Has anyone ever told you that you look like…

Even if you don’t care for my Sunday columns that appear in the SJ-R, surely you must look forward to the investigative stories that I uncover. This week, I expose some local residents who - get this - look like celebrities. I confronted them and made them explain themselves in this hard-hitting piece that is sure to set the city reeling.

Oh stewardess. I speak jive.

Even if ya’ duzn’t care fo’ mah’ Sunday columns dat appear in de SJ-R, sho’ manly ya’ gots’ta look fo’ward t’de investigative sto’ies dat ah’ uncover. Ah be baaad… Dis week, ah’ ’spose some local residents who - dig dis - look likes celebrities. ah’ confronted dem and made dem ‘esplain demselves in dis hard-hittin’ piece dat be sho’ man t’set da damn city reelin’.

The proceeding paragraph is a translation of the first paragraph after interpretation by the Dialectizer. Other cartoonish dialects include: Moron, Cockney, Pig Latin, Swedish Chef, Hacker and Elmer Fudd. It’s basically a parlor trick for the Internet age. I’m sure it will piss somebody off.

It’s me britches!

I’m proud to say that I’ve been sporting the same jean size for over ten years now. Sure, the snugness fluctuates, but I haven’t had to go up a size and I’m currently enjoying a period of relative comfort when I button the waistband. The downside to this story is, I appear to be losing height, a precarious predicament for someone who didn’t have a lot to begin with.

The 30-inch inseam used to suit me just fine. However, the last two pairs of jeans I’ve purchased extend well past heel level and have me walking on a swatch of denim. I realize that I’m suffering from changing fashion trends and not osteoporosis.

First drooping waist bands, now descending inseams, soon, style will dictate that we simply drag our trousers behind us.

Preaching to the choir

I didn’t watch the debate and thus I’m not qualified to comment on it. I am confident that the candidate you support was great and thoroughly embarrassed the other guy. It’s always that way with debates.

Goodbye, Neek**

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Last night we bid adieu to famed A&E editor, Nick "Unpainted Huffhines" Rogers and his wife, the cellist Abby. They’re heading to Indiana.

To mark the occassion, their band, Silly Joel, played a show at the Pizza Machine. SJ is a cover band specializing in, you guessed it,  Billy Joel songs, and, opportunistically, a few by Prince. Before hearing them, I thought they were basically a joke band. They are, but they’re also highly entertaining. I liked the Prince songs better, although Moving Out was a hoot.

It was an enjoyable night out. I got to see a couple of blog gers, some folks from the SJ-R, and a local actor whom I’m in the midst of interviewing for an upcoming story.

They’re finally fighting, those Irish

So far have the Irish fallen that I no longer watch the games live. Practical and health concerns have compelled me to DVR the broadcasts and tune-in should the result be favorable. With four active kids, I just can’t block off four hours on a Saturday afternoon to watch football. And since bad Notre Dame football induces angina, I’m better off not subjecting myself to that which causes me pain.

But I’ll be damned if the boys aren’t 3-1 and coming off their most impressive performance in years. Seeing as most of their playmakers are freshmen and sophomores, perhaps better days lie ahead. For those of you that care.

The Keglers

For a belated birthday party, I took Victor and a couple of his amigos bowling. Since we let Mark tag along, he completed the foursome so I didn’t bowl. However, during a bathroom break, I did avail myself of a couple of turns. It’s worth noting that without the deflector in place, three of my four throws would have ended up in the gutter. I do have a Wii bowling average in the 170s, a much better barometer of one’s athletic ability.

*Official BFS admiration to the first person who can name the song that this title was inspired by.

**A free two-week pass to BFS-Infinity if you can name this character.