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Opinion

  • Column as I see ’em …
    Remember the column I wrote a couple of weeks ago about my trip to the dentist? The one that began with my dentist jokingly calling the newspaper “goofy?”
    Well, a coward chastised me with an unsigned letter this week, claiming that my dentist was actually trying to tell me that I’m a “dumb***.”
    Language, madam, please!

  • In a German town about 4,000 miles away, Chelsea Schedler analyzes Lawrenceburg cul-de-sacs.
    Researches the county’s curved roads (iconic design unique to subdivisions, Chelsea says) that double back to marked entrances.
    Studies American suburban home floor plans essentially worshiping, in Chelsea’s words, “the sanctity of the automobile.”
    They say write what you know.
    Chelsea, an architecture student and intern living in Germany, dissected what she knew — Lawrenceburg.

  • Poop washes off.
    My dad’s use of that phrase is always a bit more colorful, but the word poop instead of the less family-friendly version doesn’t alter its meaning.
    In short, it means never be afraid to get your hands dirty, be it from shoveling manure or any other task that might result in greasy hands or dirty fingernails.

  • I probably ask more questions than I get answers.
    Because I’m sympathetic to those who want answers, I’m fairly good at answering questions.
    Except for one.
    “Do you like being a newspaper reporter?”
    Pause.
    Sometimes I really need to think about that one.
    Not that I dislike my job. I definitely don’t.
    But it feels wrong to talk about my job in a manner of liking.
    Liking is something you do on Facebook photos.
    I like eggplant lasagna.

  • Someone could have knocked me over with birdshot from 190 yards away last week when I learned that the trial is off for the man charged with hunting drunk and shooting Rex Burkhead.
    Just days before the trial against David Gaines was to begin, misdemeanor charges were ratcheted up to felonies after the case was presented to the grand jury.

  • Harlem Shake.
    Reading these two words may have just produced the following thoughts:
    What in the world is the Harlem Shake?
    Is that a new beverage?
    Wow, you’re writing about the Harlem Shake videos? That was like, so Feb. 2.
    Yes, I am writing about the Harlem Shake meme.
    Not because I want to appear cool (which I am certainly not), or in step with contemporary youth culture (which I am certainly not).

  • Stoned on laughing gas and thick-tongued from Novocain, I said “Lawren-th-burg” when the dentist asked where I’m from.
     “Oh, I have friends from Lawrenceburg,” she said, the cruel whirl of the drill screaming in my ears as she leaned in to fix a troublesome tooth. “They’re always sending me that goofy newspaper with all the weird stuff in it.”

  • No one likes liars.
    Particularly when your food is lying.
    Not laying on your plate, but masquerading as something it’s not supposed to be.
    Horse meat in beef’s clothing, for example.
    Imitation may be the finest form of flattery, but except when we’re not aware of the cuisine mimicry.  
    In earth-shattering headlines, media outlets pick up on the latest click-bait “you won’t believe what thing you won’t want to eat next!” and reveal another food isn’t what it said it was.

  • Column as I see ’em …
    It was disappointing to learn that the fiscal court won’t do away with its ridiculous business license requirement simply because it includes an equally ridiculous insurance premium fee.
    Frankly, magistrates should get rid of both.
    The first is an inexplicable tax on local businesses put in place, apparently, because some people have the audacity to open a business in our fair town. The second is equally inexplicable and in place simply because people own things they either want or are required to insure.

  • Hemp production in Kentucky may soon become more than a pipe dream.
    Back in November 2011, I wrote a column about industrial hemp as a source of biofuel.
    Now in 2013, industrial hemp is fueling conversations from the state senate to FFA debates at Anderson County High School.
    Last Monday the state senate passed Senate Bill 50 to allow the licensing and of hemp growers, should the state eventually receive a waiver from the federal government to produce industrial hemp.

  • Count me among those who wish the federal government would for once listen to Sen. Rand Paul and lift its ridiculous prohibition on industrial hemp.
    Count, too, our sheriff and judge-executive, both of whom have climbed on the hemp bandwagon based on the opportunities it provides for jobs and industry.
    All of Kentucky is buzzing on hemp, although not the way you might think. Unlike its ugly sister marijuana, hemp is the none-dopey version of the plant that can be used for everything from shingles to clothing to oil, plus it doesn’t get people stoned.

  • I moved to Kentucky in 2008 when the economy crashed. Our family decided that it was time for us to live by a budget in order to avoid our own fiscal cliff.
    Each of us puts our receipts into a jar. At the end of the month, we painstakingly open the lid and review each receipt to match our credit card statements, and to see how we are doing in meeting our budgeted expenses.
    By careful examination, we discovered unauthorized charges. We also realized that certain months we had to spend less in order to stay within our budget.

  • That one little piece of journalistic advice offered on a hot August morning nearly 28 years ago is still the one that drives my career as a sports journalist.
    I was attending my first University of Kentucky Football Media Day gathering at Commonwealth Stadium. Looking for a chance to be known as a hot-shot writer, I made my way over to the best in the business: Cawood Ledford.

  • This column doesn’t usually tackle religion.
    But religion found me this week in an unusual place.
    The news.
    First, the facts.
    I am a pastor’s daughter.
    As well as sister, daughter and sarcastic lackwit, I’ve also claimed the title of pastor’s daughter for almost a decade now.
    Therefore, I know a little bit (not a lot mind you) about how the religious sausage is made.
    And everyone has an opinion about religion. Including pastor’s daughters.

  • The most frightening sound is silence.
    Especially four hours of silence.
    Sometimes, during a game of hypotheticals, I like challenge myself to choose what traditional sense I would be able to live without, one I wouldn’t miss more than the others.  
    Smell. Taste. Touch. Sight. Sound.
    Last Thursday night, as I was caught in the hard place between moving forward on icy roads or driving my car in a ditch, was no game.

  • Column as I see ’em …
    The old adage that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should crossed my mind several times this week as I wrote an article about a firearms law that went into effect in January.
    Passed easily by the state legislature and signed into law by the governor, the law says that only the state can regulate firearms and largely stripped municipalities from restricting people from carrying guns into publically owned buildings.

  • You probably know the saying before I form the sentence on my lips.
    A picture is worth a thousand words.
    Every week in The Anderson News — in every article and every column — I use hundreds, maybe even a thousands of words to describe everything happening in Anderson County.
    It’s no secret that I love words: I wouldn’t be much of a writer if I hid from them.  
    But for the month of February I wanted to show my love for Anderson County through a special photo series, “Why We Love Anderson County.”   

  • Column as I see ’em …
    The school district’s recent efforts to make sure children are safe paid off early Monday morning in more ways than one.
    When a man allegedly made numerous threats against a female student, the high school and an elementary school, district officials and law enforcement acted smartly and quickly by ensuring that the schools weren’t only safe, but that the public was kept informed.
    First they made sure the person who allegedly made those threats was investigated, charged and put in jail.

  • I tell people I never make new year resolutions.
    I lie.
    Which is, funny enough, the first rule of forming resolutions.
    My flimsy covenants should not be considered resolutions.
    They’re promises taped together only by mental commitment. Resolutions upheld by the most fragile glue imaginable.
    Maybe, to pin some permanence on resolutions, I’ll eventually learn to write them down. Trap them on paper where they can’t be lost.

  • A year has passed since the first public hearing, and Anderson County residents — namely the Planning and Zoning Board — are still not quite sure about moving forward with an historic district in downtown Lawrenceburg.
    To be sure, the establishment of a historic district should not be taken lightly.
    I think it’s fair to say no one wants downtown Lawrenceburg to fall apart.
    The more cynical of us may say it’s doing a good job of falling apart already.