Not married to the Sonics

Media full of news about wealthy Sonics backers also donating to "anti gay marriage" cause.

Their plea for partial state funding of a replacement for Key Arena stands a "snowball's chance in hell" through the Washington State Legislature.

Partial birth abortion?

Let them run to Oklahoma, I don't really care.

I don't have TV, or time for a TV.

Jogging up my hill to Western Washington University, I'm feeling good, not keeping score.

Picture from another jog south of town.

Air is pristine, clean. Streaks of white hail dance across mountain backdrops. A patch of sun shimmers over the city.

Young student jogger streaks past. Climbing hill with more speed. I could pick up my pace, but it doesn't matter.

Competition can fly to Oklahoma.

My only regret might be that there are few public showers; not even a "Keyhole Arena" for spectators of cute young joggers.

Nothing wrong with unrequited, voyeuristic, pornographic thinking.

Television?

It has it's place, even transmitted from Oklahoma.

The main score I am keeping is blood pressure. It's best when it stays in the middle, rather than "high scoring" range.

A moderate score. Not scoring the date, not scoring the basket, not scoring a basket case, not being the rescuer.

Tax rolls, welfare rolls. Our testosterone culture goes roller coaster.

Forget the knee injuries, I'm for "moderate paced."

Participating in my own jog. Even paced, gentle, solitary.

Good for blood pressure after a short rest, before the "score clock cuff" clasps my arm. No ticket purchased, it's free in one pharmacy.

I'm somewhat disconnected from mainstream culture, but the day and the jog feels so good.

This queer me feels blessed to be running and dancing. Still dancing and running right past my 52 birthday.