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September 23, 2004Everybody Was Kickball Ballin'Speaking of being teased, lately... I play Kickball. You can find me near second base, a beer a few yards behind me. We still have not won a game and due to an unfortunate circumstance where we had to forfeit a game (too many people were hungover in Fayetteville after the Hogs-Longhorns game). Because of the way wins and losses are rated for the season standings, our standing right now is a -1.5. I could go into all the reasons why we as a team suck so bad, but that could make a novel. I mean when you field about six different people each game, it's a little hard to get a good team groove going on. So last Sunday, we had the last game of the day at 7 o'clock. That meant as darkness fell, we played under the lights baby. That's right, just like a big time sports club, our field had lights. By the end of the game, we felt our groove coming to us at last. We had scored and were fielding better than a John Deere tractor in a Kansas wheat field. With beer in hand, I even spent a few innings coaching third base (and coached a run in to home on a sacrifice fly). Since both of our teams agreed that we needed the practice and there was no one else waiting on the field, we decided right then and there to have an impromptu scrimmage. Girls against guys--girls were skins. Okay, not really, we counted off ones and twos. We played till almost ten o'clock under the lights and the beer gods smiled upon us when a late arrival brought a cooler full of beers with him. As a team we learned something that night. We could play with the competition. With the removed pressure of having to score and only having six innings, our players performed well. I even moved over to shortstop to get a little experience there (unlike my dating life where I seem to be the ULTIMATE shortstop...). My play of the game while running was my bad @ss scissor kick like slide into the second which made the second baseman miss the throw and I got to jump up and run on to third. The slide left a nasty scrape on my right arm, but I've never been one to shy from taking one for the team. The point is we started coming together as a team and realizing that maybe as a team we can be ballers. This Sunday. we play the league founder's team. They're one of the best and I'm sure like every other team, their players will trot out with cleats and sticky gloves and the like. I'll stick with my Mikes and Aunt Jemima syrup thank you. In any event, we may be primed to pull of an upset and move our rating back into a positive column. It's bound to happen at some point, and if it doesn't, it's no worry. We still have more fun than any other team out there. And except for the one all-girl team, we have the best male-female ratio of any team in the league. Now, I know many of you may remain skeptical about the whole notion of adults playing kickball. Heck, I was too when I was first approached about playing for a team. I'm in now. And I can't turn back. I'm hooked better than a foot-long catfish on a trotline. Now, before you go off thinking this must be some backwards Little Rock thing, take a look at this report from CNN Headline News that covers just the D.C. area Kickball league. My name is Adam, and I play Kickball. ~Also, the competition is still open for the I'll put on the back of the jersey. The leading four are: 99 Problems The Don Quixote La Mancha Make up one you think can knock one of those out or vote for your favorite in the comments. Posted by Adam H at 11:14 PM ~ Link Cosmos
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Velociworld linked with Kickball? On Crass LanguageFor almost a year now, I've been the target of good-natured ribbing because of my hesitancy to spell out completely any number of vulgar words. As most of you who have ever spoke with me, I'm not afraid to drop a few F-bombs or S-bombs, or other kinds of bombs. I ought to cut back and will make an effort to do so, but sometimes those words can be so very expressive. In any event, I was teased again tonight because I render a word that refers to a donkey (among other things), as a$$ or @ss. And I was immediately reminded of what our friend Eric provided us a link to today and to a certain news story that my dear sis has taken to heart. First, Eric points us to this article which says dropping the F-bomb in certain scenarios is actually a positive thing. Second, my sister found this testimony from the president of the University of Colorado, Betsy Hoffman, to be particularly liberating. I never knew the C-bomb could be a term of endearment. I doubt I'll try that with the next lady I date. Or maybe I could use it as a positive reinforcement to express a term of endearment, i.e You F-bomb'in C-bomb. Yeah, not so much. Power Break UpsVia, my good pal, and fellow Usual Suspect, Dax, I have discovered perhaps one of the best ways I can imagine breaking up with someone if I am ever so (un)fortunate to be in that position again. In fact, maybe I'll just date someone so I can use this technique. Alright, not really, but if I did, I'm pretty sure the final slide would have music and the song--99 Problems, baby. Going SwaggartAlright. I can see some signs when I have to. After inadvertently going all Swaggart over at Tenacious in the comments, then getting an email from SWWS which prompted me to break out the Bible and review Matthew 24, and then someone else linking Tenacious, and finally, cruising over to Acidman and reading the exact same complaint as I heard from a longtime Christian (in his 50s or 60s at least) in a Bible Study a week ago. Let's lay this one out clearly for all who care to read. Rob says this: "I believe that the reason I am an atheist is because I cannot worship ANY God who is supposedly omnipotent and still allows terrible things to happen to children. That's just not right." God does not allow this to happen. He doesn't because he is not in charge of the world right now. That's the whole point of Jesus coming back in Revelation--to take the world back over and restore it to perfection. Right now, Satan is in control and he uses things like innocent children stricken with terrible conditions to hurt other people's faith and make God look like the bad guy. Alright, let's go ahead and use one example to shore up the case. When Jesus was tempted by Satan, one of the temptations was this--Satan showed Christ all the world they could see and offered to make Him king of it all, to give it all to Him, if He'd just bow down and worship Satan. Most folks take this story to illustrate how Christ was able to resist great temptation, and He could. However, there's another lesson in it. The fact that Satan could have given all of that to Him, because he's got control of the world right now. Generally, God stays out of the affairs of the world because he has ceded control temporarily to Satan and because we are given Free Will to make our choices. Certainly, God intervenes from time to time. This is what most of us refer to as miracles. In any event, the point is God does not do bad things to people. Bad things happen to people either because of Satan (who has the con presently) or because of our own choices (speaking from experience here). Look, I don't want anyone to think for a moment that I'm pointing out the speck in their eye, because I am well aware of the LUMBERYARD in mine. This is just one of those issues that is covered pretty cleanly in the Bible and after years of hearing it, and then being reminded of it twice in the past eight days. Believe me, I am by far, not the best person or Christian that ought to be saying these things. I'm certainly not the ideal witness. This was one is just simple. And, finally, the whole reason for Rob's post is that Dean Esmay has brought to our attention a case of need. There is a little girl from Iraq who has a condition that needs medical attention in the U.S., post haste and a way to help is to donate any Delta frequent flyer miles. Thanks Rob for helping to spread the word on a good cause. (Alright, everybody pile on in the comments...) September 21, 2004Kettles, Pots, Skillets--they're all black.Well, well, your humble SSG has been called on to help a couple of damsels in distress on pressing questions about our less fair sex. Ever the Don, I'll charge that windmill for you ladies... For context, you'll have to take a quick read over at Tenacious in a post entitled, I'm sure, from a few emails exchanged between Lou and your humble SSG (I'm the pot, in case you're wondering). If I may be so presumptuous as to boil it down, the question is "Why is it after I kiss/make out/kiss a boy(s), do I get a few emails (if that) and then the ever so unsubtle brush-off?" Let me say first, that ladies you've come to the right place if you're looking for someone there that is a certified BT,DT,r (Been There, Done That, recently). And you're in luck, as I have consulted with several friends on the near same scenario as you're describing (well, except for naked, drunken tetherball...) The rest can be found in the extended entry. Continue reading "Kettles, Pots, Skillets--they're all black."Giving Props
Hence the saying: If you know the enemy
and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle. Sun Tzu: The Art of War Your humble SSG has been a veteran of many a campaign on both sides of the aisle. When it came to federal and national races, I had always worked for the right. For local races, for lack of a choice it was often for a Southern/Blue Dog Democrat. This duality of political experience made the jump for me to Gen. Clark's campaign an easy one. I was dismayed with the growth of government, the erosion of civil liberties, and a number of other things with the Bush administration. Gen. Clark was a fellow Army veteran, a Southern Democrat, and a Little Rock native. It was easy to move over to his camp for the primaries. Many of my Southern friends and Republican friends agreed that he was the only person they would consider as an alternative to the President. The Marine and his wife I mentioned here may well have crossed over and voted for the General had he have been the nominee. I first heard Mike say what he was quoted saying when I spoke with him last January and shared what I had learned about Kerry's post Vietnam activities. Yep, all this stuff the Swift Boat Vets are sharing know, we knew then. I was a Veteran's Outreach coordinator in two states and you can bet that more than a few vets were in New Hampshire and New York knew about this last January and February. One of the things I have always prided myself on in my campaign experiences has been my tendency to stay friendly with the opposition from the candidate down to their lowliest campaign volunteers. I'll never forget one time when I was having drinks with some other Arkansas GOP hacks and some ladies from former Oklahoma First Lady Cathy Keating (R) after a day of campaign events. They expressed wonder at how paranoid my Arkansas colleagues were about their Democratic counterparts. I had often wondered the same thing. They explained that they might fight like h#ll at the Capitol in Oklahoma City, but at the end of the day they could all go get drinks together and socialize. I suppose, for me, it goes back to sports or speech tournaments. Sure, I wanted to win and did my absolute best to wipe the competition away, but I never got anywhere by being afraid or avoiding them. I studied them, I picked up on some of their tactics and techniques, adapted to use as my own, picked their brains, tried to figure out how they thought and why they thought it. By embracing my competitors, it was easier to understand them and thereby defeat them. If someone was a skilled operator, I acknowledged it and gave them the respect they deserved. The same trait carried over into the campaigns I worked. If I saw someone who was a skilled operator, I tried to learn from them, even, nay, especially, if they were on the other side. Love or hate him, Bill Clinton was about as skilled a campaigner as this country has ever seen. Watching how he worked, you can easily learn a lifetime of lessons on successful candidates. Growing up in Arkansas, I watched him for as long as I can remember. The guy is good and there is no denying it. The same thoughts carried over to his campaign team. One of my first campaign heroes was not a Republican at all. I was hired as a field director for a scrappy Republican candidate that had nearly knocked off the incumbent in 1994. The incumbent stepped down for family reasons and we know had an open seat with plenty of name recognition and a promise to be a NRCC targeted race. Our campaign manager's first raining tool for our staff might shock you. We all gathered at one of our houses and watched "The War Room." If you want to see how a successful campaign was run in the early to late nineties, this is a must see documentary. In that movie, I found my first campaign hero. And he was from the other side. So imagine how I felt when February of this year, we had our big New Hampshire Veterans for Clark rollout event in the picturesque little town of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. In a small VFW building, we packed the room with veterans of all stripes on a small riser and had standing room only for the veterans in attendance. We actually had to clear room to let in all of the media who had come to watch our public salvo in the fight for veterans against Kerry in New Hampshire. At the time, veterans were all the rage because the media had attributed Kerry's Iowa comeback as due in large part to his support among Iowa veterans. This entire event had been my show for the New Hampshire campaign and I was overwhelmed with not only the quantity but the intensity of our support among New Hampshire veterans. At the momen,t I knew we were set to roll with the presser, I stepped back to catch my breath. I looked to the door and the most curious man in a full spandex body suit, shorts and t-shirt walked in the room. He had these small sunglasses on, was skinny as a twig, and bald. My first political hero had just walked in the door to observe my event. It was James Carville, in his bony flesh. It took a second, if that long, but I walked over and welcomed and thanked him for coming. His Crossfire colleague, Tucker Carlson, had come in right behind him. Seeing as it was a Democrat event, Tucker didn't have many fans, but folks were flocking to Carville. I had a few minutes with Carville and we chatted about Southern politics, the current primary, and we agreed that John Edwards was a better stump speaker than Bill Clinton. Of course, given my role with the campaign, it would have been inappropriate to ask for his autograph. I didn't, but I'll carry that meeting with me for a long time. This was a politico whom I had worked against and admired at the same time. Now, I am more and more identified as a Democrat. It is always my custom to clarify that as a Southern and/or Blue Dog Democrat. The best known of those kind of Democrats right now is Sen. Zell Miller of Georgia. I'm not registered as either major party. Even when I was active in GOP campaigns and GOP party politics, I had an independent streak a mile wide. This both helps and hurts a person like me because the current parties are so skewed away from each other and to the extremes that I don't fit with the party faithful of either side. Still, as a labeled Democrat (Ahem, Southern and/or Blue Dog Democrat), I am as always compelled to give credit where credit is due. About a week after the CBS Memogate affair had come to the top of the blogosphere's shared consciousness, I was on the phone with one of my best friend's from the Clark campaign. He now works for the Kerry campaign. I mentioned the affair and can you guess what Kerry HQ in DC had already been speculating? Rove. It must be Rove. To be honest, I know of a handful of national Democrat operatives I feel might have been capable of such a trick. However, as more and more unraveled, I ruled them out--much too sloppy for their work. Yet, I had said to my mother the day before, "I can't rule out Rove. He learned from one of the best and he's just genius enough to pull something like this off." I doubt he did. It looks more and more like that some over anxious Texas Democrats with a freak streak made it past the usual safeguards, probably because of Rather's and Mapes's zeal to get a story-any story-that might counter the Swift Vets information. Sunday morning I missed a call from my friend Jim who recently returned to blogging. He described what would make an excellent Flash presentation. And, then he blogged it. I have to agree, it would make a good Flash presentation and it would refer to another campaign hero of mine. I bet he would love it when they call him Big Poppa. (Does anyone know the folks at Jibjab?)
September 20, 2004Southern BlogsFor those of you who were formerly a part of the Southern Blogs ring, you may already know that the owner of that ring discontinued it a few weeks back. After an email from Harlan over at The Green Cutting Board, I decided to take a look at reviving the old Southern Blogs ring. Since I'm a bit of an HTML dummy, it took me a few days to get everything set and ready to go. Regardless, we went live this afternoon and once again we have a Southern Blogs ring to call home. To be a part of it, click here to join. September 16, 2004Choosing PathsPinnacle Mountain in Little Rock is one of my favorite places in the world. Now, I haven’t seen a lot of the world, but I have seen enough to know that such a place resonates with me. I’ve hiked every trail on it and blazed more than a few on my own—both alone and with friends and family. Still, it always has a surprise or two waiting for me. If I spent my life on that mountain, I could always find something new there. A couple of months ago I went on another irregular trip to Pinnacle Mountain in my irregular effort to get back into shape. I achieved my goal of reaching the summit in a strenuous under 20 minutes. I sat on the top of that mountain looking down the Arkansas River valley. I thought about life, my life, what I was supposed to do, What I needed to do, what I wanted to do, what others wanted me to do. I caught my breath as I sat there pondering so many, many questions. This time I was there I watched as a number of younger guys chatted and then went down the more challenging East Summit Trail. I made a note to myself that it was about time I tackled the East Summit Trail soon. A few days later I was back on the summit looking across the greater Little Rock area, thinking about the same things, pondering life, love and all things in between. I watched as a few ladies came up the East Summit. I won’t disclaim that the male in me said that “if they can come up it, I dang sure can go down it,” but I knew it was time to tackle the East Summit for the first time in years—up or down. I stood up on the top of Pinnacle Mountain, glanced around, and knew it was time to go, lest I ran out of sunlight. Down I went the challenging trail of steep surfaces and boulders, passing folks coming up and offering words of encouragement. Slowly and carefully, I made my way down to the gentler slopes near the bottom. About two-thirds of the way down, the mountain flattened out a bit and the trail became easier. However, it became less well marked. I knew that I needed to get back to the West Side where my car was parked. The trail came to a split—one leading west and the other east and north. I chose the one that ought to have taken me home. Unfortunately, after about a quarter of mile the trail ended in a log pile. Undaunted, I pressed on—presuming that the trail would pick up and I’d be quickly on my way home, instead of following on the correct trail. No trail picked up. I was out in the woods and draws of this mountain with nothing more than dry creeks and rockfalls to walk along towards my goal. However, I knew that as long as I kept walking towards the light of the setting sun, eventually, I would get to where I needed to be. Whenever I saw a dry creek, I knew that I could follow it down to the river that ran alongside the mountain near where I had parked. I wandered gentle readers. I stepped off into the holes of long ago fallen trees; I perched on wobbly rocks, and swatted the webs of spiders stretched between small trees and shrubs, The entire time I followed the ever-darkening shadows of the woods as I edged west along this unblazed path. It was an alluring juxtaposition—I wasn’t lost, but I didn’t know where I was. I had an idea of where I was going because I knew that if I continued to follow the light of the sun setting behind the mountains west of where I now trudged, I would be able to go home. There were no paths or trails—I made my own way because I had a general and vague idea of where I was supposed to go. At long last, I spotted the river down the mountain and adjusted my path to skirt it while staying up on the mountain until I recognized a part of the mountain where I could get back on the right trail. I made it back to the trail and as night fell, I arrived back at the park and reached my car so I could go home.
I sat on top of the mountain for a long time. A million thoughts ran through my mind. Thoughts of being wronged, thoughts of the bizarre happening to me, thoughts of not hurting others, and finally thoughts of not hurting myself. I caught my breath and headed back down the mountain. Six years ago I would run up and down the mountain. I had not really run down the mountain in at least that long. As I came down the steep, unrunnable parts near the summit another gentleman came behind me. After an initial reaction to not be passed, I stepped aside and let him pass, realizing that I needed to again to slow down. He moved on swiftly as we reached what I call the “Rockfall Staircase.” Soon, he had 200 yards or more on me. Upon reaching the end of the “Staircase,” something gripped me and said, “Run. Run and get it out of you. Run.” I started jogging down the trail. It’s a fairly well developed trail from that point on to the bottom. Still, there are branches off of the main trail when a person running down a trail can move faster than taking the established, proper trail. They were faster, but they were not the appropriate trail. I looked for these as I came down in the ever-approaching twilight. I began to run faster and faster—moving to the end as fast I could. I ran faster not because of the reward of being to the end and going home but because I wanted and needed it. It felt good…at the moment. All of the issues that were bothering me disappeared as I scanned copiously for the dangers of a rock sticking up here or a root to trip me there. The gentleman who had passed me was in sight and within closing distance. Despite several close calls from flying down the mountain, I became intent on catching him. I ran faster and faster down the mountain. My knees pumped furiously as I negotiated sudden or rough drops and turns. I was smoking down the mountain on the side (not intended) paths and the main path. I caught up with him with perhaps 500 yards left to the end of the trail. My instinct said to pass him—to win the undeclared race. My mind thought better fortunately. I slowed down and matched my pace with his to the end of the trail. When we reached the bottom, I said to him, “It’s little tricky after it gets dark, huh?” He replied, “Yeah, you almost have to go by memory.” I got back to my Jeep in the parking lot and began my stretches. The very knee and ankle I had hoped not to hurt more than they already were throbbed. I had gone too hard and fast. In my drive to flush out the pain I had felt from something other than my body, I had hurt them a little more. I stretched and stretched for over a half-hour. A couple I had zoomed past on my way down the mountain came down and got in their car while I stretched my hurting limbs. I had stretched all I could for the moment and took a routeless run down a grassy field and back. As I returned, they pulled away. I stood next to my car for a moment, realizing I had not resolved anything that was bothering me, but still feeling more than a spot better. Still, I knew that I needed help in feeling better about all those things that were troubling me. Fortunately, I had a friend that was going to meet later to chat catch up and more importantly (for me) she was going to listen to me vent on a number of things. I got in my car and pointed it towards home and a shower. As I approached the intersection that marked the approximate beginning of metropolitan Little Rock; the real world; I caught up with the couple who had left as I came back from my routeless jog. They went left and I went straight. I went home, and got clean.
I realized quickly that the basics discussed were something that we all ought to have every now and again. In particular, the event appealed to me in the sense that it was the thinking person’s version of Christianity. After the main part of the event, we all broke into small groups and I joined my friend and her husband’s small group session where we discussed what had been shared so far and whatever else came out. I was more than a little amazed and frustrated that a young guy like me would know more about what the Word says than several of the more mature folks in our group. Heck, one of the gentlemen in our group had been indicted by Ken Starr!?!. I came home and visited with mom about the experience, and she noted that the denomination (different from my ‘beloved’ Southern Baptists) had not until recently put much value in Bible study. My advanced knowledge was easily explained away. In any case, I quickly knew that despite my ‘advanced’ knowledge, there were people in our group who had a much closer and dedicated walk with God than I do. So what does a SSG do after such an event and the discussion with the spiritual inspiration of his life (Mom)? Well, of course, he goes into introspective, deep thinking mode, especially where it deals with him. And, most especially where it deals with where he is and has recently been. On this blog, there is the moniker, “The epic ramblings of a young professional in the South in his Quixote-like quest to find ''the One.'' It is an apt one. It is a hook that is more apt than I knew until tonight. My ‘quest’ may as well been the journeys of a routeless adventurer seeking things that are already clearly mapped out for him—if he’d just follow the damn map! Truth be told, I have wandered around on this Quixote-like quest, just like the Don. Directionless, guideless, and without consulting an everlasting compass. There is a map and there is a compass and there are many guides. I have ignored all three. Recently, I have rediscovered the guides—their compasses have amazed me. Recently, I have returned to the map and kicked myself because the way is so clear, even when other paths seem so alluring. It has become painfully and (Thank God for my sense of humor) laughably clear to me that I have been wandering around, trying to find my way back home by following the light of day. The Quixote-like quest has been all over the map even though I’ve had the map all along; if only I had bothered to consult it. Whenever a person starts out on an expedition, they need help. It doesn’t matter if they’ve been down the trail before or not. If it has been a while, and there are folks that have made it down the trail satisfactorily, it is always wise to seek their counsel. There are trails I have been down that I can clearly say are not the ones to go down, but the trail I want to be on has been blazed by so many people. I am blessed and lucky to have friends that are on that trail and on that trail who are not only willing, but also excited to show me that way. I’ve got some great and true friends who have not only been down that trail, but continue to adventure down that trail honorably. They are gracious enough to share their experience with me.
September 15, 2004Return of the ManLongtime gentle readers will remember my long-lost brother, The Yeti. His former blog, Tales From A Yeti Suit, and your humble SSG had some lively and fun conversations. I count Jim as a friend and have missed his insights and writing for a long time now. I could always count on him to inspire me to write better. We're all in luck. Jim has started a new blog and after reading the first few entries, I can say without question, "He's still got it!" He's moved on past the wild tales of relationships and life in the wilds of singledom to more thoughtful topics in his writing and his life. I count Jim as a good friend and I'm thrilled that he's back with us. Look for future conversation between your humble SSG and the blog, Diogenes Corner. Techniques for CopingLast Thursday, I mentioned that I was all ready to type up a piece on ways of coping when you have to move on when I noticed a curious search request on the sitemeter. Well, I finally put it together. It follows. It’s a curious thing how different folks deal with situations. Since the end of my most recent relationship, I’ve tried to fill this site with upbeat, fun stories, items that bring a smile, anything to keep from touching that tender spot where so many of my contemporary thoughts linger. It’s an easy trick to pull off some times. At other times, the strongest of wills are overwhelmed. One could try drinking, and that works for a little while. There is always the danger of drunk dialing the very person you’re trying to drink off your mind and that rarely helps. More often than not, drinking someone off your mind results in the least with a you waking up several hours later with the same thoughts piled onto a headache, a bad case of cottonmouth, and an overall malaise. Yeah, that helps. Many folks turn to God and go to Him in prayer. While it is certainly advisable to do so, it has been my experience that oftentimes that will help you feel a deal better. However, I believe God many times sits back and allows us to show how we react to challenges as part of giving us Free Will. He wants to see how we choose to deal with hurt. For me, I know He's there to give me a hand if I need it, but part of dealing with challenges is to discover just how strong you are. Still, Momma told me a long time ago, "God helps those who help themselves." I'm afraid too many people think they can get down on their knees and pray, and think everything is going to be healed with a magical wand. Not likely. It takes effort. His help is there, but He made you strong to help yourself as well. The main point is how we deal with these kinds of situations. A good mix for me has been a number of things. Continuing to write about unrelated subjects has helped even if it at times feels hollow. Spending time with friends is always beneficial. Sure there are moments when you zone out; thinking about that person yet again. Just concentrate on catching back up on the conversation and joining back in. My friends have been incredibly helpful to me lately. Reading has helped me incredibly; particularly a subject completely unrelated. My tome of the past couple of weeks has been Carl Sandburg's “Abraham Lincoln: The War Years, Volume I.” It’s a tough read, but definitely a different subject. And, as an added bonus, that challenging of a read will make you more knowledgeable and intelligent—think of it as a workout for the brain. The final activity I’d recommend is good, vigorous exercise. Now, in my situation, this is a little more difficult since training and working out is so central to my recent amour’s life. Regardless, the benefits you get from it are amazing. Remember when we first learned about stress? They always introduced us to “eustress” simultaneously. Maybe not in all cases, but I’d wager in more than you think, that the perfect antidote to most stress is eustress. Oh, and another thing…after going for a run, grab your pen and paper and go for some BBQ. Hey, it works for me. Now, it’s time to go run. I’ve got to be ready for church at 7. September 14, 2004They Can't Keep Me From
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