Opinion

I believe it was Justin Bieber who once asked: Is it too late now to say sorry? I can’t tell you his conclusion because I have not listened to the whole song. I mean, I’ve started the song and it’s come to an end, but the mind wanders. That said, after a quick search, it seems like J.B. left the issue vaguely unresolved. To me, that sounds unsatisfying and dumb. So I kept searching and those on the internet that say they know assure me: it is generally never too late to say sorry. This teaches us the answer you’re looking for is out there if you’re just willing to look.

Some people spend their day off curled up with a book, maybe catching up on sleep, maybe enjoying brunch with a friend. I, on the other hand, recently decided my one solitary day of freedom would be the time to conquer every project around the house I’ve been ignoring, basically since I moved in a year ago.

For some people, August is not a month. For some people, August is a waiting room. There’s just not a lot of professional sports on television. Basketball’s on summer vacation. Hockey’s long gone. And football doesn’t start until September.

About this week’s Yellow Medicine East referendum coverage...

As you know, here at Beyond Reason, we always tackle the biggest, most important issues of the day. A philosophical conundrum. A Buddhist koan. The t-shirt gun. Look, if it’s in Beyond Reason, it’s important. That’s why, this week, it’s time to consider bunting.

In a mid-summer garden update, I have now successfully grown a tomato plant. Not just any tomato plant, but a cherry tomato behemoth. A leafy, sprawling monster that has overtaken one of the two raised garden beds as though it hopes to soon audition for the “Little Shop of Horrors; Granite Falls edition”.

I make a lot of jokes here at Beyond Reason. Some are at the expense of the game of pickleball. Some are the expense of the pickleball players. While I do try to make other jokes about other topics—bugs, potato salad, and, of course, gourds—heretofore, I’ve never attempted a single joke about the Dewey Decimal System.

Last week, I noticed a person walking into one of our local establishments carrying a sign that I found rather amusing, admitting on cardboard in big black marker letters that they were seeking funds for specific wipes for a specific part of their body. I recalled seeing the same person last summer, because of the amusing sign.The person also carried an instrument.

America believes in second chances. It’s the land of reinvention. The country that invented brunch, rebooted Batman eleven times, and gave Paul Giamatti a leading man phase. And now, it has done the impossible: turned a backyard barbecue game into a professional sport.

It finally happened. Friday morning I woke up, and was enjoying my morning coffee while on the phone with my first born child. As I entered the kitchen to refill my coffee cup, as one does when listening to their reckless first-born child talk about such things as his desire to join the military’s program that trains you to jump out of planes and such, I glanced out of the kitchen window. And I saw it. A bunny - a cute, fluffy little demon had made it’s way into my raised garden bed and was sitting happily amongst the bok choy.