Print Edition

March 25, 2017

  • Serving Indy’s Southside Since 1928

The things in society that tire me

Things I am tired of, in no particular order: Kardashians. All of them (and there seems to be a limitless supply). I see no reason for these people to be so much of a blip in the American consciousness, but they seem to be everywhere. Good grief, you can’t turn on your computer or turn on TV or look at the magazine rack at the grocery store checkout line without some Kardashian looking back at you. This might be understandable if they...

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A mortgage and three cars by 18

You know those commercials in which one of a guy’s three credit scores is represented by a fat guy in a leotard and hockey mask? That’s my situation. My wife and I started looking for our first house last week after I convinced her that storing beverages and cat food next to our water heater was a sign that we’re out of space. We filled up the 600 square feet in our apartment long ago, but we’ve managed to keep our home from looking...

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Car-fender chili-flavored cotton candy

The other day, I thought, “It is perfect weather for a big batch of chili.” I failed to clarify, however, that the big batch of chili would only be a success if someone other than me was in charge of preparing it. I still haven’t figured out why, but occasionally I get a little bit delirious. I go to the grocery and pluck random ingredients from the shelves. Then I rush home and plop it all in a kettle. All along, I am thinking...

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A haunting at the library

For the first three years of her employment at Beech Grove Library, Becki Deweese, information clerk, didn’t relate to the stories staff and patrons reported about odd sounds and creepy feelings in certain areas of the building. When members of Indiana Scientific Paranormal Investigators (SPI) came to Beech Grove to check out the ghostly allegations, DeWeese volunteered to accompany them during the process. That’s when she saw it—or...

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Lady in black dress weaves a woeful tale

It’s a dark and stormy night.  Now imagine driving along a wooded stretch of Midwest interstate—lightning flashing behind a witch’s skirt of clouds. On the road up ahead is a motorcycle, its single taillight guiding you through the glittering rain like a small red eye.  And then, with breath-taking abruptness, a lightning bolt slashes down, striking the motorcyclist.  You stop the car and, along with several other witnesses, attempt...

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