First things first: No one's ever died here. Everything else is just icing on the cake. At Skydive Spaceland, they drop you from 14,000 feet -- that's 1,000 feet higher than the industry minimum. Plus, they're open all week long, with $169 weekly rates and $189 weekend rates for first-time jumpers. After your second tandem jump, you can jump solo, and the price plummets -- just like you! For those who prefer to watch friends and family cheat death, the 130-acre property boasts a deli, pool tables, swimming pond and picnic area. Plus, all of their instructors are certified by the U.S. Parachute Association.

First things first: No one's ever died here. Everything else is just icing on the cake. At Skydive Spaceland, they drop you from 14,000 feet -- that's 1,000 feet higher than the industry minimum. Plus, they're open all week long, with $169 weekly rates and $189 weekend rates for first-time jumpers. After your second tandem jump, you can jump solo, and the price plummets -- just like you! For those who prefer to watch friends and family cheat death, the 130-acre property boasts a deli, pool tables, swimming pond and picnic area. Plus, all of their instructors are certified by the U.S. Parachute Association.

Every city has its "central park" -- the one in the middle of everything where you can hike, bike or just sit in the grass next to a babbling brook and forget that you live in an urban jungle. Well, our babbling brook is Buffalo Bayou, and while it's not the prettiest body of water in the world, it provides an excellent centerpiece for the endless loop that is one of the finest low-stress hike/bike trails in any urban area. Luckily for the fitness-minded, Houston is not really an outdoorsy kind of town: Most people drive their SUVs to the gym, so the trails are generally empty even at peak times. For those who dare to step outside the comfort of climate control, that makes the winding, multi-terrain journey from downtown to Shepherd and back quite a joy. Stop off at any one of the exercise stations for a little extra workout, then hop back on your bike and lose yourself in the trees.
Every city has its "central park" -- the one in the middle of everything where you can hike, bike or just sit in the grass next to a babbling brook and forget that you live in an urban jungle. Well, our babbling brook is Buffalo Bayou, and while it's not the prettiest body of water in the world, it provides an excellent centerpiece for the endless loop that is one of the finest low-stress hike/bike trails in any urban area. Luckily for the fitness-minded, Houston is not really an outdoorsy kind of town: Most people drive their SUVs to the gym, so the trails are generally empty even at peak times. For those who dare to step outside the comfort of climate control, that makes the winding, multi-terrain journey from downtown to Shepherd and back quite a joy. Stop off at any one of the exercise stations for a little extra workout, then hop back on your bike and lose yourself in the trees.
What better place for a Dartmouth man than wearing the Tools of Ignorance behind home plate? Ausmus, 34, is a certified Ivy Leaguer with a degree in government that probably does him absolutely no good as he mentors the Astros' young but erratic pitching staff ("Wade, I think a bicameral legislature with a strong chief executive would produce a call for an inside slider right about now..."). But he's a certified student of the game, a leader who knows about patience and chemistry, and a defensive whiz -- he's won a Gold Glove two years in a row. Hitting? Don't ask. He's got a career average near an adequate .250, but he can struggle through some deep slumps. (Among Dartmouth grads who've taken ballet lessons in college, though, he's the all-time Major League leader.) The Astros don't need his bat, however, as much as they need his pitch-calling acumen and his ability to throw out runners. And in those categories he's among the best in the game today.
What better place for a Dartmouth man than wearing the Tools of Ignorance behind home plate? Ausmus, 34, is a certified Ivy Leaguer with a degree in government that probably does him absolutely no good as he mentors the Astros' young but erratic pitching staff ("Wade, I think a bicameral legislature with a strong chief executive would produce a call for an inside slider right about now..."). But he's a certified student of the game, a leader who knows about patience and chemistry, and a defensive whiz -- he's won a Gold Glove two years in a row. Hitting? Don't ask. He's got a career average near an adequate .250, but he can struggle through some deep slumps. (Among Dartmouth grads who've taken ballet lessons in college, though, he's the all-time Major League leader.) The Astros don't need his bat, however, as much as they need his pitch-calling acumen and his ability to throw out runners. And in those categories he's among the best in the game today.
It's not easy being an athlete. You make millions of dollars, and the public expects you to perform at the highest level and not be a jerk. Craig Biggio is no longer able to perform at the highest level. There's also word that he can be a bit of a jerk. But he's the Sportsman of the Year because of his actions off the playing field. He's a prominent supporter of the Sunshine Kids, an organization that helps fulfill wishes of children with cancer. He's raised over a million dollars for the organization. He invites the kids and their families out to the ballpark. He and his wife visit hospitals and kids' homes. And every year he sponsors a baseball game in which he pitches and the children get to play. In this case, the sins of the player are easy to forgive.
It's not easy being an athlete. You make millions of dollars, and the public expects you to perform at the highest level and not be a jerk. Craig Biggio is no longer able to perform at the highest level. There's also word that he can be a bit of a jerk. But he's the Sportsman of the Year because of his actions off the playing field. He's a prominent supporter of the Sunshine Kids, an organization that helps fulfill wishes of children with cancer. He's raised over a million dollars for the organization. He invites the kids and their families out to the ballpark. He and his wife visit hospitals and kids' homes. And every year he sponsors a baseball game in which he pitches and the children get to play. In this case, the sins of the player are easy to forgive.
Only one coach in this city has led a team to four straight championships. While his point guard died from cancer. While his two star players fought so much that it made the Clyde-and-Chuckster feud look like a couple of preschoolers fighting over a toy. While his home court got wiped out by a flood. Yes, Van Chancellor has had to deal with a lot of problems, but he's kept his team together, he's kept his wits, and he's continued to do the best commercials on sports radio. This season, he's had only one constant, Tina Thompson, one of the few holdovers from the championship years. Half of his team has been injured at one time or another. Yet he's kept the team in the playoff hunt and still done his media appearances with good humor. Bravo.
Only one coach in this city has led a team to four straight championships. While his point guard died from cancer. While his two star players fought so much that it made the Clyde-and-Chuckster feud look like a couple of preschoolers fighting over a toy. While his home court got wiped out by a flood. Yes, Van Chancellor has had to deal with a lot of problems, but he's kept his team together, he's kept his wits, and he's continued to do the best commercials on sports radio. This season, he's had only one constant, Tina Thompson, one of the few holdovers from the championship years. Half of his team has been injured at one time or another. Yet he's kept the team in the playoff hunt and still done his media appearances with good humor. Bravo.

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