I just listened to the Effectively Wild (a baseball podcast) episode about a handful of Giants players who refused to wear the rainbow version of their uniform cap for Pride Night, some of whom scrawled a Bible verse on their cap or gave inane comments to the press about how "this isn't about hating anyone, I'm just a Christian" (it says something about how very many queer Christians are in my circle now that despite not being one I was at first slightly baffled and then absolutely livid on their behalf -- when asked what he'd say to queer people about his gesture, this guy said they should read the Bible which...what?)

It does me some good to hear the Editor-in-Chief of FanGraphs, one of the go-to baseball sites, take a stand on this, saying that if these guys really feel that strongly they should just put themselves on the restricted list and lose a game's play, rather than making Pride Night all about them. (And that the league should just require this, rather than go through this same fuckery every year now.)

But rather than give them any more space in my brain (except to say that this read-the-Bible guy also said God has blessed him with many gifts, but one of them wasn't a good performance that night, or a win for his team!). Instead I'll talk about Spencer Strider, another pitcher for a different team.

Standing in front of a big screen with “PRIDE NIGHT” graphics and a script Braves sculpture, Strider enthusiastically represented both himself as a major league player and his organization as he reached out to our community. “We want everybody to feel included and a part of the community here,” he announced to the crowd of LGBTQ fans, “Baseball can be a part of that. That’s exciting and [we] definitely want to take this opportunity. So we appreciate you being here and go Braves!”

The writer of this article went on to say

Those are words that we expect to hear on Pride Night from someone wearing a Braves polo shirt with a title like “Vice President of Community Outreach.” And they would be perfectly fine coming from a source like that, albeit a tad perfunctory. When they come from a player in uniform who these same LGBTQ fans will be cheering during the game, they carry an extra sense of gravitas. Suddenly, the welcoming message becomes a moment that everyone in the building will remember from Pride Night 2026.

I was feeling pretty bleak as I walked to the gym and back listening to the podcast, feeling the weight of injustice pretty heavily in the wake of news that the DoJ would arrest the whole state of Minnesota if they could. And when I arrived at the gym I was immediately greeted by my old name, by someone I hadn't seen since I was in the WI, which felt a little weird -- she was nice, as she'd always been, but made no mention of me looking or sounding different which left me briefly wondering if I will ever feel like I have transitioned.

So it was nice to come home and read about Spencer Strider and think about his thighs (that article also includes the sentence with thighs that belong on a Planet Fitness poster reminding members to “never skip leg decade” and a mustache that makes it look like he’s about to call timeout and ask his catcher “Can anybody find me somebody to love,” Strider already had a certain appeal for gay Braves fans).

Tomorrow we're meeting a dog we night dogsit while her human is away in a couple weeks.

It's someone from queer club whose dogsitter fell through at the last minute. Xena the dog is a yorkie/jack russell/Brussels griffon mix, so a shaggy adorable little dog and we're assured she's cuddly and easy to look after.

I'm excited to meet her.

I never did get used to the noise that the extractor fan in the bathroom makes.

But the other day, something went wrong with it so now it makes the most horrible sound, a loud high-pitched squeal. The others started describing it as "like there's a tortured soul trapped there." It makes me laugh but it is true.

Both of them have forgotten and had the startling experience of turning on the light...often first thing in the morning, which seems extra unfair! (D really made himself jump with this when he got up early last Saturday morning, poor lad.) I haven't avoided it out of any skill or smarts of mine, it's just that I never turn on the light this time of year.

I said for a while that I should put some tape over the light switch to help remind us, stop this from happening. But I only got around to it early this afternoon. Which is lucky, because only then did I realize that our cleaner was about to come over, and he -- very naturally! -- turns on the lights in the rooms he's cleaning. And he actually starts with the upstairs bathroom, so I did it almost in the nick of time!

By the time he turned up, I was back at my computer but it's near the front door so I could hear V catching up with him -- how's your son, don't bother cleaning the cooker because I took it apart and scrubbed it last night... I didn't hear it all but got the gist -- and I said "and the light switch!" and they told him "oh! yeah" and the next phrase I clearly heard was "it sounds like a tortured soul..."

I woke up early today and quickly spiraled into despair about how it was raining again, about how it was still gray, and about how it was actually cold enough that I should have grabbed long trousers or maybe a hoodie when I got dressed (but I didn't think of this in time and then got too busy at work so just stayed slightly uncomfortable).

But, to my surprise (if only because I hadn't looked carefully enough at the weather forecast, it brightened up into an afternoon of vivid blue sky and fluffy white clouds. Eventually the clouds disappeared, leaving just the perfect sky.

It's ridiculous how much this helped my mood.

It was all I could do to make myself go to circuits instead of just riding my bike or sitting outside. But I'm glad I did: there were only four of us there. And I'm glad of the endorphins.