News for Friday, September 12, 2003

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There's a star kid in all of us - Trina Trice

A poor, Canadian teenager's dirty little secret has been making the rounds on the Internet.

For sale: Simple (minded) fix - Diane Wagner

I don't envy the U.S. Supreme Court its position as the ultimate authority on the McCain-Feingold Act, because whatever it decides will likely be wrong or useless.

Last Week's Poll

Question: Do you have plans to commemorate Sept. 11?

Free will is not really free - Ed Brock

I was almost Eric Rudolph but I would never have been Paul Hill.

A few words on . . . well, words - Clay Wilson

Words are ubiquitous. Journalism experts would say one shouldn't use a word like ubiquitous in a column, because we are supposed to write to an eighth-grade reading level – and how many eighth graders know what ubiquitous means?

School board candidate has arrest record

By Trina Trice

Sept. 11 remains painful

By Ed Brock

September 12, 2003

Obituaries

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NEWS DAILY - COMMUNITY LINKS

Agents bust gambling establishment

By Ed Brock

Spanish interpreter/translator sought after

By Ed Brock

Suspect arrested in double homicide

By Ed Brock

A wisdom greater than our own? - R.H. Joseph

It would appear Christian fundamentalists require a simple, graphic explanation of why the Ten Commandments should not be prominently displayed in the Alabama state Supreme Court building.

Weight training giving teams a lift

By Doug Gorman

A tale of two coaches

By Anthony Rhoads

Ah, the perfect season of the year - Bob Paslay

Autumn doesn't actually begin until Sept. 23, but already there is fall in the air. The milder temperatures, the sense of heading toward the most exciting several months ahead, are upon us.

Clients learn all the right moves

By Trina Trice

Another one bites the dust - April Avison

Journalists have always been thoroughly interested in other people's lives and I'll admit I enjoy my share of gossip.

Leaping into a quarter-life crisis - Rob Felt

Morgan carefully nestled his gin and canned-mandarin-orange-syrup cocktail down in the wet mulch. Watching in mock horror, Mike and I saw him stumble toward the swing set, take a seat, and prepare seriously to attempt what we had only jokingly goaded him into trying. I took a nervous look around my apartment complex for anyone peering out their window wondering what a bunch of drunk 20-somethings were doing in the middle of the night on the playground. Kicking awkwardly with a determined look on his face he got the swing going about seven or eight feet off the ground before he let go.