Could this be
Pizza Diarist, Sr.?

So I've pretty much come to the conclusion that Jonathan Richman had sex with my mother sometime around 2 a.m. on October 1st, 1977. As much as it makes me ill to refer to such acts of repulsive disgustingness, it's the only explanation I can come up with for our striking similarities.

I mean, just look at him. Isn't it just like you're looking into a mirror. A mirror that I'm looking into? Hairy chest, bad hair, bulging forearms. Well, maybe not the forearms, but he dances just like me. Just look at the wrist action. And sure, he may have the ability to wear jeans, something that I lost a long time ago, but he writes songs about his love of the bells on the ice cream truck. And I love ice cream!

Today I reached just short of my goal of spending $100 at the boxing day sale at the local record store. It's a sad world we live in when $87.34 only gets you three albums, but what albums! Other than Pizza Diarist Sr.'s Rock and Roll with the Modern Lovers, I snagged the Minutemen's Post Mersh Vol. 1 and The Cure's Seventeen Seconds [Deluxe Edition].

Here's some more pictures of my dad.