As Yogi Berra most likely didn’t say, “There’s a lot of angry people out there and not all of them are happy.”

"I didn't get my paper this week," the caller told my daughter last Friday afternoon. "What's your address?" Caitlin asked, politely. "The number is on the front of the house," the caller replied.

Even a blind squirrel can find an acorn once in a while. It’s occasionally at least somewhat comforting to know this simple truth: I’m not ALWAYS wrong.

Forgive me, but I can’t help but wonder how CNN would have handled this one. (Actually, I once worked side by side with CNN, and I was not impressed.) If this past Monday’s public meeting of the Jackson Township trustees did not set the 21st century record for profanity uttered in a public meeting, Lord knows what meeting did. But let’s not leap to conclusions, here. This column probably isn’t going where you might think. So bear with me.

On this 27th day of February – a month that is a wicked stepsister to the frigid witch that is January – I hereby declare that winter is over. Done. Fini. History. Nada. No mas. As of this moment, spring has sprung. There are three unmistakable signs that spring has arrived in southern Ohio.
   • Freshly Firestoned and Bridgestoned skunks become part of the rural highway roadkill landscape. (There’s a certain Pennsylvania groundhog that’s going to join them, too.)
   • Reds pitchers and catchers report to spring training.
   • Taxes owed and/or tax refunds slip into coffee break conversations, as do “bubble” teams for the NCAA basketball tournament. (No, UC is not a bubble team.)

Highland County’s unemployment rate has been at or near the top in the entire state for months. Home foreclosures are increasing. County and city offices have struggled to balance their respective budgets. Food lines have been prevalent, almost reaching Great Depression levels. Yet on one invoice for one month, one county office is charged almost $14,000 of taxpayer money (at a rate of $1,604.40 for one full non-color page) for the publishing of legal advertising for, of all things, a listing of citizens who have not or cannot pay their respective property taxes. Absolutely amazing. How do they look the taxpayer in the eye?

Most of us who find ourselves busy enough trying to stay one step in front of the Repo Man (or, in my case this week, a few feet ahead of the Snow Plow Man) often forget a few of life’s simple courtesies.

In true “Jeopardy!” fashion, we’ll begin with the answer in the form of a question: “What is now?” (When is now?!)

Conventional wisdom suggests that owning one’s own newspaper might be best left to the professionals. After all, as Baltimore’s second-most famous journalist, H.L. Mencken, said “A newspaper is a device for making the ignorant more ignorant and the
crazy crazier.” Then again, no one’s ever accused me of being conventional – or wise.

Until this past Sunday night, I’d never heard of actor Michael C. Hall. That’s not altogether surprising. There were lots of people on the Golden Globe awards television show I’ve never heard of.

Believe it or not, I like judges. Really. Granted, I’ve made more than my share of lawyer jokes over the years. But I cannot think of a judge I haven’t liked – including the one who once (and only once!) locked me out of a public courtroom more than a decade ago.

“The debate is over,” Little Al Gore told us a few years ago. Global warming is here. Never mind that Al Junior and his moneychangers refused to debate the matter and never mind that this little old third rock from the sun is actually cooling. Minor details.

We tried to talk him out of this column, but we were too cold to argue with him