Category Archives: Lush Life

Pearl Jam performs “Theme from HR Pufnstuf”

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Okay, maybe not, but reeeeeeeally close. You KNOW deep down in your heart of hearts that Eddie Vedder knows all the damn words to this song, as do you.

And the words, in case you’ve had tee many martoonies. Because, as we said, we know and you know and Eddie Vedder knows that you and me and Eddie Vedder know ALL the damn words:

Once upon a summertime
Just a dream from yesterday
A boy and his magic golden flute
Heard a boat from off the bay
“Come and play with me, Jimmy
Come and play with me.
And I will take you on a trip
Far across the sea.”

But the boat belonged to a kooky old witch
Who had in mind the flute to snitch
From her vroom broom in the sky
She watched her plans materialize
She waved her wand
The beautiful boat was gone
The skies grew dark
The sea grew rough
And the boat sailed on and on and on and on and on and on.

But Pufnstuf was watching too
And knew exactly what to do
He saw the witch’s boat attack
And as the boy was fighting back
He called his rescue racer crew
As often they’d rehearsed
And off to save the boy they flew
But who would get there first?

But now the boy had washed ashore
Puf arrived to save the day
Which made the witch so mad and sore
She shook her first and screamed away.

H.R. Pufnstuf,
Who’s your friend when things get rough?
H.R. Pufnstuf
Can’t do a little cause he can’t do enough.

H.R. Pufnstuf,
Who’s your friend when things get rough?
H.R. Pufnstuf
Can’t do a little cause he can’t do enough.

The Grand Plan

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It’s hard for me to type; in fact, I had to shut the doors and windows, because the constant drone of the sirens is becoming too much even for my hardened nerves.

But I’ve come up with a plan.

You see, every Welfare Wednesday (aka Mardi Gras) the sirens go; actually, they start the night before, as that’s when some people receive their cash. And they go all day and all night. And then, they do it again the Friday after that, when the ones who have jobs decide to party. And if the latest shipment of heroin that’s come in is particularly bad, the sirens don’t let anyone have any breathing space; they overlap one another for a solid 24-36 hours.

So the plan is this: The next time it’s Mardi Gras or Friday After, I’m going to get on Twitter and tweet when the sirens stop. And when they start. And when they stop. And how many of them I can hear at one time when they ARE going.

It’ll be dry as hell, but historic.

Sirens started again…

My Favorite Bartender

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I think people would be more Squid-positive if they could only visualize the huge productivity gains. THINK about it!

The Forgotten Man

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Some of the discussions I’ve been having recently have got me a bit touchy on certain subjects, which some of the quicker on the draw of you may have noticed. This relates to one of them, and William Powell says things so much better than I could that I figure I should just stand back and let him have at it.

From My Man Godfrey, and as true now as it was then. Skip ahead to 2:30-4:00 to watch the real fun:

Do the Math

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Now, I don’t know about you, but we at the ol’ raincoaster blog get many, many emails daily. In fact, each of our personalities gets many, many emails daily, some from one another, so the globally-expanding raincoaster email problem is something like the Katamari Damacy of the inbox. This is partly because we are so, so very popular and partly because we superstitiously fear that, if we run out of things to read, the world will end.

And so, so as to save said world because lo, we are softies indeed, we have subscribed to a number of email newsletters. Some, such as everything from the Poynter Institute, are dry enough to take care of those pesky melting ice caps, but some, such at the one I received today, are not.

Those would be the Girly Newsletters. Your Godivas; your Agent Provocateurs.

And today, the Agent Provocateur newsletter contained some enticing sales; indeed, were I possessed of sufficient cash or credit and secure in the expectation of obtaining more of same through, say, employment or something, I would instantly have clicked through and purchased myself a spiffy set of the sexy-yet-not-vulgar Liliana or Francoise without a second thought, but alas, I am not.

Still, what caught my eye was, perhaps, not what would catch yours. Even so, there was one line in the newsletter which, I am sure, will be of as much interest to my readers as to me, regardless of their gender and/or preferences.

The Marilyn. At 70% off.

Marilyn Monroe wouldn't fit in that!

Click through and take a look at the larger image: I dunno for sure, but that looks a HELL of a lot more like 90% off to me!