Adam Wren

The lobbying laws used to have loopholes so big you could drive a Brinks truck through them. The process is a lot more transparent than it used to be.

Low taxes, cheap rents, and incentives galore.

As AP reporter Tom LoBianco churned out hit after hit, politicos quietly talked about how he was able to get so much dirt on Tony Bennett. But the blogosphere erupted with more pointed talk of foul play by the Glenda Ritz administration.

“The joke is, my dad always asks me, ‘When are you going to get a real job?’” Fogle says. “I’m like, ‘Hopefully not for a while.’ I love what I do.”

Indianapolis charter schools are signing up students as fast as they can find them. Will reform spell the end of traditional public education?

Inside the cavernous Lucas Oil Stadium, amid a sea of 40,000 chanting fans watching the venue’s first soccer match, two different contests were unfolding.

The inside story on forming the team and how the city landed the chance to host a marquee international event on August 1—plus, why pro soccer may actually succeed here this time.

Including Westfield Police Chief Joel Rush, who is now turning the idea of running from the cops on its head.

On a warm weekday in April, a group of five young musicians jammed just off the Monon Greenway on Main Street in Carmel, entertaining passersby with covers of Alice In Chains and Jason Mraz songs. They go by the name The Street Feet for their tendency to perform barefoot.

“At the end of the day, I have to make some very tough decisions that will not sit well with people. But they’ll understand why I made the decision and what my thinking was.”

With all the noise surrounding new Superintendent of Public Instruction Glenda Ritz, will her agenda of slowing down reforms advance? Or is her voice—and those of her supporters—bound to get drowned out?

Inside Crooked Creek Elementary School’s cafeteria, Glenda Ritz wielded a scalpel, in-structing about 100 fourth-graders in the art of dissecting a spiny dogfish shark. The smell of the dead specimens, spread out on metal trays on top of blue table covers, filled the air. It was a lesson she had delivered—and a procedure she’d performed—more than a dozen times throughout her 33-year teaching career.

Former Lance Armstrong teammate Frankie Andreu tells IM that Dr. Larry Einhorn, esteemed oncologist with the IU School of Medicine and Lance Armstrong Foundation, was not present in the Indianapolis hospital room where Armstrong allegedly admitted to doping in 1996. But he wants to know the identities of the people who were.

Two anonymous Indianapolis doctors might have been among the first to learn that the storybook career of cyclist Lance Armstrong was more cautionary tale than legend. At least, that’s according to a 2006 affidavit from one of Armstrong’s former teammates, Frankie Andreu, delivered to the United States Anti-Doping Agency. Andreu rode with Armstrong from 1992 until 1996, as a member of Motorola’s racing team. In the 15-pag

Deep in Southern Indiana, businessman Robert Vicino offers the cure for paranoid doomsday-preppers: a retrofitted Cold War–era communications bunker where 80 people can weather a catastrophe underground for up to a year—among the kind of tony trappings one might find on a luxury yacht. Vicino’s sales pitch leaves no potential natural or manmade disaster unmentioned, including nuclear explosion, biological warfare, solar flares, and, of course, the Mayan prophecy that appears to foretell an apocalypse this month.