Johnrolinridge (1)John Rolin RidgeDarkness had fallen, but the Ridge family wouldn't find peace in slumber. John Rollin Ridge, then 12 years old, watched as his father was hauled out of their house and killed by a group of fellow Cherokee men. The murder wasn't unprompted. Ridge's father, an influential Cherokee, had signed the treaty that ceded Cherokee lands to the U.S. government in 1835 - leading to forced removal and relocation west.

Austin is losing its grip on the promise of high-income job growth and decent rent — with no major U.S. cities left to fill the void. Natives of Austin, Texas, know that if you used to stroll down Red River Street, you’d stumble upon a beloved music club called the Red Eyed Fly. It was a hole-in-the-wall — the type of establishment you wouldn’t want to walk barefoot, laughs Colin Pope, editor of the Austin Business Journal.

On May 29, President Donald Trump came out against the Senate candidacy of Alabama Republican Roy Moore, via a tweet, his preferred method of communication: If the president was trying to scare Moore off, it didn’t work. On Thursday, the former state Supreme Court chief justice announced he’s running once again, seeking a rematch against Democratic Sen. Doug Jones. But that doesn’t mean the fight is over.

Sometimes the best way to see what you can take is to take all that you can take. In this instance, I had taken on three jobs. Like the In Living Color skit about the West Indian family, it didn't make to sense to me to have only one job, and so, three. One of the cooler ones? Editor in chief of a Los Angeles-based fashion magazine called Code.

My friend Brian and I were so happy to be in Colombia. The warmth of the sun glistening off the panorama of the mountains. Everything was alive. Everything was vibrant.We got there late and only quickly saw the Botero sculptures. Rotund blobs of rust creating so much beauty I had to pause. The place was inundated with tourists and many were awkwardly posing next to the sculptures. I gasped seeing them up close.

The Facebook message arrived as I drove into the Home Depot parking lot. I'd waited decades to learn what Arlene, a near stranger, was about to tell me. Last spring, a DNA match indicated we were first cousins. She was what I was hoping for. I knew that my father was Black, but nothing else. My mother's family is Pennsylvania German. Arlene was not.My biological parents connected in Baltimore in 1959.

This is an OZY Special Briefing, an extension of the Presidential Daily Brief. The Special Briefing tells you what you need to know about an important issue, individual or story that is making news. Each one serves up an interesting selection of facts, opinions, images and videos in order to catch you up and vault you ahead.WHAT TO KNOWWhat's happening? Following last year's decision by the U.S.

When attendees flock to BottleRock festival in Napa Valley, they aren't just paying to hear music. No, the $500 ticket comes with another perk: seeing their favorite musical acts cook, with everyone from shock rock legend Alice Cooper to Atlanta rapper Big Boi delivering dishes from center stage with celebrity chefs such as Padma Lakshmi and Trisha Yearwood.That's no coincidence. Food is driving festivals like never before.

Because somethings can be done well drunk. But many more cannot. I have had a drink or possibly five. In any case, I am definitely drunk. Mumble rap is playing, and the college basement party is clearing out. I’m bored, so naturally I go on Grindr to see what fresh meat is available in this cyberdeli. I chat with a few guys, but no one is really standing out. I sigh and slip my phone into my pocket, when I hear the infamous Grindr tone.

After another lazy day of fishing and Frisbee, the crisp campsite air is suffused with smoke. They say there's no smoke without fire but ... The guy in the metallic orange pickup over there has a pile of logs big enough for a Hindu funeral pyre (if only he could get it to burn), and that chap under the big tree seems to be performing CPR on a heap of pine needles. Talk about a twisted fire starter. My fire's burning, though, and without a moment of chest beating.