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One fringe benefit of my daily jogs is that they fill my mind with an endless stream of random thoughts. Some recent notions that have run through my mind while I've run through my neighborhood:

Does anybody actually stop at stop signs anymore?

I received a Christmas card last week from the Greensboro Swimming Association that features a group photo. There were more faces of color than I expected. If the city's new swim center fulfills its promise, there will be even more.

I can understand the Ole Asheboro Neighborhood Association's enthusiasm for a proposed luxury hotel in the South Elm/Lee Street area. But I'm having a hard time seeing the business case. Aren't hotels typically attracted to places by the amenities already there, not the other way around?

Some other type of development seems better suited for the spot.

That community's hearts are certainly in the right place, but I'm not yet convinced the same could be said of the hotel.

I was wrong about Skip and Steve. I was certain the alliance between county commissioners Chairman Melvin "Skip" Alston and Vice Chairman Steve Arnold inevitably would crash and burn in time.

It hasn't. And they have been re-elected for another year after actually getting some things done.

Still, the commissioners have taken on a sort of Stepford Board quality, with much of the business appearing prefabricated and preordained -- not that I'm longing for their past raucousness.

At the top of my iPod playlist during daily runs: "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin and "Didn't Cha Know" by Erykah Badu.

My favorite new show is TNT's "Men of a Certain Age," starring Ray Romano. It's bittersweet and funny in an understated way with its humor built on finely drawn characters (three friends battling mid-life crises) and smart scripts, not one-liners. Of course, I may be biased, being myself a man of a certain age.

I know it's none of my business, but what is it with school kids wearing cargo shorts at the bus stop on 20-degree mornings in December?

I typically pass three cyclists, sometimes more, during my pre-sunrise jogs on weekdays. I admire their conviction -- and their courage.

Even though each is dutifully equipped with headlights so bright I sometimes mistake them as an approaching car, I'm not sure how comfortable I'd be on a bike on Greensboro streets in the dark.

It can be dangerous enough in broad daylight.

In a new twist on graffiti, somebody drew obscenities into the dust on the front glass door of the Lincoln Financial print shop on Church Street. Whatever happened to simple "Wash me" notes?

Outgoing Mayor Yvonne Johnson is now a private citizen after one term in office and seven additional terms as a councilwoman. She served the city with grace, class and even warmth. Here's hoping she stays engaged as a community leader for years to come.

The new five-story building being erected on South Elm Street by LindBrook Development Services is much more imposing than I'd imagined. Its steel-girder framework towers above its neighbors and even pokes its way into the city's skyline.

Some property owners in the area had been concerned that the new structure would stick out like a brick-and-mortar sore thumb. But it still should be an asset to that part of downtown, with the shops, offices and restaurant it will bring -- and with its glass-and-steel edges softened enough to fit in architecturally.

Someone asked me last week about stops they should show out-of-town visitors during the International Civil Rights Center and Museum grand opening festivities in early February.

My suggestions: Palmer Memorial Institute in Sedalia, the various colleges and universities, the Greensboro Historical Museum, South Elm Street on a Friday night (but not too late), and some of the city's old neighborhoods such as College Hill, Benbow Road, Westerwood and Aycock.

Still not sure why Roy Williams had a Presbyterian fan kicked out of the Carolina game on Dec. 12.

The pit bull that used to terrorize me every day has moved away from my running route and other dogs along the way apparently have determined that I am so uninteresting they barely look my way anymore.

I don't know whether to feel grateful or insulted.