Dr. Gloom

Are lego-enactments of the Old Testament the norm for religion these days? Did I miss a memo?

Jahweh God, please write me back and let me know. You've got my e-mail. Right?

Who needs nursing homes? Who needs nurses? We need only robots.
Making elder-care effortless AND affordable. Without so much as the push of a button, Grampa's diaper is changed, his tux is fitted and he is ready for an outing to "family dinner night." Every three weeks.

Some of these worthwhile innovations are just depressing.

Beecher was the greatest cat to ever roam the apartment-scape of Los Angeles.

I know other people may think their cat is/was the greatest cat ever, but that's not my fault. I always write off that opinion to ignorance, a la "Well, they never met my cat, Beecher." Because he was clearly the greatest cat ever in the history of cat-kind.

And I know a lot of people think guys who like cats are gay. I'm not gay, but go ahead, haters. Cast your aspersions. Laugh until your ADD Black Lab thinks you're choking, and calls 911 on your behalf. Like they're so freaking smart.

Beecher could have out-scored Vince Young in the Wonderlic. Easy.

Beecher solicited attention by meowing. Can a dog solicit attention by meowing? I don't think so. I mean, I don't think dogs can meow. They can bark, sure, but who cares about that? As they say intelligence circles, a dog's bark is just "noise."

It's not that I don't like dogs. I do. And the non-attack type of dogs seem to like me back.

But Beecher, he was one of a kind. Rest in peace, buddy.

And yet it appears, I cannot. There is no "delete" button that I can find. Sorry.

Do I have to write something? Is that the intention? To make you write? To force you into some sort of writing servitude?

Because that would be stupid. I'm not your monkey, Mr. Internets. No freaking way.

And this is still better than the crappy stuff I was trying to delete when I realized I couldn't do it without writing something.

Take that, stupid Internets.

"Crash" won for Best Picture! Man, this is going to be HUGE.

Man, this Iraq thing sucks. And the Hurricane Katrina response was dismal. Now we have Dick Cheney shooting an attorney, plus Dubai potentially taking over several East Coast and Southern ports in the U.S. Afghanistan is all right, I guess, with the trusty Hamid Karzai at the helm. Karzai seems like a Muslim we can trust, unlike, for instance, bin Laden. I'm not a big fan of organized religion as such, but I do believe strongly in personal faith. So you go for it, Muslims!

Just don't kill anyone, please.

Couple days ago I posted a picture of my sister when she was little, looking every bit the sourpuss she could be at that age. Now she's a lovely 33-year-old mother of one, with a husband and high-powered legal career and a house and a lot of other good stuff. She can still be a sourpuss, but mostly she's just great, and I don't want to piss her off, because attorneys can sue people.

Which brings me to Dr. Gloom's Pictographic Family History. Think of it as a short, illustrated and biased description of Dr. Gloom's kinfolk.

Here's my Dad (the ganglier one) and his brother, who were raised farmboys in Middle Tennessee.

I call it, "Merry Christmas, dammit!" Not because it's Christmas, but because that's what Dad's scowl seems to be saying. That was probably around 1957. My Uncle is cool.
This is my late paternal grandfather, alongside his late dog, Mandy. The barn survives... for now.

Below are myself and my late maternal grandfather, at my Aunt's wedding around 1980. He drank, smoked and swore a lot. I named my late cat in his honor. No offense to Grampa, but my cat died too young. Luckily, my Aunt and myself survive.

There you have it, Vol. 1 of Dr. Gloom's Pictographic Family History. I'll try to put up more pictures later.

Your memorable two weeks at the Winter Games has inspired me. I will sacrifice everything to bring my partying up to an Olympian level! Thanks, Bode! You Rawk!

My sister as a child. She never liked birthdays.