Category Archives: Columnists

Dish from the Diva: Unleashed

By Amber Rae Bernhardt

Back when being in Bismarck meant that I was visiting briefly from far out of state, I would make it a point to designate the Broken Oar as the specified location at which to reconnect with friends and family during my all too limited time in town. As I wouldn’t have the oppor­tunity to enjoy all the recreation and hit all the hot spots offered to me in the few short days I would carve out to be home.

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Margaret: Story of a Teen Girl

By Todd Ford

I won’t go into how I know be­cause it might get me in trouble, potentially operatic trouble, but the lives of teenage girls are filled with drama. Reading their Face­book profiles makes daytime soaps su­perfluous. How often have you heard someone accused of being a “drama king?”

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Not Much to Say About Political Ads During the Olympics

Kelly Hagen

By Kelly Hagen

I’m a humor columnist, which is shorthand for “I can’t tell a com­petent story to save my life, so … fart.” Anyway, in an effort to counteract the fact that I really don’t have 450-600 words worth of a story to tell any of you this month, I’m try­ing out a new format. It’s like, if I was editor of a daily newspaper, and I knew I didn’t like a page out of yesterday’s newspaper, but I didn’t know how to put a newspaper together myself, so I just took a scissors and cut out the parts that aren’t awful, then rearranged them and glued them back together into a weird collage, like I was an overpaid second-grader.

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Time and Again: Handling Prosperity

Betty Mills

By Betty Mills

After attending a family funeral in Bowman, we drove east out of New England on Highway 21 where golden fields stretched for what seemed miles, sometimes from down one hill to the top of the next. It was the North Dakota harvest season of my youth with no sign of the prosperity and the tension of the oil patch injecting a chaotic note into an otherwise reassur­ing view.

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Kids With Beards

By Amber Rae

Once upon a time I found myself in beautiful Jackson Hole for 14 hours and decid­ed to take a 2 a.m. stroll through the warm, moonlit woods in my bathrobe, like you do.

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By Todd Ford

Eva (Tilda Swinton) is working late at the travel agency when a coworker rushes into her of­fice panicked. It seems that her son Kevin’s high school is on the news. Someone is on a rampage, killing stu­dents and faculty and the police have the school surrounded.

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The iRevolution Has Now Taken my Wrist Prisoner

Kelly Hagen

By Kelly Hagan

I have a watch that plays music now. Finally.

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These Two Pipelines are Much Better Than the Other One

Charlie Barber, Mandan

Reprinted by permission of the au­thor and the High Plains Reader
By Charlie Barber

 

Amillion people spread out over this state [North Da­kota] is not going to seem very populated.”
– Harold Hamm, Chairman and CEO of Continental Resources

“We kind of feel like we’re drinking out of a fire hose right now.”
– Ward Koeser, Mayor, Williston, ND

“The genuine man of action is not intent on renovating the world, but on possessing it.”
– Eric Hoffer

“Our frustration is greater when we have much and want more than when we have nothing and want some.”
– Eric Hoffer

“History is made by juveniles.”
– Frederick Gentles

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Who Do They Represent?

Betty Mills

By Betty Mills

On a list of issues concerned with the lives of women, the American Association of University Women analyzed critical votes by members of the U. S. House of Representatives and the U. S. Senate in the first session (2011) of the 112th Congress. The legislation in­cluded campus safety, education, jobs (women make up 76 % of the teach­ing profession), the paycheck fairness act, reproductive health, and several bills concerned with the budget.

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Dirty Blonde

I use the side door at the Silver Dollar. That puts me at “semi-regular” status, somewhere between a bachelorette party and a motorcycle club. I step in out of the evening Mandan mist to the familiar hum of the dimly lit, smokey dive that has happily become my second home and gently push my way through the diverse and eclectic crowd to the booth nearest the middle bar (the one with the stuffing exposed from the rip along the back and the busted springs that result in a dip in the seat on the left side.) Mel, my favorite cocktail waitress, with her apple bottom jeans and boots with the fur, meets me with a freshly cracked can of ice cold PBR. “From Doug,” she says as I tip her and nod at the gifter, the bar’s manager of 15 years, a hulking teddy bear of a man who will either give you a hug or the beat down, depending on how you treat your fellow patrons in his presence. Doug nods back as I wedge myself into the table with my usual gang of misfits and say my hellos.

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