Phil Gulley: Beyond Belief
Some people shouldn’t take up religion, and you know the kind of people I mean—folks who are a few biscuits short of a breakfast.
The Hoosierist: Under The Weather
Our Indiana expert explores what climate change in Indiana will look like.
Drifting Backward: Deborah Paul On Bigotry
Now, virulent hate speech and frightening ideology called “alt right” or “white nationalism” are infiltrating the mainstream. Swastikas appear as graffiti, Holocaust deniers court the media, and bomb threats on Jewish community centers are commonplace.
Up on the Roof
Rooftop envy is now in season on the Circle. You can’t tell it from the street, but several low-rise buildings boast decks that employees can use. Maybe you’ve never even considered the concept, because Indy isn’t one of those overcrowded cities where the use-every-inch lifestyle prevails. Most of our rooftops are forgotten tar-ritory.
Sore Loser: Deborah Paul On Opioid Dependency
When I read about the opioid crisis, I wonder why my plight goes unreported.
Furry Tale
Last summer, when family troubles landed me down in the dumps, I decided I should have a little joy in my life. I got an urge, not unlike the longing a woman gets when it’s time for another child: that stirring deep inside that is at first un-recognizable but slowly gels into actual thought, and, finally, action. I wanted—no, needed—another cat to take the place of my beloved Scooter, who died, cancer-ridden, deaf, and blind, at the age of 21.
Editor's Note: February 2013
Most of this magazine’s staffers are born-and-bred Hoosiers. Many attended college at IU, or Purdue, or Ball State. And now they’ve settled here, too, to work and play. This is a place where people stay (or return). The native knowledge of our readers is something we think about a lot when picking which stories to cover—and especially as we planned this month’s “Hidden Indy" (p. 44 in the print issue).
Drug Addict
You can buy chairs at the drugstore. Granted, the selection consists of remote-controlled lift chairs for the old or infirm, but still. They are chairs, they cost $799, and you can buy them at the drugstore. On my last visit, I was tempted to try one just to see how far it would launch me, but I was afraid someone I knew might see. So I moved on to the “walking sticks”—canes, for crying out loud—and blood-pressure cuffs. Those devices I expect to see at the drugstore, but chairs? That blows me away.
The Amazing Disgrace of Our Language
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.








