When thinking about Angelina Jolie's breasts, I did the only thing any man would do.
The new movie version of F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" premiered on screens across America last week.
To get inside Shonda Mason's home, step wide past the brown-and-white pit bull leashed to the front porch and into the living room where a muted "Sports Center" plays on one TV and old reruns of '80s cop shows on another.
On Palm Sunday night, 48 days ago, many of our city's gang leaders gathered around a wooden dining-room table, some of them sitting, some standing, all agreeing to put down their weapons.
Riverbend is like a pile of kindling that, each summer, refuses to light.
Justin Tabor — the Hamilton County deputy sheriff who bought beer for teenagers — still has a job.
It's there in this one-page letter from the Department of Justice. Right there.
This morning, the sheriff's office takes over control of the Murray County Animal Shelter in Chatsworth, Ga. This news is not necessarily Cruella De Vil bad, but sure isn't St. Francis good.
Between 2003 and 2009, the Tennessee Department of Education paid more than $89 million in contracts to six corporations that create the process of standardized tests our public school students are required to take. (Roughly half the money came from federal funds, according to U.S. Department of Education documents).
Before he lived alone in a hut in an English forest, speaking to no one for an entire year, Randy Weinberg, blue eyes the color of the sky, was a wrestler. A very, very good one.
The way we get our food — especially our meat — is the most important system in America.
It's TCAP time in Tennessee, when prepubescent kids — chocolate milk stains on their shirts and stubby No. 2 pencils clutched tightly in their grip — spend hours and hours bubbling in question after standardized question.
Need something to feel good about? A double espresso of pick-me-up joy amidst the doom-and-gloom headlines?
Monday night, several hours after the Boston Marathon attack, the governor of Massachusetts held a nationally televised news conference.
A marathon is 26 miles of life and many attempts at outrunning death.
The other day, I watched my kids tinker with the family iPad. Sliding their sticky fingers left and right on the screen — like working the eye slot on some old speakeasy door — they did the work of gods.
Sex Week — billed as a way to educate the student body on sexual awareness — begins Sunday at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville campus.
Spent a recent morning at a local high school. See if you can guess which one.
My boy walks up with a toy stethoscope. "Listen to my heart, Dad," he says.
The message of Easter is found not in the highest church but in the lowest gutter.
It's happened before. And is happening now. In places dealing with far worse bloodshed than here.
The cease-fire called Sunday night by many city gangs was originally scheduled to take place at a City Hall building.
The group of gang leaders had just walked out of the dining room -- a stack of pizza boxes on the table, makeshift ashtrays, extra chairs but still not enough for everyone -- and back into the gusty night.
Jose Molina was driving his white Nissan Maxima down Main Street on a July night last summer when a police car began to follow him.
Why do we have an economy? Peel back all the ivory tower discussions, Dow strategists and think-tank policy talk. At rock bottom, what is the first, foremost and fundamental reason we have an economy?
Despite libraries of evidence documenting reason upon reason why her body and mind should remain asleep for at least another three hours, Henley Schimpf, 17, still wakes up each morning at a terrible, horrible, no-good time.
Why is M.L. King Boulevard — a road with deep history and spirit, in the heart of downtown, near a university, in a city repeatedly named one of the best places to live in America — so terribly empty and depressed?
In the summer of 2005, Bill Brock stood before the Rotary Club of Chattanooga and began his lunchtime speech with a question that I fear — nearly eight years later — we have yet to hear the answer to.
Somewhere in Japan tonight, a man will walk into a bar, order a beer, and gladly pay more money for it than any of us would dream.
Last month, I went to the Hamilton County school board meeting, a list of pressing issues on my mind so large even Stevie Wonder could see them.
There is no barbed wire around this column. It's not private property, so rigid that your opinions — especially when they differ from mine — can't make their way in.
I don't think we need to be afraid of talking about it. Not in this case, at least.
