Text From South Lake Union
Back to Basketball
I have grown tired of defining the new South Lake Union. You have grown tired of me defining South Lake Union.
Okay, okay, okay, they're building shit in SLU. And okay, okay, okay, some of the shit will be good and some of it will be bad. The rents and prices and cost of living will skyrocket, and the neighborhood will be populated by one social class.
Socialism, socialism, capitalism, capitalism, blah, blah, blah.
You know what I really want to talk about?
Basketball and middle age.
I love basketball. Most of you reading this are aware of that. Some of you think it's cool, and many of you think it's pathetic. I think it's cool and pathetic. I'm a 46-year-old man desperately trying to stave off physical decline. My main goal these days is keeping my body fat percentage lower than my age.
So for the foreseeable future, I'm going to write about what it feels like to get older. To step onto a basketball court, see a player who would have been my inferior just a few years ago, and wonder if I can keep up with him now.
Why am I doing this?
Because when I asked my 44-year-old best friend about my column, she said, "I read you in The Stranger, but there doesn't seem to be anything else in there for me."
And I said, "Yeah, The Stranger is mostly middle-aged folks writing shit for twentysomethings, isn't it?"
So, yeah, I think it's equally sad to be the old guy on the basketball court and the old guy bobbing his head in the Showbox.