Amid all the chatter surrounding Common Core standards—what education is essential and what is not—I hear a lot about college prep but not enough about prep for life.
Dusty knickknacks were removed from glass-fronted cabinets and plopped down on the living-room floor to await future placement. I took the opportunity to clean and discard. That’s when, after 22 years, I came upon relics stolen by Nazis in World War II.
I have a prediction: Indy will look radically different by its 200th birthday—but not without a few outrageous ideas along the way.
A collar is the canine equivalent of the wedding ring. Once a collar is purchased for a dog, there is no going back.
Do barbecue joints need board of health clearance to set up grills in their parking lots (where the flies, stray dogs, and hobos live)?
The Hoosierist has purchased and used nearly every form of firework known to man, from the tiniest firecracker to devices only slightly less powerful than the ones carried under the wings of Air Force drones. And he still has all his fingers.
I left that condo for the last time with a lump in my throat past which I could not swallow. The permanence of the sea reminds me of the impermanence of those of us who marvel at it. This was a gift: the chance to live on the water, if not forever, at least for once in my life.
Back in the ’80s, you couldn’t shuffle a deck of cards in the Hoosier State without someone looking at you sideways. But today, the only things beyond the pale are dog racing, cockfighting, sports betting, and anything Internet-based.
In the small towns around Indy, ice-cream stands are more than just purveyors of frozen treats—they’re touchstones, an experience of sticky fingers and bellyaches passed from generation to generation.
The invention of the tubeless tire must have been a sore disappointment to boys everywhere. Inner tubes served as our boats in the summer and our sleds in the winter.
There’s a worry when profiling someone as universally beloved as John Green that the story will become a hagiography. The brains behind the bestselling novel The Fault in Our Stars couldn’t be as good-hearted and scandal-free as he seems, right?
Canines at dinner, lifeguard credentials, and cricket mentors. Ask The Hoosierist.
I have a new semantic bone to pick: overuse of the adjective “amazing,” which now describes everything from a red-carpet gown to a robot.
This year, we’re not leaving Indiana. The little woman and I will head to our farm in Orange County, where the people are humble, the landscape inviting, the snakes few and modest in size, and nothing untoward ever happens.
The new Godzilla movie hit theaters this month, but Indiana residents who crave monster thrills needn’t settle for a Japanese import. Per certain sources, our state is crawling (and slithering and flying) with home-grown horrors.
Editor Emerita & Columnist