I can remember riding in the back of a pickup to get to campus. From Main Street, the wreckage already could be seen. Rubble. Twisted metal. Broken glass.
They muscle their way in — uninvited, unwelcome, and downright annoying. They’re the unending cascade of automated phone calls — in particular, those that play a recording warning you that your car warranty is about to expire.
I do not know what to say or really what to write in this story but I am going to try to tell you my feelings about Gerald. You see, Gerald was my first love back in the “good old days” as we all like to say. I began to date him in my senior year at S. D. Lee High School in 1968. We dated each other for four years. I was at “The W,” and his parents sent him off to “Southern.” He hitched a ride home most every weekend, and on those sad Sundays, I would take him over to Bob’s Place to catch his ride back down to Hattiesburg. I cried many a tear at his leaving.
Ever notice how too many choices sometimes can turn into paralysis? It’s a problem the Lowndes County Board of Supervisors seems to have run into with building a new health department.
They say you can hear all sorts of things in a beauty salon. Here’s a story I heard while getting my hair cut Wednesday.
In one narcissistic moment, Parker Wiseman may have given away a promising chance to be mayor of Starkville.
Doubts about whether the Lowndes County Board of Supervisors is two factions or five individual members may be dispelled soon. Earlier this week, the Columbus Planning Commission approved the Tommy Lott family’s request to rezone two acres on the northwest corner of Lehmberg and Warpath roads from residential to professional offices. The site is an alternative for a new Lowndes County Health Department.
Much ado has been made of the behavior of the four Columbus police officers accused of Spring break-style behavior in Vicksburg National Military Park, while in that city for a training seminar.
Bet you don’t know the memory span of a goldfish. How about what a baby gold fish is called?
It was almost 10 o’clock last Wednesday night. I had sent my 5-year-old daughter to bed, with instructions to pick out a bedtime story.
Starting mid-morning May 6, the movement began to organize a televised debate between Parker Wiseman and Matt Cox before the Democratic run-off. The idea was to hold a debate with a moderator and format that would produce unscripted answers. A candidate would be asked a question, get two minutes to answer, and then his opponent would get two minutes to answer.
Many folks stick close to their families all their lives, so occasions such as Mother’s Day are somewhat routine. I used to feel that way.
Friday evening around 6:30 Paul Thorn and his band were relaxing and eating sandwiches in the mayor’s conference room at City Hall. Thorn is an intense and muscular ball of energy who at 44 looks as though he could go a few rounds with a middleweight boxer.
Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition. I always liked that phrase. Yes, the Lord should be praised. And ammunition is good too, especially if you have a gun.
It was an urban sound, a distant clanging coming from the direction of the port. But standing in the backyard on a recent morning, tea in hand watching the bees begin their day, the noise caused me to flash back to a morning seven or eight years ago in Manhattan’s Flower District.
As many of you know, MUW is in the process of finding a new name. The process has been thoughtful and transparent, and all the documents relating to it are on our Web site.
What’s in a name? For Mississippi University for Women, the more appropriate question is, ‘What’s not in a name?’: Reality.
It seems a team of scientists has been cataloging the nation’s bad-hair days. As it turns out, Kentucky is gloomy, but so is Mississippi. In fact, you could call Mississippi the buckle of the "Gloom Belt."
As I write this column, I’m switching back and forth to a program called TweetDeck. Its dark, businesslike interface fills my entire laptop screen with several columns of updates, each one chiming as new information comes in.
Last summer at the farmers’ market I asked George Dyson if tupelo trees grow this far north. George, one of the market regulars, is the grizzled fellow usually on the north end of the market with a beard and the tattered “I (heart) Bikinis” baseball cap. He sells bowls and cooking utensils he crafts from native woods such as bois d’arc, oak and sassafras.
1. Mississippi Voices: Cochran's tea party challenger NATIONAL COLUMNS
2. Ask Rufus: Stand Fast Mississippians LOCAL COLUMNS
3. Birney Imes: On the road with Louie and Sprocket LOCAL COLUMNS
4. Charles Krauthammer: The wages of weakness NATIONAL COLUMNS
5. Kathleen Parker: The new SAT don't care 'bout no fancy words NATIONAL COLUMNS