The rain wrecks me. Ruins me. The medical term, I believe, is Seasonal Affectation Disorder, though I seem to have a slightly different strain of the disease. In my case, it's more like Seasonal Asshole Disorder. I get gloomy, grumpy, and douchey, like clockwork. The longer it's grey, the bigger drag I become.

And since Boston is stuck under a humdinger of a low pressure system, this indicates a fairly unhappy trend for my friends and family.

Not that they're doing much better. The neverending Massachusetts rain is definitely putting the blue in "blue state." I'm trying to deal with it. I am. I'm trying to kick it Seattle Style - sort of a "when in Rome" approach. I drink black coffee and am learning to play the guitar. Kurt Cobain is making a lot more sense to me: sweaters, songs, and suicide. Blame the rain, baby. Blame the rain.

At least Noah got some razzmatazz with his rainstorm. Sturm and drang and lightning and thunder and a vengeful God. We're stuck with perpetual drizzle - a kind of low grade apocalypse. God's no longer vengeful, he's just kind of passive-aggressive. He's moping.

That's a metaphor, of course. The real culprit is climate change, the bastard child of the industrial revolution that the mad scientists on the Bush Administration's payroll say doesn't exist. Really, Dr. Quackenfuck? Because I've got a waterlogged back yard and a pissed off wife that say differently.

So I guess what I'm saying is that global warming makes me a prick.