In my early 20s, I suffered from an affliction I suspect is common among people that age: I felt great uncertainty about the world, what I believed and how I would ever understand it all.
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A few weeks ago when I voted in the Republican primary, I had the choice to vote yes or no on whether or not people should be allowed to pray wherever they felt like. I voted no. It’s a senseless question.
Climate change evangelists and climate change atheists — me, I’m climate change agnostic — are locked in a bitter struggle over whether global warming is occurring and what, if anything, we should do about it. You’ll note that I’ve painted the two camps in religious terms instead of the more jounalistically-correct categories “supporters” and “detractors.” And that’s intentional. Religion seems like a pretty good analogy for the climate change battle, as each side is fighting for or against something that can’t be seen and can’t be proven or disproven, and each side is certain they’re correct.
The Herald Democrat article “Denison recycling worth the cost, city says,” which was published on Dec. 8, 2013, reports that the city of Denison has a landfill reduction of only 5.2 percent since introducing recycling.
The Herald Democrat continues its month-long celebration of locally written poetry with this piece written by Josephine Burden of Denison. It is about her mother, Mrs. Louise Ann Sweeney who was blind but didn’t let that keep her from teaching her children about the Bible.
Despite Russia’s Crimean landgrab and its massing of troops on the Ukrainian border, Western leaders still refuse to recognize the mind-set of Vladimir Putin.
In the hierarchy of saints, martyrs are on the highest rung of the celestial ladder, at least for me.
You know how you get into those moods where you convince yourself that the only thing to do when you’re absolutely miserable is to make yourself even more miserable, as if misery were some kind of contest?
Sales at American book stores rose a measly 1 percent in 2013, according to trade accounts. It remains unclear whether that sluggishness — sales of ebooks have also tapered off — truly represents a further chipping away of the importance of books in our culture.
My post-tax filing ritual has been the same for a decade: tears, surfing real estate websites for tidy three-bedroom, two-gun turret homes in lightly taxed Third World nations and telling my daughter the only way she’s going to be able to afford college in even the school of hard knocks is if she administers her own knocks. Eventually, I pass out in a puddle of tears, Snickers wrappers and crumpled pages of “Felony Tax Evasion For Dummies.”