I struggled over the weekend with what to write about this week.
Our lawmakers have been embroiled in contentious debates about teacher pay and Medicaid, among other issues, as they struggle to revise our $21 billion state budget. While these are undoubtedly important and deserve attention they are symptoms of a much larger problem.
In the past I have I talked about the right foods to eat. Personally, the ideal way to eat would be real food, grown organic, local and in season. This way you are avoiding the genetically modified organisms (GMO’s) truck coming from who knows where.
George Ledford won't be seen anymore at Smith's Drug Store lunch counter, sitting under the town clock on Main Street, cheering at a Forest City Owls game or taking his seat on the front pew at Florence Baptist Church.
Area children recently spent two weeks immersed in science, technology, engineering, and math as part of a local school's annual summer STEM camp.
Do you have personal issues? Do you want to seem intelligent, well informed and on-top-of-it-all without having to bother to put in any effort or time to see whether your assertions are accurate? If so, then join the trend that's all the rage in the 21st century: show indignation now and worry (or, more likely, don't) about accuracy later. And, for heaven's sake, never EVER worry about "nuance."
Well you did it Forest City-Dunbar. You started your flex-calendar, year-round school, last week without a hitch.
A good community is based upon the people within it.
Over the course of the past two weeks I have had the opportunity and pleasure of writing several stories to share with readers featuring local entities and individuals who are giving back to the community they call home.
When liberals debate tax policy, it can be hard to keep track of their current positions. They keep changing.
In George Orwell's "1984," the daily devotion for Oceania's party members is to view a film illustrating the various crimes of their enemy. In the dystopian novel the target is Emmanuel Goldstein, a party turncoat. The film whips up comrades into an antipathetic froth—hence the Two Minutes of Hate.