Plumb Line

The Chicago White Sox, which may be the only team in baseball right now with a lineup more pathetic than the Detroit Tigers’, boast two members of the weard club: outfielder Nick Swisher and closer Bobby Jenks. Yesterday the two dorks dyed their weards pink to support the fight against breast cancer, which only makes their weards wearder.

In this week’s Seattle Weekly, there is a sad and hilarious article about a Gary Busey lookalike. The guy’s resemblance to the bonkers celeb is uncanny (although I still contend that my pal Larson is the only true dead ringer for Busey). Reading the article brought back wonderful memories of that afternoon spent, circa 2003, in Busey’s company at a Malibu seafood shack, where he spat crab at me and repeatedly touched my leg in a way that made me glad that I’ve never gone to prison.

Also, there’s this article about being a non-manly man by Paul Constant in the alt-weekly The Stranger, aka “Seattle’s Only Newspaper.” While I have never been able to understand any heterosexual guy’s lack of interest in sports, I have befriended many of these types of creatures over the years, some of whom I’ve considered to be among my closest friends. Maybe this article will finally bring to the fore the “Straight Dudes Without Masculine ‘Tudes” (SDWMT) movement that I’ve heard rumblings about for so long.

It’s 55 degrees where I am; 75 degrees back home.