Mirror, mirror

Somebody, specifically the Eldridge family, of Lycka Til Maples Farm in Poland, sent in a great caricature of me based on a recent photo on the cover of the B-section. The likeness is startling, really. They got it perfect, right down to the bulging muscles and crap-chewing grin. They even sketched in a clump of fuzz in my bellybutton. I tell you, it’s like they know!

Balloon fest

Yay! I just love the balloon festival. I especially like the part where five or six hundred of you send me in your slightly blurry balloon photos. You know – balloon over the big church on Ash Street, balloon over the Androscoggin River, balloon over the power lines in your backyard. Keep sending them, photo freaks. I promise to put them where I put all the massive-snowbank photos you send me each winter.

Look how high I am already!

I had another opportunity to go up in a balloon this year and again, I passed. Am I afraid of heights? Don’t fully appreciate the majesty and splendor of Lewiston-Auburn as seen from the air? I tell you, it isn’t so. It’s just that to go up in one of those things, I’d have to get up and get going at sunrise. And that’s just crazy. Sunrise is the time to go to bed.

Did you know . . .

Abercrombie & Fitch’s stock price dropped nearly 10 percent after the retailer offered to pay Michael “The Situation” Sorrentino to not wear the company’s clothes?

I have no idea what any of those things are.

Million-dollar-house auction in Harrison

Dibs!

That’s how this works right? You call “dibs” and they have to give it to you? I think I saw that out “House Hunters.”

Just kidding

I don’t really watch “House Hunters.” Please don’t start that rumor. I’ve got street cred to think about.

More falsehoods

I don’t really have street cred. Love saying it, though.

Tiny bubbles

So, I went screaming down to another reported fight the other night in Kennedy Park. Several combatants! Possible weapons! Blah blah. You know the drill. So, I get down there and the cops are mostly standing around looking for any sign at all of a fight that was, is or may someday be. Me, the first person I ran into was a little boy placidly blowing soap bubbles in the grass. I could be mistaken, but I’m pretty sure soap bubbles are the universal sign for “Nope. Nothing going on here.”

The Sting.

A whole bunch were nabbed during a prostitution sting across Cumberland County. Anyone else find precious irony in the fact that they call it a sting? Maybe next time they should call it the burning, itching or oozing just to mix it up a little.

What’d I just say?

The first balloon photo rolled in early Friday morning. Slightly blurry, balloon over church.

I hate you all.