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By Sam Morton:
If there is a blood pressure medication manufactured, I’m on it. Ranexa, Tekturna, Lisinopril, Clonidine, you name it. But I’ve come to find out that the cure for hypertension was sitting right at my feet the whole time: children. Pre-teens to be exact.
No, it’s not their charming nature or the fulfillment of life they inevitably bring or the high points of the philosophical considerations of mortality and legacy. It’s simply this: They hide my salt shakers.
I was at a minor league hockey game in Chicago once when a friend noted that the only guys to play hockey at that level or in college were Canadian boys who weren’t good enough to go pro right out of high school. I think about that every now and then when my wife drags me to the new religious craze: video church.
Video church starts with head-banging rock & roll and screeching lyrics. It’s deafening. It’s earsplitting. It’s what stodgy, WASPish people used to call devil music, but these, ahem, musicians throw in words like “king” and “savior,” and capitalize the “H” in “He” and “Him” and suddenly you have a praise song. I’ve heard if you play their music backwards, though, you hear, “I’m not good enough to be in a real band…”
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