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Columns

  • Some of these people need to be committed

    There’s a canyon-sized gap in our high school curriculum that has become overwhelmingly obvious: Some of our children don’t know the meaning of the words “commit” or “commitment.”

    We speak, of course, of those elite among our students who have displayed such athletic prowess that they are a human commodity for our nation’s colleges and universities.

  • SOUDER: Drowning in a sea of red

    If you are familiar with the biblical story of Moses leading the people of Israel through the Red Sea (or at least have seen Charlton Heston do it in The Ten Commandments), you know that miraculous event ended with the entire Egyptian army being drowned in the Red Sea.
    As I follow the news lately, I am concerned that a similar catastrophe is barreling down the tracks at us, and like the Egyptian army, and more recently the country of Greece, we are in danger of drowning is a sea of red (ink).

  • The arrival of Denny's won't shake up our eating too much

    Were you salivating last week when you read that Denny’s soon will open in Waddy?
    Were you ready to invest the required 20 miles and gallon of gas most of us would have to spend to get your Grand Slam breakfast?
    Maybe you were like me and you weren’t so much salivating in your taste buds as you were ruefully twisting  your head with the flash-fried realization that that Shelby County has reached an epicurean epoch we might never have anticipated.

  • One awards event where you felt the winners really meant it

    Don’t you get the feeling sometimes that we are a society that honors each other when honor is the element that should be honored?
    Or – and I’ll translate here – don’t you feel that we have so many awards events that they never seem to end, that they go end-to-end like a run of dominoes that never seems to bump into the double blanks?
    You sense that there is an award for everything, and a show for every award.

  • SOUDER: The coming criminalization of Christianity: The Censorship of Hate

    Do you remember when “hate” meant “hate?”  When I was a kid, my sisters and I weren’t even allowed to say the word hate, especially if it pertained to another person.  Hate was considered such a strong word that it had, we were told, a very limited place in polite conversation.  

    My mother’s wisdom notwithstanding, have you noticed that during the past few years, and especially in the aftermath of the tragic shootings in Tucson, it seems everyone is talking about hate?

  • SOUDER: The coming criminalization of Christianity: The Censorship of Hate

    Do you remember when “hate” meant “hate?”  When I was a kid, my sisters and I weren’t even allowed to say the word hate, especially if it pertained to another person.  Hate was considered such a strong word that it had, we were told, a very limited place in polite conversation.   
    My mother’s wisdom notwithstanding, have you noticed that during the past few years, and especially in the aftermath of the tragic shootings in Tucson, it seems everyone is talking about hate?

  • There is a little more to that horse story

    When last we left you, we had shared our heartwarming little story of the Paint mare my wife had adopted, which some of you said left you feeling as good as it did us.
    We’ve had smiles and tears and hugs and plenty of handholding through this process, but today, in homage to the great Paul Harvey, we must share “the rest of the story.”
    Page Two.

  • In search of the ‘a-ha!’ moments

    A man goes into his favorite deli where the waiter immediately brings his regular order: a bowl of matzo ball soup. The customer signals the waiter to come back.

    "Taste the soup!" he commands.

    "Why?" inquires the surprised waiter.

    "Taste the soup!" comes the reply.

    "Max, you've been coming in here every day for ten years. There's never been anything wrong with the soup."

    "Taste the soup!"

  • EARLIER: Finally, a true Shelby Countian

    Though my return to Shelby County occurred more than two years ago, its final stride perhaps is taking place right now, my feet sinking so deep into the bluegrass culture and manure-laced soil that there can be no denying that my immersion is complete.
    Our family is acquiring a horse.
    If that doesn’t take a boy raised on the cow paths behind a herd of Holsteins and project him squarely into our county as it is today, then what else possibly could be required?

  • A week to hate, and here's why

    Here we are, the 52nd week of the year, a lost week, as I see it. Nothing gets done, no one is around, and we are left with an unseemly and neck-snapping transformation from the Most Wonderful Week of the Year to what I consider The Most Awful.
    Don’t agree?  I present my case. Here is a countdown of 52 reasons why I hate the 52nd week of the year:
    52. Doesn’t it seem as if you’re the only person/company/group working while everyone else is off?