Hip Hop to Hans Christian Andersen: Seven Alternatives to the Traditional "Nutcracker"
Rachel Hellwig
Nutcracker-ed out? Or just can't get enough holiday ballets? These unique Nutcracker interpretations and non-Nutcracker productions will make your season bright.
The Hip Hop Nutcracker
Through December 30
Tchaikovsky's masterful Nutcracker score isn't just for classical ballet…
Hip Hop + a live DJ + an electric violinist unite in The Hip Hop Nutcracker, currently touring the U.S.
Familiar characters such Drosselmeyer, the Nutcracker, Mouse King and Marie (here called Maria-Clara) dance through an updated New York City storyline with choreography by Jennifer Weber, artistic director of the Brooklyn-based theatrical hip hop company Decadancetheatre.
Premiered in 2014, The Hip Hop Nutcracker is produced by New Jersey Performing Arts Center.
The Christmas Ballet—Smuin Ballet
What do you do when your city already offers several Nutcrackers?
For Smuin Ballet, the answer was to create an entirely different Yuletide production—The Christmas Ballet. Debuted in 1995, the show features a variety of original choreography in ballet, tap, jazz and other styles performed to holiday music.
"With a classical first act and a pop second act, it has become a tradition for many families," says artistic director Celia Fushille. "The program changes every year, with new songs added and old favorites returning. Smuin now performs it in four cities across the Bay Area every holiday season."
Nigel Tau and Connie Flachs rehearse "A Christmas Carol" with Brian Enos. Photo Scott Rasmussen, Courtesy Grand Rapids Ballet.
A Christmas Carol—Grand Rapids Ballet
Just as soon as The Nutcracker wraps up at Grand Rapids Ballet, the company will debut a new, full-length story ballet based on Charles Dickens's classic tale A Christmas Carol.
Why back-to-back holiday ballets?
"The company's Nutcracker is a large production and they are looking for something that can be toured more easily and performed on smaller stages," explains Brian Enos, the production's choreographer and artistic director of The Big Muddy Dance Company.
Enos says his choreography will feature a blend of classical and contemporary dance and touch on some of the darker humor in the story. The production's score will feature music by Tchaikovsky—mostly from his string quartets—arranged by Brendan Hollins.
Dylan Santos and Ingrid Silva in "The Brooklyn Nutcracker." Photo by Julie Lemberger, Courtesy Brooklyn Ballet.
The Brooklyn Nutcracker—Brooklyn Ballet
For a borough-inspired NYC Nutcracker, get a ticket to Brooklyn Ballet's The Brooklyn Nutcracker.
Artistic director Lynn Parkerson says she loves the many traditional versions of The Nutcracker but wanted to create a production that reflected the diversity of Brooklyn and the company dancers' varied training in different styles.
The Brooklyn Nutcracker, which debuted last year, blends ballet, hip hop, tap, modern and world dance with scenes that tap into the history of Brooklyn and costumes enhanced with motion-sensor LED lights.
Hip Hoppin' Rats, Rappin' Sugarplum Fairy and Philly Cheesesteak Nerd in "Philly Nutt-Crak Up." Photo by Bill Hebert, Courtesy ContempraDANCE Theatre.
Philly Nutt-Crak Up—ContempraDANCE Theatre
For another Nutcracker with local flavor—and a whole lot of zaniness—check out ContempraDance Theatre's Philly Nutt-Crak Up, which has been making audiences laugh for over 10 seasons.
"I created this show because there was nothing in the area other than the traditional Nutcracker," says artistic director Gail Vartanian. "I wanted to blend various genres of dance with a Philly flair and make it viewable for everyone."
The cast of characters includes the Rappin' Sugarplum Fairy, Hip Hoppin' Rats, City Hall Dolls, Captain Philadelphia, Liberty Belle-Anne and the Philly Cheesesteak Nerd.
Milwaukee Ballet School & Academy students rehearse "'Twas the Night Before Christmas." Photo by Anne Metcalfe, Courtesy Milwaukee Ballet School & Academy.
'Twas the Night Before Christmas—Milwaukee Ballet School & Academy
Right before The Nutcracker gets underway at Milwaukee Ballet, the company's school will perform a new production of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.
The ballet offers students the opportunity to learn lead roles, and its one-hour runtime provides a holiday ballet option for children who might be too young to sit through The Nutcracker.
"Our students are invited to audition for the company's Nutcracker, but there are only so many roles available and they are all in the ensemble," says Rolando Yanes, director of the Milwaukee Ballet School & Academy. "In 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, students learn to create characters and dance as principals or soloists. This process mirrors company rehearsals and prepares them for experiences further down the road."
The Little Match Girl—Arthur Pita, Sadler's Wells
Arthur Pita's reimagining of Hans Christian Andersen's tale of a doomed young match seller has been lighting up stages since 2013 with its blend of dance, theater, Italian text and songs.
This somber story of injustice and human cruelty is about as different from The Nutcracker as you could find in holiday show, but the production includes gorgeous visuals, moments of humor and, ultimately, a message of hope and love—which never fails to resonate at this time of year.
nutcracker hip hop nutcracker smuin ballet michael smuin the christmas ballet grand rapids ballet a christmas carol the brooklyn nutcracker ingrid silva dance theatre of harlem brooklyn ballet contempradance theatre philly nutt-crak up milwaukee ballet school & academy twas the night before christmas the little match girl sadler's wells arthur pita nutcracker alternatives


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text:
Religion Online
Toward the Heart of the Matter
by Eberhard Jungel
Eberhard Jungel is professor of systematic theology and philosophjy at the University of Tubingen.
Toward the Heart of the Matter was translated by Paul E. Capetz, July 15, 1990. This article is one in a series from the Christian Century magazine: "How My Mind Has Changed." Copyright by The Christian Century Foundation, used by permission. Current articles and subscription information can be found at www.christiancentury.org. This article was prepared for Religion Online by Ted & Winnie Brock.
It remains an urgent task to travel the road toward a theology of the religions — which would have to include atheism among its concerns — in such a way that the christological particula exclusiva would not be misused in order to make a claim for the absoluteness of Christianity.
Have I changed? I hope so. Changelessness (immutabilitas) would not be a compliment even for God, and the old metaphysics was badly advised when it thought it had to pay this compliment to the divine being. No historical being -- and the God who has come into the world in Jesus of Nazareth has, no less than a human creature, a history -- can become himself or herself without changing. The less fundamental question remains, therefore, How have I changed? On that score good friends and perhaps even candid opponents could give a more precise account than I. After all, who knows him- or herself? I know myself rather poorly, and I of all people am especially eager to learn exactly -- at least on that good old Judgment Day -- "how my mind has changed."
There is, however, a series of unforgettable situations, encounters and experiences that has perceptibly influenced and molded me and without which -- if I am not completely deceived -- I would not be the person I am today. I shall restrict myself here to my "theological existence." It is, to be sure, virtually identical with my daily life. But even in the life of a theologian there is more than what is of public interest. For example, that I have become over the course of time a more or less adequate cook has an explicitly political cause. That fact, however, is unlikely to interest even my guests, provided they don't have to suffer any bad results of my culinary skills. The view, which is gaining more and more currency even in Europe, that everything in the life of a human being is of general interest and, for that reason, is open to public reporting I take to be a dangerous misperception (presumably originating in Calvinism) of the personal dignity of the human being, who is more than what deserves to be published about him or her. Individuum est ineffabile. Thank God.
The event or, more exactly, the chain of events which has moved me more than anything else recently is the collapse of "realized socialism" in the countries of the former East bloc, including my own homeland. I happened to be in the U.S. (for the first time, by the way) when the great 1989 demonstrations in Leipzig took place which finally brought about that "gentle revolution," as a consequence of which the partition of Germany has now come to an end. The careful reporting of the exciting events in distant Europe by the American media and the lively interest of my colleagues there certainly contributed to the fact that, in the middle of Texas and then in Chicago and New York, the time of the building of the Berlin Wall and the even more distant time of my youth in Magdeburg began to speak to me in a new way. I became aware how deeply experiences long ago had left their mark upon me. And so, considerably more than is usually the case in this series, I must return to my beginnings as I attempt to review my theological existence in its identity and in its changes.
In my parental home religion was not discussed, and my desire to study theology met with the concerned astonishment of my mother and the resolute refusal of my father. To be sure, my mother had taught her children to pray, but she feared that the choice of the pastoral vocation would not exactly open up bright prospects for the future in the socialist society of the German Democratic Republic. We lived in Magdeburg on the Elbe, which even though it was conquered by the American troops in 1945 was handed over to the Red Army camped on the other side of the river. And my father had nothing but ridicule for the Christian faith. That I nevertheless held fast to my intention and finally even realized it certainly cannot be explained merely as the adolescent rebellion of a son against his father's authority.
There was, however, one experience that affected me even more deeply than had my experiences at home, and which was decisive for my choice. It continues to shape me even now. That was the discovery of the church as the one place within a Stalinist society where one could speak the truth without being penalized. What a liberating experience in the face of the ideological-political pressure that dominated in school! Friends were arrested, I myself was interrogated more than once -- only because we dared to say what we thought. Immediately before the Workers' Revolt in 1953 I was denounced, together with other young Christians, as an "enemy of the republic" and expelled from school before a full assembly of teachers and students expressly convened on the day before the university entrance exams. Our fellow students were ordered to break off all contact with us. As I left the hall named after the Humboldt brothers -- but dominated by a completely different spirit! -- the upright among my teachers turned away in helpless silence. It was a scene pregnant with symbolism, in which the truth of the Ciceronian maxim (a maxim that had been pounded into us by the very same teachers) suddenly dawned on me: cum tacent, damant ("when they are silent they cry loudest"). In the Christian church, however, one was free to break through the silence and the pressure to lie that was growing stronger all the time. Here one dared to bear witness to the truth of the gospel in such a way that its liberating power could also be experienced in very worldly, very political terms.
If one begins to analyze why "realized socialism" finally failed -- now that the entire system has collapsed like a house of cards -- one should seek the decisive cause in its objective untruthfulness. Although far from espousing antisocialism in principle, I nevertheless cannot shut my eyes to the untruthful way in which the socialist ideals were implemented by a kind of power politics. One can argue about the ideals of socialism. But that also entails the possibility of arguing against them. And precisely this was not allowed.
Hand in hand with the ideological control of thought was a corresponding distrust of every deviation from Marxist dogma and its official interpretation by the Central Committee of the party: a total distrust that necessarily brought about the totalitarian surveillance state. Its hallmark did not consist chiefly in the fact that the dominant political class deceived itself along with the oppressed citizens. Rather, the monopoly on truth claimed by the Communist Party and implemented by governmental force was directed against truth itself, as is every claim to truth implemented by violence. It produced a perversion of thinking to which even the perpetrators had to fall victim. The pressure to deceive oneself along with the public dominated all aspects of the society, even economic decisions. Therefore, it must have been tantamount to a revolution when Mikhail Gorbachev began to demand glasnost. His courage to look reality in the face and to break the ideological taboos remains an act of political greatness, even if -- God forbid -- his politics of perestroika should, in the final analysis, fail.
What does all that have to do with my theological thinking? At least this much is clear: on the basis of these experiences in which I encountered the church as an institution of truth and, for that reason, as an institution of freedom, I decided to become (my father's veto notwithstanding) a theologian, and to this day I have not seriously regretted that decision. When my dear colleagues Johann Baptist Metz and Jürgen Moltmann later initiated the project of a "political theology" and developed it with great impact, I insisted on the basis of those experiences that the political relevance of Christian faith consists, from beginning to end, in its ability and obligation to speak the truth. The political activity required of the church aims, above all else, to assist the cause of truth.
At first I pursued more far-reaching proposals in the European context with a certain restraint, because I feared a renewed political interdict (a clericalization of society from the left, so to speak) in any program that would bind all Christians theologically to a particular political course or even elevate "revolution" to a theological principle. On the other hand, the adherents of "political theology" appeared, in my eyes, to be much too abstract when it came to the concrete situations of life. They seemed to feign concreteness by all kinds of activism. At any rate, that's how the issue looked to me at first, at least in the European context. But the significance that "liberation theology" assumed, both in the context of the scandalous social injustice of the so-called Third World and in the context of South African racism, taught me better. The immeasurable shame that I felt as a white person in South African townships has completely persuaded me that the Christian is permitted, indeed commanded, to work against an unjust system, not only with thoughts and words but even with deeds. To be sure, the person of faith must assume individual responsibility for that decision. And in no instance should anyone be coerced theologically to take up violence.
To this day it irritates me that in this regard something like a liberation theology for the oppressed people in the world of "realized socialism" was apparently never considered. Even in the headquarters of the World Council of Churches on the Genevan route de Ferney, where injustice in other parts of the world was so courageously identified by name and resistance movements were energetically supported, one feigned blindness to the conditions in Romania, for example, right up until the end. That is an ecumenical scandal. And one can only hope that this dark shadow will not darken the undeniable achievements of ecumenism.
However much the political realization of Marxism-Leninism in the "socialist brother nations" failed to impress me positively, still the atheism to which Marxist theory and its adherents are committed posed a challenge that continues to engage me. It should give one pause to consider that people in the GDR apparently allowed themselves to be more impressed with the atheistic option of Marxism than with its political and economic form. At any rate, the great number of Germans living on the other side of the Elbe who don't belong to any religious community speaks for itself The encounter with atheism, quite apart from all statistics, has consistently stimulated my thought since the beginning of my teaching career.
Apropos my teaching career: I became a theological teacher literally overnight on account of the building of the Berlin Wall. When Erich Honecker, under orders from Walter Ulbricht, raised the wall, thereby cementing the division of Germany, the seminary students who lived in East Berlin were cut off from their professors who lived in West Berlin. In order to ease the academic emergency, Kurt Scharf, who would later become the bishop of Berlin, appointed me to a teaching position. Just a few weeks before I had received my doctorate in theology. (A few months later police headquarters in East Berlin wanted to take the doctorate away from me.) As a consequence, I was very poorly prepared. Thus I began to burn a lot of midnight oil. Often on the evening before I still didn't know what I would lecture on the next morning (yes, academic nights are long).
The theology that emerged in this fashion would today perhaps be called "contextual." It was contextual insofar as I asked myself how the language about God that the biblical texts empower us to speak can demonstrate its truth in a situation shaped by atheism. It seemed to me too cheap simply to demonize atheism or to unmask it as a pseudo-religion. I felt myself obligated, rather, to understand atheism better than it understands itself, and I tried to go into the heart of the matter. It soon became crystal clear to me that what manifested itself in the Eastern bloc in an extremely intolerant way completely determines the modern and postmodern world in a much more subtle way. Upon closer inspection I realized that not even religion and atheism must be mutually exclusive -- a paradox. The atheistic character of the age seems, therefore, to be something different from the "religionlessness" foretold by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Had not Schleiermacher already commented that "a religion without God can be better than one with God"?
The newly awakened religiosity of the past few years -- in Europe it has to do largely with a vagabond form of religion -- should not, therefore, be celebrated by a hasty apologetics as the overcoming of atheism. On the contrary, I have been and continue to be concerned with discovering a moment of truth in atheism, a moment which is at least as important as that to be found in a theistic metaphysics. Is it merely an accident that the young Christian movement was charged with atheism in its religious environment? Did not the radical negation of the ancient world of gods by the Old Testament prophets and by the Word of the crucified Son of God prepare the ground upon which modern atheism could thrive? Did not Nietzsche recognize, more clearly than many theologians, that the proclamation of the crucified God threatened to become a negation of Deity? The answer to this question is certainly not to be found in the "death-of-God theology" that aroused some interest in the U.S. a quarter of a century ago. But the fact that the expression "death of God" has a Christian origin should give us something to think about. I have thought about it, and I can conceive of the God who overcomes death only in such a way that God himself is nothing other than the unity of life and death on behalf of life. As such he bears the marks of our godlessness within himself: a godlessness the overcoming of which was and is his concern, not ours.
It goes without saying that I resolutely reject any old-style or new-style theological apologetics that denounces atheism as a deficient mode of human existence. What gives us the right to suppose that the atheist is less a human person than the pious Jew or Christian? On the basis of such religious propaganda the proclamation of the justification of the godless can hardly flourish. Whoever wishes to advocate the overcoming of godlessness through God would do much better to take the atheist seriously as a particularly mature specimen of homo humanus.
In my efforts not only to understand the truth of the gospel but also to assume personal responsibility for teaching it, it proved to be an invaluable aid that a friendly providence placed noteworthy teachers of very different orientations in the student's path. As I began to study Kant intensively with Gerhard Stammler and as I familiarized myself with both classical logic and symbolic logic, warnings were being issued about the philosophy of Martin Heidegger. At the same time, however, I was being exhorted to study the texts of Heidegger by the New Testament scholar Ernst Fuchs, who put me in touch with his teacher Rudolf Bultmann. In an "illegal" semester spent outside of the GDR -- moving back and forth between Zurich, Basel and Freiburg -- I finally heard the master himself. At the time, Heidegger was "on the way to language" (unterwegs zur Sprache).
Toward the end of his life I had a conversation with Heidegger about the relation between thought and language, and I asked whether it wasn't the destiny of thought to be on the way to God (unterwegs zu Gott). He answered: "God -- that is the most worthy object of thought. But that's where language breaks down."
Admittedly, this was not the impression I had received during that memorable semester. At the time, Gerhard Ebeling in Zürich had introduced me to the thought of Martin Luther, while Karl Barth in Basel was making me familiar with his own thought. Barth's theology, flowing like a broad stream and suffering from an excess of argumentation, didn't exactly give the impression of a language breaking down. At first Barth looked upon me as a sort of spy from the Bultmann school and greeted me with unconcealed skepticism. But when I dared, in an unforgettable meeting of his group, not only to contradict the Basel criticism of Bultmann with a vehemence born of youthful audacity but also proceeded to interpret one section from Barth's anthropology to his satisfaction, I was invited for a late-night dispute over a bottle of wine. And a few days later the entire Church Dogmatics stood in front of my door with the dedication: "To Eberhard Jungel, on the way into God's beloved eastern zone."
A few years later, when I myself had to offer lectures and seminars in dogmatics and was looking around for some helpful guidance, I immersed myself again in this magnum opus of my teacher. And behold, in the midst of a theological discussion that was increasingly losing all perspective I saw that I had encountered in Barth the thought of someone who truly believed in his subject matter. Barth's theology was autochthonous. From it one could learn that substantive concentration upon the truth to which the Bible bears witness is the best prerequisite for keeping faith in the present world. I gained a new acquaintance with the tradition, in relation to which there was neither a disrespectful criticism nor an uncritical respect. Thereby an ecumenical horizon opened up for me, without which I simply cannot conceive any future theology.
Above all, I was challenged to think about God from the event of his revelation, and that means from the event of his coming into the world: hence, as a God to whom nothing human is foreign and who, in the person of Jesus Christ, has come nearer to humanity than humanity is able to come near to itself. The Augustinian interior intimo meo ("nearer than I am to myself') became something of a hermeneutical key, not only for the correct understanding of God but also for the correct understanding of the human being, whose subjective godlessness is mercifully anticipated by God's objective humanity. In short, in contrast to the sterile Barth-scholasticism that dominated Germany at the time and that had built around the master's dogmatics a Chinese "Great Wall" not to be penetrated, in my case something like a "new frontiers" mentality grew out of my encounter with the person and work of Karl Barth.
It is no wonder, then, that it never occurred to me to settle down in the so-called Barth school. Nor in the Bultmann school either, for that matter. It didn't even occur to me to suppose that the Reformers always had the deeper insight and the most adequate solution to all theological problems. I say this with all due respect for the unusually incisive theology of the Reformers, which has not even yet come to the end of its historical influence. But the truth of theology is richer than that of its schools of thought. That is why to this very day I have steadfastly refused to succumb to the temptation to make disciples of my own. To be sure, students are undoubtedly eager for that sort of thing; and not a few of my listeners have pressured me to orchestrate something like a theological school.
But, according to the measure of my insight, a theological teacher can have "disciples" only in the sense that he teaches them to immerse themselves more thoroughly in the lifelong school of Holy Scripture, in order that there they may find the criteria for the training of their own faculty of judgment. The pastor, by the way, has an analogous task with respect to the congregation. Evangelical (i.e., Protestant) theology is at least in this respect the heir (perhaps even the mother?) of the Enlightenment, because it gives us the courage to use our own understanding as it has been trained by the hearing of God's Word. Only in this way is the consensus of believers in a common confession before God and before the world worth anything at all. In this sense theology must, I am convinced, pursue enlightenment in the light of the gospel -- beyond neoorthodoxy and neorationalism, but also beyond collectivism and individualism. In this way I have tried since 1961 to make theology both appetizing and obligatory to the students entrusted to me: as a theologia viatorum, a "theology of pilgrims," who are "on the way to the heart of the matter" (unterwegs zur Sache) and who must always keep widening the boundaries of their insight. "New frontiers . . ."
When I finally moved from East Berlin to Zürich and then to Tübingen, it was a step forward into new territory -- in a quite different sense, but no less momentous. I vacillated for a long time over whether to accept the invitation of a Swiss university and to leave "realized socialism" for the ostensibly capitalist world of the West. In the end, two conversations, one with Johannes Janicke, bishop of Magdeburg, and the other with Barth, played a crucial role in my decision. Quite independently of one another, they both gave me the same advice for the same reason: in Zürich I would be free of the fixation on the "dictatorship of the proletariat" that was unavoidable in the GDR and the corresponding danger of intellectual paralysis.
In fact, as I sought to orient myself in the colorful, sometimes too colorful, Western world, I noticed how in every respect life behind the iron curtain was in danger of becoming one-dimensional. In body and soul and with every fiber of my being I felt the dreary grayness of that walled-in world beginning to fall away from me. The intense love of truth that had hitherto determined my theological existence was now matched by a passionate love of life.
Perhaps that's the reason why faith in the Creator has increasingly occupied my theological attention. Previously the powerlessness of the crucified one had claimed my thought and challenged me to conceive of the doctrine of God, as much as possible, apart from metaphysics. Now, however, my concern was learning to think about the creative omnipotence in such a way that it proves itself to be divine power precisely in its capacity for powerlessness (even to the point of death on a cross). In direct contrast to the sweeping denunciation of the concepts power, dominion, achievement, etc., which is growing stronger in the Christian churches, it seems to me, rather, that theological clarification of these terms is called for. Neither the being of the Creator nor that of his creation is even conceivable apart from the exercise of dominion and power. I was provoked by the peace movement and the ecological crisis not to forgo the denounced terms but to determine their correct use.
In this regard the impetus my thought had received from Heidegger proved helpful. It became clear to me that the exercise of dominion and power ought not to be for imperial designs of one's own but must be understood as Dominium for the benefit of what exists, for the "saving of the phenomena." Therefore, dominion is only legitimate as dominion over oneself That holds true not only in the interpersonal realm but also in relation to the nonhuman creation. The mandate Dominium terrae given to the human being by the Creator (Gen. 1:26f.) is not obsolete, but its misuse is. Long before it had become fashionable, Heidegger had exposed the metaphysical origins of this misuse. His own "thought about being" (Seinsdenken) already implied something like an ecology at a time when people who would later become ecologists ridiculed him for being a romantic.
My encounter with this thinker, however, has proven to be of enduring significance in many respects, not least of which is that it prevented me from an anthropomonism in the doctrine of creation. I made a mental note of his statement: "Philosophy perishes when it has become anthropology." Mutatis mutandis, the same holds true for theology. We human beings must learn to understand ourselves as relational beings instead of as subjects in the center of things. We must learn to conceive of being as a being-together instead of as substance. Then and only then will the usurped Imperium become once again the Dominium terrae that the Creator entrusted to his creation.
The recognition of the perversion of the Dominium terrae into an anthropomonistic Imperium, visible in the contemporary crises that have been precipitated by the misuse of scientific knowledge, has made me newly aware of a philosophical and theological deficiency: we lack a gradation of evil. I stumbled onto this for the first time as a result of the attempts -- which, to be sure, have hitherto failed -- to locate the place of theology "after Auschwitz," and then again in the face of the political terrorism and the "terror of virtue" that became apparent in it. Even the Christian doctrine of sin seemed to me to be deficient, either in spite of or on account of every imaginable scholasticism regarding sin. It is high time that we expose the common reduction of evil to a mere infringement of the moral law as a trivialization from which evil profits. A gradation of evil, yet to be developed, must certainly proceed from this insight which, to be sure, is given only on the basis of the experience of reconciliation: anything that renders problematic being as a being-together deserves to be called evil. The tendency toward a lack of rationality, beginning in a misuse of the relational richness of life, finds its terrible consummation in death's perfect lack of relationality.
As a countermove, so to speak, to the demand for a gradation of evil, my interest has for some time been directed toward eschatology, which I interpret as the definitive being-together of the Creator with his creation and of the creatures with one another. Is there anything like that, at least in a preliminary way, before the last day? Can we implement in the world earthly analogies to the kingdom of God, at least in a fragmentary way? The answer to this question affects not only my concept of a political ethic but also considerations for a theology of the religions, the necessity of which Wolfhart Pannenberg and Hans Küng have vividly set before me. How can the being-together of the religions succeed when the Christian faith insists that Jesus Christ is the salvation of all people? Can theology and the church disavow that without losing their identity? I admire those of my colleagues who frankly admit that in this respect they have crossed the Rubicon and bid a resolute farewell to Solus Christus as an intolerant claim to absoluteness. But I fear that they have confused the Rubicon with the Halys . . .
Nonetheless, it remains an urgent task to travel the road toward a theology of the religions -- which would have to include atheism among its concerns -- in such a way that the christological particula exclusiva would not be misused in order to make a claim for the absoluteness of Christianity. The trinitarian being of God, which I understand as a community of mutual otherness, could be an incentive to develop models of earthly being-together: vestigia trinitatis, as it were, in which creatures would be enabled to exist in communities of mutual otherness (this could also be relevant for political ethics). To be sure, the kingdom of God wouldn't thereby be brought about. But in spite of that, the earth would be protected from becoming hell.
In a very concrete way I have been presented with the task and the opportunity to help build an earthly community of mutual otherness. Beginning this winter semester I will be a guest professor at Martin Luther University in Halle-Wittenberg, in addition to keeping my teaching responsibilities in Tübingen (to which belongs, by the way, the office of the dean of the Tübingen Stift, where once Hegel, Schelling, Holderlin and other magnificent minds went to school). This will not simply be a return home -- although it touches me in a homey sort of way that among those who learned something in my classes in Berlin are a few who are counted among the new politicians of the GDR, specifically among the realists (Realpolitiker). Indeed, there waits for me in Halle a new generation. And working together with students who have been raised very differently in what was formerly the GDR certainly poses once again a new frontier in my theological existence. I anticipate that this will be one of the most beautiful redrawings of a border.
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Have you ever wondered why some people can get away with wearing certain types of sunglasses, and others seem to struggle to find anything? You might think of yourself in either of those camps, either you seem to look good in anything, or nothing! The latter can certainly be frustrating, especially if there is a certain model of brand that you love.
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Look for larger, oval, round & curved frames that will appear to increase the curved edges, as well as to soften and balance your strong facial structure. Lots of Ray-Ban glasses have this look.
Best examples are: Aviator, Round, Wayfarer.
Avoid geometric and square frames that accentuate the angles of your face.


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BernardGoldberg.com
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Troublemakers & Dunderheads
By Burt Prelutsky February 28, 2012 10 Comments
Sometimes, I'm amazed that I know as many decent, intelligent, law-abiding, people as I do. Because the fact is, a disturbingly large number of Americans are simply up to no good and should not be trusted anywhere near heavy machinery, sharp tools, voting booths or me.
For instance, look at someone like Sarah Palin, the woman with the most annoying voice in the world, who was rescued from anonymity by John McCain, and who, $20 million later, is scolding Republicans, including Sen. McCain, for not prostrating themselves at the feet of Newt Gingrich.
Then, for good measure, we had Herman Cain endorsing Mr. Gingrich. If only Mr. Cain could have convinced Bill Clinton and Mark Sanford to join him, Newt would have tied up the entire membership of the Political Hound Dogs of America.
Democrats insist that green energy is the hope of the world. Their favorite president cancels the Keystone XL oil pipeline on behalf of environmental fascists. But just how sincere are they? We see one federally-subsidized green energy company after another going bankrupt, taking billions of tax dollars with them. And do you know anyone who's shopping for a Chevy Volt? Rich liberals talk a lot about their love of renewable energy, but even when I drive around Beverly Hills and Bel Air, where so many of them live, I don't see solar panels on their roofs, and I mainly see SUVs and Mercedes sedans in their driveways.
For sheer lying power, you can hardly beat Al Gore, who has been lining his pockets with millions of dollars, repeating the same lie about global warming at least since 1997, which was the year when the earth started cooling down, as it has done periodically since long before the invention of the internal combustion engine. Talk about your inconvenient truths! Even the folks at the University of Anglia, which had been at the center of promoting the global warming hoax, now claim that we might be heading for a mini-ice age rivaling a 70-year temperature drop that saw frost fairs held on the Thames in the 17th century. So, gentlemen, start your engines. Everyone else, start burning oil and coal before we all freeze to death!
But when it comes to lies, it's hard to beat homosexual males. In the 80s, they lied about AIDS being a major heterosexual problem in order to co-opt federal funding for medical research. Who cares about kids with leukemia? Let folks suffering with cancer, Parkinson's and Alzheimer's, go fly a kite. These days, they rant and rave about same-sex marriages, but even in those woebegone states where judges and legislatures have shoved it down the throats of the people, the number of such marriages is negligible. And most of those involve lesbians.
For sheer audacity, possibly nothing compares to Tom Brokaw's objecting to the Romney campaign using a segment from a 1997 NBC newscast in which he announced that the House Ethics Committee would punish Newt Gingrich for ethics violations. The reason he gave in voicing his objection is as funny as anything that's been said on TV this year: "I do not want my role as a journalist compromised for gain by any campaign." Everyone knows that this huckster for the Left had given up any pretense of being an objective journalist a long time ago. After all, he spent the 90s cheerleading for Bill Clinton; he ignored the story about John Edwards and his doxy long after the National Enquirer broke the news; and, finally, Brokaw carried so much water for Barack Obama in 2008 that, from outer space, he was often mistaken for Hoover Dam.
Joe Trippi pops up so often as a political pundit on Fox News that you might actually think he's some sort of authority. The only thing he's an expert at is losing elections. He has run presidential campaigns for Ted Kennedy, Walter Mondale, Gary Hart, Richard Gephardt, Jerry Brown, John Edwards and Howard Dean. Over the past 40 years or so, if you wanted to get rich betting on elections, all you had to do was find out which left-wing numbskull had hired Mr. Trippi. An interesting sidebar is that, he studied aerospace engineering for three years at San Jose State College before dropping out, 14 credits shy of graduation. But I guess it provided him with the all-important capacity to spot guys like Mondale, Brown and Howard Dean, space cadets with money to burn on inept campaign managers.
Hillary Clinton, whose business cards read "The Smartest Woman on Earth," and whose mirror has been trained to say, "I swear you're the fairest one of all!" was recently heard to say, "I looked around our world and I thought we are in just so many deep holes that everybody had better grab a shovel and start digging out." Well, God knows we have enough shovels lying around going to waste, thanks to all those non-existent shovel-ready jobs Obama promised us three years ago, but if Secretary of State Clinton thinks that the best way to get out of a deep hole is to dig a deeper one, I think it tells us all we need to know about this administration's brain trust.
For sheer stupidity, however, it's tough to compete with those black Americans, including the likes of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Muhammad Ali, who gave up their perfectly fine birth names, Lew Alcindor and Cassius Clay, in order to show their kinship with Arabs and Muslims. You have to wonder how anyone gets to be that dumb without getting an advanced degree in Stupidity.
I mean, did these numbskulls never pause to wonder how their ancestors became slaves in the first place? After all, the owners of Georgia cotton fields didn't go to Africa and round them up. As for New England sea captains, they merely collected the unfortunate captives at African ports and sailed them across the Atlantic; they certainly didn't wander into the jungle and chase them down. No, it was Arabs and Muslims native to Africa who handled that end of the dirty stick.
You know, those guys with names like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Muhammad Ali.
©2012 Burt Prelutsky. Comments? Write BurtPrelutsky@aol.com!
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About Burt Prelutsky
Burt Prelutsky, a very nice person once you get to know him, has been a humor columnist for the L.A. Times and a movie critic for Los Angeles magazine. As a freelancer, he has written for the New York Times, Washington Times, TV Guide, Modern Maturity, Emmy, Holiday, American Film, and Sports Illustrated. For television, he has written for Dragnet, McMillan & Wife, MASH, Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, Bob Newhart, Family Ties, Dr. Quinn and Diagnosis Murder. In addition, he has written a batch of terrific TV movies. View Burt's IMDB profile. Talk about being well-rounded, he plays tennis and poker... and rarely cheats at either. He lives in the San Fernando Valley, where he takes his marching orders from a wife named Yvonne and a dog named Angel.
Author website: http://www.burtprelutsky.com/
Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Al Gore, Burt Prelutsky, Hilary Clinton, University of East Anglia
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1.Experience with Microsoft CRM 2011 Modules and features related.2.Experience with Microsoft CRM 2011 customizations and Configuration [Sitemap, Writing jScripts, Developing/ Registering plug-ins, workflows and dialogs, SDK, importing data and CRM Deployment Manager. 3.Experience with developing and implementing web/windows applications with Microsoft Visual Studio.Net.4.Experience with developing XML Web Services and Server components.5.Experience in writing oData and Linq. 6.Identify build or development changes, code and peer reviews and unit testing.


text:
Dunstall, S. K.
The lines. No ship can traverse the void without them. Only linesmen can work with them. But only Ean Lambert hears their song. And everyone thinks he's crazy. Most slum kids never go far, certainly not becoming a level-ten linesman like Ean. Even if he's part of a small, and unethical, cartel, and the other linesmen disdain his self-taught methods, he's certified and working. Then a mysterious alien ship is discovered at the edges of the galaxy. Each of the major galactic powers is desperate to be the first to uncover the ship's secrets, but all they've learned is that it has the familiar lines of energy-and a defense system that, once triggered, annihilates everything in a 200 kilometer radius. The vessel threatens any linesman who dares to approach it, except Ean. His unique talents may be the key to understanding this alarming new force-and reconfiguring the relationship between humans and the ships that serve them, forever.
Publisher: Prince Frederick, Md. :, Recorded Books ;, [2015]
Characteristics: 1 online resource (12 hr., 41 min.)
Additional Contributors: Hutchison, Brian - Narrator
Read more reviews of Linesman at iDreamBooks.com
FICTION / Fantasy / Historical.


I haven't posted lately about my gardening progress, but don't let that throw you off. I've been working hard-inside!
Several weeks ago I started my broccoli, cabbage, parsley, and dill. I found some great Jiffy pots (size 3), and filled them with potting soil. I planted the seeds, watered well, and placed them in a tupperware container, with the lid on. The space I had available is in my basement, but it's cold down there. So I left this lamp on to keep the temperature warm enough. It worked like a charm!
Once the seeds germinated, I took off the lid and placed them under the shop lights, which is on a timer. The Jiffy pots made it easy to see when they needed water.
Here is how it looks today. I took them outside while I worked in my garden so they can start hardening off. By the way, the bendy straw is what I used to label each plant.
WOW! I'm definately going to use your idea for brocoli – how exciting! ALso – thanks for the bendy straw idea – I'm going to mention that on my blog – what a great idea!!!!
Those seedlings look great! I discovered today that the "soil" (Mel's Mix) in my beds is workable. It was still frozen the other day. I'm going to go out this week and stir it all up and then mix up some more to top up the beds. I'm just waiting on my seeds to arrive and then I'll buy some peat pellets and start sprouting.


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Disabled child's personal data lost
PUBLISHED: 09:38 11 August 2008 | UPDATED: 10:59 08 July 2010
A Norfolk couple said they are living in fear after their disabled son's personal data and their own contact details were lost by a company working for the BBC.
David and Jackie Vear have received an apology from the corporation, informing them that information including their son's name and birthday, as well as their own address and phone numbers, had been taken.
The data had been collected by independent TV firm Objective Productions which was looking to make a BBC1 food programme for eight to 12-year-olds.
About 250 children responded to the appeal for Gastronuts, and details were stored on a memory stick which is now thought to have been stolen from a vehicle belonging to a member of staff at Objective Productions.
Mr Vear, an IT consultant from Necton, near Swaffham, said it was not the first time his son's details had been stolen.
Last November, two discs which stored the whole child-benefit database, including the 11-year-old's sensitive details, disappeared from HM Revenue & Customs. "I'm an IT consultant and I understand the dangers of identity theft," he said.
"Our son's details were lost by HM Revenue & Customs last year. Now we've got this.
"You just cannot be too careful. We hear so many stories about identities being stolen."
Mr Vear said he had also been concerned about the fact that the company had taken the dates of their holidays.
In his letter to Mrs Vear, BBC children's controller Richard Deverell wrote: "I am sorry to let you know Objective have informed us that a computer memory stick has gone missing. The memory stick is likely to have contained the information you gave. I know this situation may cause you some concern. I offer you my sincere apologies and my assurances that we are taking all action possible to mitigate the consequences of this regrettable incident."
A BBC spokesman said an investigation has been launched and added: "This data was not lost by the BBC itself, but stolen from an independent production company working for CBBC. However we took the issue very seriously. There is absolutely no evidence this data has been misused and the measures we took were entirely precautionary."


Cardinal Seán O'Malley, OFM Cap., archbishop of Boston and chairman of the Committee on Pro-Life Activities of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB), responded on Wednesday to recent videos showing leaders from Planned Parenthood discussing the provision of fetal organs, tissues, and body parts from their abortion clinics.
Cardinal O'Malley also drew attention to the Church's post-abortion healing ministry Project Rachel, which welcomes "all persons… with compassion and assistance." Project Rachel offers confidential and non-judgmental help to persons who are traumatized by their involvement with abortion.
Pope Francis has called abortion the product of a "widespread mentality of profit, the throwaway culture, which has today enslaved the hearts and minds of so many." The recent news stories concerning Planned Parenthood direct our attention to two larger issues involving many institutions in our society. The first is abortion itself: a direct attack on human life in its most vulnerable condition. The second is the now standard practice of obtaining fetal organs and tissues through abortion. Both actions fail to respect the humanity and dignity of human life. This fact should be the center of attention in the present public controversy.
If the Planned Parenthood news coverage has caused anyone to experience revived trauma from their own involvement in abortion, be assured that any and all persons will be welcomed with compassion and assistance through the Church's post-abortion healing ministry, Project Rachel. If you or someone you know would like confidential, nonjudgmental help, please visit www.projectrachel.com.


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Two Spring ISD Trustees Sworn into New Terms of Office; 2019 Officers Elected
by Spring Independent School District December 12, 2018
Photo album: Board Trustees Sworn In Dec. 11, 2018
HOUSTON – Dec. 12, 2018 – Two Spring ISD Board Trustees, who ran unopposed in the November General Election, were sworn in to new terms of office at the regular meeting of the Board of Trustees on Dec. 11, followed by the election of board officers for 2019.
Trustee Donald Davis, was re-elected to Position 6, and Trustee Jana Gonzales, was re-elected to Position 7. Both will serve three-year terms.
Board President Rhonda Newhouse presented each of them with a certificate of election, which was followed by a swearing-in ceremony conducted by Spring ISD Legal Officer Jeremy Binkley.
"Congratulations again, Jana and Don. We really appreciate your hard work on behalf of our students," said Newhouse.
Davis was first elected to the Board of Trustees in November 2015. A retired Spring ISD teacher with more than 15 years in the classroom, he is most known for his time as director of Westfield High School's award-winning JROTC program. He also serves on the Spring ISD Education Foundation board of directors and has volunteered on several district committees, including the Supporting Our Scholars mentoring program. Davis is a retired captain of the U.S. Army.
Gonzales was first elected to the Board of Trustees in May 2006 and re-elected in 2009, 2012 and 2015. She currently represents the Board on the Spring ISD Education Foundation Board, and has served in numerous volunteer capacities for Spring ISD, including a leadership role in the long-standing Spring Tri-Club that hosts the Spring Livestock Show and Sale and is a past director of the Spring ISD Education Foundation. In addition, she is the parent of two Spring High School alumni.
Following the swearing-in ceremony, the Board elected officers for 2019. Newhouse was re-elected to her second year in the position of president. Gonzales was elected vice president; Davis was elected board secretary; and Winford Adams Jr. was elected assistant board secretary.
2019 Officers ElectedTrustees Sworn into new terms of office


InigiriTV, which seems a Internet Broadcasting Group in Peru, covered the shogi tournament in Peru. A female reporter visited the venue to have intervew with lots of people there. If you understand Spnish, this will be a mustsee.


Mother Teresa was the founder of the Order of the Missionaries of Charity, a Roman Catholic congregation of women dedicated to helping the poor. In she received the Nobel Peace Prize for her humanitarian work. The following day, she was baptized as Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu. Mother Teresa, known in the Roman Catholic Church as Saint Teresa of Calcutta was an Teresa was born Anjezë Gonxhe (or Gonxha) Bojaxhiu (Albanian: [ aˈɲɛzə ˈɡɔndʒɛ bɔjaˈdʒiu]; Anjezë is a cognate of "Agnes"; Gonxhe means . Mother Teresa was born with the name Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu on August 26 What inspired Mother Teresa? Life Accomplishments.
She was born Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu (gonxha meaning "rosebud" or "little flower" in Albanian) on August 26, Mother Teresa founded. Mother Teresa, known in the Catholic Church as Saint Teresa of Calcutta (born Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu; 26 August – 5 September ). Family Tree & Genealogy Tools for Anjeze Gonxhe Bojaxhiu. Share Mother Teresa's Tree on Facebook. This is Anjeze Gonxhe Bojaxhiu's basic pedigree chart.
Mother Teresa was born as Anjeze Gonxhe Bojaxhiu. Mother Teresa was born as Anjeze Gonxhe Bojaxhiu. SOURCE. ♺ SHARE. ❤ FAV. Jesus Facts. Rare childhood picture of Mother Teresa as little girl Anjeze Gonxhe Bojaxhiu! Published: August 26, PM IST. By Rashmi Mishra EmailFollow.


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This issue of the Easterner contains articles about dissatisfaction amongst faculty about proposed laboratory classrooms, Spokane County elections, a student production of Pocatello, National Hunger and Homelessness Awareness Week, writing professor Rachel Toor, Thanksgiving plans for international students, cross-country team Sarah Reiter, the men's and women's basketball seasons, and the football season.
Associated Students of Eastern Washington University, "Easterner, Vol. 67, No. 9, November 20, 2015" (2015). Student Newspapers. 902.


I talk about recruiting all the time, often to educate the public or to pass along exciting information. But I NEVER reveal a players recruiting status..EVER, that's up to the kid and the schools recruiting a kid. Now college coaches are not allowed to discuss a players recruitment publicly for good reason. Many times people discussing a players recruitment publicly are doing so for selfish reasons. Many times a player will do so because they honestly believe it will draw in other schools…for me this is a serious red flag. I could give you a long list or reasons why kids and mostly AAU organizations should not do this. But I would need a few hours to explain why it should not be done. But I will tell you this, those who do so are not educated in the recruiting process. I will leave you with this from a D1 coach just last night. " If xxxx is recruiting her, then I can tell you, she can't play here". Your bragging can at times work against you. I know a school that was the front runner for three Power 5 players, until a player went public with a offer from that school. None of the three P5 players have any interest in that school now. The message was passed along to the head coach, who is in a tight spot with the player who went public….all of these problems are brought on by people not keeping there recruiting business a private matter until they commit. The women's process is nothing like the men's…TRUST ME.
I played D3 basketball in college. I played in the D3 NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME. I was a All American, I also coached at the D3, D2 and D1 level. I was part of teams at all three levels that made it to the NCAA TOURNAMENT. I also had players, at all three levels get drafted and play at the NBA LEVEL. My daughter went through the recruiting process and entertained going to a D3 school before deciding upon Colgate U…I think I know the recruiting process inside and out. The problem is a lot of people who are not as informed about the process often have a lot to say. I say this often about recruiting; a player does not need advice but rather information. If they have the correct information they will be just fine during the recruiting process. The problem is often those giving advice many times have an agenda, want to feel important, have the kid pick the biggest name or simply don't know any better. Either way it's not a good thing.
I often hear people talking about what level a player currently is or will play at one day. It's fun and makes for great conversation. It's all of what makes sports so much fun and brings people together. But here is when things cross a line, when these conversations become public. Recently a blogger tweeted that he didn't think it was wrong for him to tweet out a player was a D3 player on social media. He couldn't understand why a trainer (yours truly) would be miffed by him doing so, especially when he talked positively and called the kid a D2/D3 ..GEM. He advised kids to STAY IN THERE LANE. So let me address this as best I can without being too mean spirited.
Now if all of this sounds a bit harsh, it should be. The fact is, he was being harsh and the tweet appeared personally directed at yours truly. I believe he is a good person, with a good heart. He is somebody who loves basketball and promotes the girls game unapologetically. He travels the entire East coast making friends and covering the girls game. 99% of what he writes is positive and puts a smile on a kids face. He is good for girls basketball… But it is he, not the kids, who need to stay in there lane. He is wrong on every front tweeting out a kids level of play without their knowledge. These type of things are done quietly and out of the view of the public by scouting services and college coaches….KIDS YOU GET IN ANY LANE YOU WANT…YOU HAVE THAT CHOICE.
Finally, let me tell me say this, if you play any level of college basketball, consider yourself lucky. The experience will be for most of you, the most exciting time of your life. Now recently somebody complained that the word elite is too loosely used. Maybe the word is used a little too much by me and others these days. But I can tell you this, with 100% certainty. Any kid playing D1 basketball is elite weather you like it or not. The percentage of girls playing Division I basketball is 1.2%. Folks if that's not elite, nothing is elite. Somebody actually said there were some girls playing Division I basketball who stink. Now this statement is so ridiculous. It sounds like a joke. Now there are different levels of D1 basketball…But nobody playing D1 basketball stinks. They may have picked the wrong school, coach or just may not be good enough…but they do not stink. Many times it's trainers, kids and mostly parents who simply feel the D1 kids overshadow the kids who have worked just as hard to get to a D2/D3 school. Yet nobody is acknowledging this accomplishment. It leads to jealousy and resentment… but all those kids and parents need to know is this…..if that kid gets a good education and has an excellent athletic experience they won't care what level they play at….JUST ASK KATIE SIRE OF MONTCLAIR STATE UNIVERSITY.
I feel not enough people understand recruiting. There are 351 D1 schools in the country(counting the Ivy). If every school had 4 D1 offers available and I think we all can agree that's not the case, that would mean there are 1400 D1 scholarships available for the entire country and Europe. The odds are against you if D1 is your dream. But if it's your dream chase it..but chase it the right way. Get in the gym, be dedicated. Be honest with yourself, train and play against real competition and then let the chips fall where they may. But remember your fall back plan must be your education. This is your most power weapon in the recruiting process. It allows you to gamble and take your time. It opens doors that you never expected to open. It's gives you that real power of not fearing to fail…I hope you will chase your dreams whatever they may be, I hope you will keep your recruiting talk between you and your love ones..but most of all I WISH YOU GODS SPEED…EVERY STEP OF THE WAY…..


text:
1964-02-14 - Recon in Brooklyn: Part II
Summary: As Domino and Lyn continue their intel gathering efforts, a new enemy comes out to play.
Related: Recon in Brooklyn: Part I, All FoH Logs
Lynette swats away the woman's hand, mutters under her breath. "S'jus' m'hair. Y'keep pokin' at it, m'gonna poke at dat cute lil spot y'got." She warns, wiggling her fingers toward Domino's face, and that mark that makes her look, well, like a domino piece. With each rung she climbs up, silent as ever, the dark skinned girl's bundle of kinks bobs up and down. On the landing, she waits for her companion and works at the lock of a window. There was something the two shared with one another, and that was the gift of 'luck'. With a good slice of it, the window opens, and doesn't even strain or groan when being pryed up and open.
Slipping in, she waits for Neena, before leaving the window open, but closing it so not to allow heavy amounts of chilly air to follow in after them. The room was something simple, a side bedroom with a single bed, the mattress bare, and stained in places. A heady aroma lingers here, of smoke and sour booze. Voices muffle down the hall way, and a yellow light shines from under the door's thing slit.
When you live a life without mirrors it's easy to forget what you look like. When The Spot is pointed out Domino seems to sober up as quickly as if she had been slapped across the face. Maybe Lyn thinks it's cute…
Not another word is said until the two are outside of the window and the Cajun slips it open without an ounce of fanfare. "Someone's done this before," she teases with a crooked grin. It's always good having some pals who have a little breaking and entering under their belt.
The bedroom awaiting the two leaves much to be desired, assaulting a minimum of two of the five senses at any given opportunity. "What a hole," she mutters with an unpleasant look. The upside is that a dirty environment means it hasn't been cleaned. Which means a better chance of finding something useful lurking within the grime. Time to get to work.
"Girl's gotta eat when runnin'. N'not freeze, too." She explains, given her 'done this before' cander. Her nose crunches up at the smells here, and she becomes tight-lipped, keeping her scent-sensative tongue away from the odors of the room. Watching shadows pass across the line of light, she looks toward Domino, and nods, moving across the small area, picking at left behind drawers, finding nothing but lint and dust bunnies for their troubles.
"Just toss him in this one."
"Is it open?"
"Yeah. Fred was just…entertaining with it a few hours before hand." The door opens, but with such carelessness that the pair are given a chance to easily hide themselves away in the darkness. No lights are turned on, and all that's left behind is a human figure, tossed onto the bed, face covered in bandages, and groaning as they bounce and land without the kindess of good bed-side manner. The door shuts once more, leaving the duo of mutants in peace.
Voices, coming nearer. Odds of them randomly picking the same room that the two luck-benders are currently occupying..?
Sucker bet.
Neena passes a quick glance back to Lynette before turning herself into a proper ghost. One might think that the white face would make it difficult to hide in the shadows. Evidently she's had a lot of practice doing just that! Before the door opens she's both made herself scarce and armed herself with a knife. The bandaged guy getting tossed onto the bed may not look like he'd put up much of a fight. She's not convinced yet.
With the door closed and the footsteps subsiding she drifts back out of hiding without a sound and comes over to the side of the bed, slipping the blade around in her hand to reveal the business end of the weapon. Just so that anyone who looks at her knows that it's there.
Is this man a human, or a mutant..? One of their own, or one of the 'Friends?' Honestly, sometimes it can be hard to tell! The best way to figure it out is to wait for their reaction to those who are obviously not plain old humans.
One more glance is offered to Lynette, as if silently asking for the other lady's thoughts. Actually -wanting- to know what Lyn thinks of the situation. It's right there in her eyes. Maybe not full-on trust… But something's there.
Lynette had slipped under the bed. The shadows were darker there, hugging to her tiny form. Their business done, a body left behind, the girl slips out from her spot and now stands on the other side of the bed. Her head tilts, eyes looking over the figure and their weak, tired state. Her tongue presses at her upper lip, drinking in his scent, before eyeing over toward her pale companion.
She nods her way, digging a knife out of her own pocket and flicking her wrist, forcing it to set with a metallic 'click' of blade to hilt. Her fingers rest down, pressing against the man's throat, feeling his pulse. The blade rests on her cheek, blunt top of course, and she drags it downward, suggesting they remove the bandages. "Sleepin'." Lyn informs Domino. "I c'n smell de drugs on'm. Blood, too. N'…s'mt'ing anticeptic."
It never fails. Every time Domino's hanging around Lynette she goes and does something new that Dom had no idea she -could- do. As it turns out, Lyn has an acute sense of smell.
Suddenly Neena feels sorry for her having to hang around the Brotherhood safe houses.
The report is met with a slight incline of the albino's chin. "Then let's unwrap our present. Oh, and…" she trails off, motioning to a spot upon her own head with the blade. Lyn picked up a dust bunny while hiding under the bed.
Following the direction is another rare moment. She turns and walks away from the injured man, going back to her search of the room proper. It isn't a lack of interest so much as trying to maximize their effectiveness. It's proof that she believes Lynette can handle taking care of this on her own.
Those two other people from the hall, the light sounds of shuffling from the adjacent room, she doesn't pay any of those things too much mind. They're elsewhere. They aren't currently a problem for these two. What has her attention is the closet, that dark and out of the way 'catch-all' for things people don't want other people to see. Bedroom closets are where the lockboxes hide. Where the valuables are stored. Where the weapons are stashed.
For once she isn't being completely anonymous about her actions, either. "Now, if I had something that I didn't want people to find…" she quietly thinks while brushing hung-up clothes aside with the tip of her blade.
There's a bit of irony in her commentary. It sums up her entire life quite well.
Lynette blinks, reaching up and into her hair, finding those puffs of dust trapped in her curls. Shaking, it all wobbles free. Well, most of it anyway. Nodding, she follows after Domino with her dark gaze, before pulling at some slack fabric and start to cut it all away. She's careful, at least, not without some form of sympathy. Then again, if it was one of their own, she'd want to make sure they were taken care of.
The closet is mostly bare. Some clothing hangs, pushed around, eaten through by moths ages ago, or so it seems. A shelf rests above the albino, covered in dust, with boxes here and there, as well as as few books worth of paper. Picture albums, or so it looks to be, and some records, ruined by age. A press of her foot would create a noticable protest from a couple of boards of the floor.
"Hey." Lyn whispers out, pulling away strips of bandages, and exposing to swollen, red, fresh face of the man who had a number of stitches keeping his skin in place. "Dey weren' lyin'." She hisses, her nostrils wrinkling up with disgust. The man on the bed had seen better days, but it was obvious that his face was one they had seen before, and Lynette had seen three times now. He was the speaker at one rally, and at the other. She same man who talked a big game, and was taken down by a number of them in different locations. They were 'cloning' their head leader, Graydon Creed, and here is yet another dupe, freshly operated on.
With the 'hey' Domino turns on her heel and looks out from the closet. As soon as she recognizes the face she isn't sure whether to be more surprised or more disgusted. "Christ. If they keep growing more of that asshole then why would they go through the trouble of trying to fix one that's so far gone? Gonna be some bad scars on that one."
Assuming these two let him live long enough to heal the damage.
It's when she turns back to the closet that she finds the creak in the floor, her attention immediately shifting downward. "Well—"
The thought is silenced by what sounds like a muffled explosion, the back wall of the closet exploding outward in fragmented splinters of wood. Except..there's no flash of heat or rush of air which accompanies a detonation. Instead there's something which looks suspiciously like a large pale hand, so pale as to almost seem translucent, locked around Dom's neck. More debris falls from the fresh hole in the wall as her feet suddenly lift away from the floor and start kicking at the air.
Her current thoughts on the ever-evolving situation are summed up quite easily: "Ghhk!"
"Guess dey no rest f'de wicked." Lynette murmurs, moving her blade just so, placing it on the man's temple, and readying herself to drive the mark home; ending him silently. When the silence is broken, the girl can't help but jump in place, knicking the man's skin, causing him to grumble another nose of tired, pained, protest.
"The hell was that?"
"Something outside?"
"No, sounded like it came from Chuck's room."
This was Chuck, and this was his new 'room'. The thumping noises of boots to floor start to close in on the area, all the while, Lynette stares, eyes like saucers, toward the figure of Domino, and that 'grip' around her throat. "Merde!" She curses, rushing forward her companion with one hand in the air. She 'pulls' at the hand, attempting to break it free from the albino's throat, and with her other hand, she 'holds' at the space below her, offering some form of 'stability' in thin air.
So much for a stealth op! The room itself starts to feel restless as the unseen figure attacks the rickety structure. Chuck's going to have a new doorway soon.
As soon as Lynette's hand reaches the larger white one she's going to make a peculiar discovery. It doesn't feel like skin at all… It's more akin to handling cool, softened wax, a point which is further reinforced by the knife in Domino's grasp slicing into, and through, the forearm. No blood. No visible injury. It just closes up around the cut as soon as the steel passes through.
The rest of the wax-like monster marches forward, turning a small hole in the wall into a very large seven foot tall wound. The shape sure looks like a man, just..like a man made purely out of paraffin wax. His other arm winds up and tries to smack Lynette aside as if she's nothing more than an irritating pest. Then he's going to slam Domino straight onto her back against the floor, causing the entire building to shudder.
And creak.
And groan…
There's a muffled popping sound from underfoot as rotten timber gives way beneath the two white forms.
Holding up her companion with her mind, the girl's eyes shift to their 'natural' state once her abilities come into heavier play. As soon as her pupils form into slits, the heavy handed 'smack' connects with her face, sending her petite form rolling. Crashing up against a wall, the girl presses up and shakes her head, some curls falling from their bundle. Spitting out a mass of crimson and saliva, the girl growls and turns back toward the attack, only to see the floor give.
Rushing toward its edge, her dark hand reaches out, trying to hold, to grab at Domino with another 'pull' of her mind. Even if the pair continue to fall, at least the albino will have a bit more of something keeping her steady. As light as she is, the girl's body leans more over the lip of the hole, some objects sent crashing in after them, and more voices sound behind the door.
"The hell is going on in there?"
"I don't know, just open it!"
Groaning, the bed scuffs the floor and starts to move, now pressing against the door as a make shift blockade.
What the hell is Domino stepping on?! There's nothing but air under her feet! Whatever it is, it's helping! When the floor gives way with a thunderous *CRACK!* that unseen support helps even further, the blade falling from numb fingers after the Waxman as, in the last second, Neena catches a splintered piece of lumber in the ruined floor.
"-Jeezus!- Time to go!"
The voices outside are, once again, not paid much mind. There's bigger problems to worry about! With a fair amount of effort she climbs back up into the bedroom then gets a proper look at the unusual attacker in the room below. While he seems impossible to wound there's a downside to that bizarre skin, between the ruined floor and the furniture below he's now looking more like a well-used voodoo doll with all of the huge splinters jutting out of his figure. Completely pincushioned.
Then the stash is noticed. Hanging by a proverbial thread, a mystery box which had been hiding under the floorboards. Before Dom can think about it the box is taken into her hands, all while the Wax figure is trying to peel himself out of the wreckage.
"Lyn!" Neena yells out, eyes wide as she seeks out the fellow mutant. Is she still here, is she okay? "Outside, we need a car!" Something close, with the engine already running!
The pressure and support falls away, now that the strain is no longer on her mind, the girl relaxes, panting raggedly down into the space below her. Hearing her name, she nods and stands, still in the room with the albino, and swiftly heading for the door. No reason to be gentle now, and with a grip of her fingers, the window snaps up and open, allowing the two quick passage out.
With a monster below, loud angry voices roar out behind them, and begin battering the door open, attempting to get inside. Lyn waits, not moving until Domino is with her, and back to the ladder, she slids down, feeling the slick, metal 'sting' of rust and frozen grim digging into her palms. "Fuck!" She swears, but once ground meets her feet, the girl is up and sprinting toward their park job.
With skin that's so naturally pale the angry red marks around Domino's neck look downright exaggerated. Her voice sounds ragged and she's still finding her breath, but goddammit she's moving! Out through the window again she doesn't take the ladder so much as drop right off of the landing, using the building and a nearby dumpster to slow her descent enough that a roll across the alley below isn't going to snap her neck. Speed and efficiency, time is something they don't have!
"Walk it off, girl!"
Neena's car is a couple of blocks away with a cooling engine. With the stolen lockbox tucked under one arm she draws a .380 pistol with the other and simply runs out into traffic, one of the cars locking the brakes and skidding at an angle until the bumper is less than an inch away from her leg. Similarly, her finger is just a hair's width away from pulling the trigger. "Out!"
This is how you call a cab in New York City.
She claims the wheel, tossing the box into the back while waiting oh so impatiently for Lynette to jump in if she isn't already there. "I don't know what the hell is going on but I'm not at all prepared for th—"
*Spak!*
A neat little hole suddenly appears in the passenger window, made by the neat little dart now sticking in the side of the albino's neck.
"—at…"
Three rapid heartbeats later and she's down for the count. Survival instinct only kicks in long enough for her to get the car into gear before the tranquilizer leaves the full weight of her foot upon the accelerator.
There's nothing left to take care of the steering wheel.
The massive engine quickly builds up to redline as a rain of slush shoots out from the rear wheels. The car is slow to pick up speed, but it's moving… Considering the pinned creature and an unseen sniper nearby, distance would be a good thing to have!
Lynette rolls off a hood of a car that barely misses her legs. Should it have connected, they would have snapped like twigs against the metal. Ducking in, she waits for them to get rolling, but that sudden crack of glass has her head turning to face Domino once more.
Doll like, she sees the albino slump and roll, foot down, and engine angry with forced, flooding power. Her brain is racing, almost as much as the car was, even as it slips and spins through the slush of the road. Finally, the girl crawls over, resting herself in Domino's lap, and reaching beside their chair to let it fall back, pulling her away from the wheel. Panting, she forces her foot off the gas petal, her feet pushing here and there, trying to regain some control.
The car juts forward, lerching and snapping back to a halt as the gears grind, leaving the youth both frustrated, and dumbfounded, as to what to do exactly. "How d'y'work dis damn t'ing?!" She yells out, just in time for the pair to roll down a small incline, and into the wall of a brick building. The flat of her chest rams into the stirring wheel, but her weight atop Domino at least keeps her down in her seat. They'll both be feeling this in the morning, however. With another shake of her head, the girl clammers out, snakes the box under her own arm, and then the albino next. Dragging her out as best she can, she grits her teeth and slides them into the alley space between two buildings, cursing all the way.
The street behind is left in a bigger mess than the tenement they had just escaped from. Horns from other cars are still sounding out. There's a few soft crunches as vehicles in motion attempt to stop without nearly enough traction.
Okay, so it isn't all that different from a typical day in Brooklyn.
The stunt did buy the two some time, though only just. Moments later there's a pair of large, dark vehicles patrolling the area. A keen eye would notice the key signs of armor plating, well concealed to blend in with normal traffic. There's more weight upon the suspension, more mass for the tires to hold up, a deeper grunt in the sounds of their engines.
The curious thing is how eerily calm everything is. No sirens, no one is running around and yelling. It's as if nothing unusual happened at all. For someone like Lynette it might be more of a sixth sense, a tug of instinct or a feeling in the back of the mind. There are bad people in the area, and they are hunting.
Fortunately for these two, Domino's not the only one being watched over by Lady Luck. However, this round of divine intervention comes at a cost. With the cold February air there's a lot of layers involved. As if waiting for the two to be somewhere well out of sight it's purely by chance that some of the albino's skin would come into direct contact with some of Lynette's darker-hued skin, offering just a spark of a vision.
A metal box. Hot. Dark. In motion, perhaps upon the back of a truck. Narrow vents set high in the walls allow humid air to filter through and just enough sunlight to reveal a couple of soldiers all sitting around inside of this 'box,' all of them looking very stoic in full combat attire.
Then the vision is gone.
Lynette freezes in place, her head resting back as those snake-like eyes round out and stare into nothing. The vision, or link between the pair, causes her body to twitch now and then, up until it's over and done with. The lingering unease rolling up the baby-mambo's back is enough to drive her forward. They were in trouble, they were being tracked, her companion was out like a light, and it was cold. All of these were bad for someone like Lynette.
Thankful for the night, the darkness swells around the pair allowing them to pass into a void between the buildings, and after giving a quick look around, she notices that one of the buildings is unattended. Taking a hint, or the offer, that years of wanderlust and squatting has taught her, she accepts the building's 'invitation'.
Her leg gives a kick, then another, before her fingers move, turning the door's knob to the side and allowing them to slink in. Door shut, she rests Domino down, and starts gathering up anything, everything, she can, to close the bar up the passage. Down, low, on the ground, she sits with the albino and waits.
_importedbrotherhooddominofriends-of-humanitylynetteplot


This clipart illustration shows a paintbrush painting a squiggly line. The brush shown in this picture is the kind artists use, not the kind to paint a house. Rosie Piter created this image for Acclaim Images.


I am not a fan of the New York Times, but Texas Tribune's Morgan Smith has written a good article that has been re-printed in the New York Times.
Smith visits a Pro-Life pre-teen camp in Texas. She recorded a video about her visit and wrote an article about it. Smith gives readers a fair inside look at what goes on at this camp and the people who go there.
Melissa Pici from Texas Right To Life was very pleased at the fair coverage that their camp recieved in the article. I am too!
I especially like how Smith really showed the caring side of these pro life campers and camp staff. They not only care about the unborn children, but they also care about the mothers of the unborn children.