Carla Bruni’s music for a rainy day

Let me tell you a story.

No, let me set a scene, then tell you a story. That’s probably not the way max would have it done, but then max isn’t pulling an all-nighter and watching a thunderstorm out the window while slurping porridge (mixed “apples and cinnamon” and “maple and brown sugar”; what can I say, I’m a rebel) which I don’t mean to say means I shouldn’t write well, but that I am undoubtably the best writer in the world pulling an all-nighter and watching a thunderstorm out the window while slurping porridge (mixed “apples and cinnamon” and “maple and brown sugar”; what can I say, I’m a rebel) right now.

Or prove I’m not!

In any case, the scene is:

INT, Workspace, DAY,  thunderstorm with hail

I’m pulling an all-nighter and watching a thunderstorm out the window while slurping porridge (mixed “apples and cinnamon” and “maple and brown sugar”; what can I say, I’m a rebel). Today I was going through a stack of unmarked CD’s for reasons of my own which shall remain nameless here for no particular reason except dramatic tension, frantically looking for one that was empty, and found a bunch with music files on them. I stuffed them into the backpack to transfer to the Zune later, and then Later arrived and I picked one up and put it in the laptop, preparatory to stuffing on the Zune, and it started to play and I stopped cold and went, “What IS that? That’s terrific!”

And “terrific,” I will have you know, is far too wholesome a word for me to use lightly.

Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar.

And what was it, this song that was so terrific? Well, I had to wait till it was ripped to find out, because I don’t care how good your eyes are, staring at an unmarked CD will NOT give you that information, not even if you tilt it. And does anyone remember the name of that guy? That guy who could tell you what album, what version, he was looking at just by, you know, looking at it? WITHOUT the album cover, duh. Well, do ya, punk?

Right, the song. It was this song, quelqu’un qui m’a dit, which you can download here. It’s by Carla Bruni, now First Lady of France. If you like whispery, fragile brunette Euros who can carry a delicate tune, you’ll like this.

quelqu’un qui m’a dit

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose,
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses.
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud que de nos chagrins il s’en fait des manteaux pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit…

Refrain:
Que tu m’aimais encore,
C’est quelqu’un qui m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore.
Serais ce possible alors ?

On me dit que le destin se moque bien de nous
Qu’il ne nous donne rien et qu’il nous promet tout
Parais qu’le bonheur est à portée de main,
Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou
Pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit …

Refrain

Mais qui est ce qui m’a dit que toujours tu m’aimais?
Je ne me souviens plus c’était tard dans la nuit,
J’entend encore la voix, mais je ne vois plus les traits
“Il vous aime, c’est secret, lui dites pas que j’vous l’ai dit”
Tu vois quelqu’un m’a dit…

Que tu m’aimais encore, me l’a t’on vraiment dit…
Que tu m’aimais encore, serais ce possible alors ?

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose,
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud
Que de nos tristesses il s’en fait des manteaux,
Pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit que…

Refrain

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A Piscene Post

Which is not to be confused with an obscene post, although this one contains quite a lot of uncovered things that smell like a fish! And some that smell even worse, once you look closely.

Given the sudden influx of Fishes of Unusual Size (or FOUS) news, we can only assume that somehow, somewhere, for some obscure and nefarious purpose, the meerkats are behind it all. Are they secretly bringing about the death of the great super-fish of the uncharted depths, perhaps in an obviously futile effort to thwart the long-awaited rising of Great Cthulhu?

It would explain much. It would explain so, so much.

First, the unexplained sudden demise of the shockingly gender-confused and grossly, unspeakably swollen Benson, Giant Carp of Bluebell Lake.

Benson the Carp

Benson the carp, a former resident of Bluebell Lakes, was a female fish and should not have been called “he” in the article below.


Alas poor Benson. Born around 1984 and at times England’s largest freshwater fish, this awe-inspiring carp has been found dead at his home at Bluebell Lakes near Peterborough.

The facts of Benson’s life are well known for he was the UK’s most famous fish. Stocked into the Bluebell at around 10 years of age, Benson was already well over 10kg (22lb), on his way to super-stardom. At his peak, he was caught at over 25kg (60lb), though more recently he had slimmed down to around 50lb – still a leviathan. He gained his name because of a small hole in his dorsal fin that looked exactly like a cigarette burn.

But what made Benson so special, so beloved, was his generosity. It’s estimated he graced the landing nets of more than 60 anglers, dusting them all with immortality.

Under normal circumstances, we would simply lament Benson’s passing but there is anger today and a sense of suspicion. Carps can live to 60 or 70; Benson was cut down in his prime. Raw tiger nuts have been found on the banks at Bluebell. Unless these nuts are cooked and expertly prepared they can prove toxic to carp and the fear is that Benson could have been poisoned by one of his pursuers…

Benson, carp, born 1984, died 2009. Leaves behind numerous widows, thousands of offspring and 60-odd lovelorn captors.

Ah, the ways of the meerkats are murky, , malevolent, Machiavellian. It would be just like them to poison the UK’s biggest load of carp.

As if that weren’t bad enough, it seems they’re lurking off the coast of Oregon, attempting to get away with the illegal murder of one of nature’s most noble beasts, the Great White Shark. Cunningly disguised as mere tourists, they’ve obviously used their considerable hypnotizing powers of cuteness to make good their escape after the senseless slaughter of this beauty of the deeps.

Great White Shark from Depoe Bay Oregon

Oregon State Police Fish & Wildlife Division is continuing the investigation into the circumstances surrounding the possession of what is confirmed as a 12-foot Great White Shark in the Depoe Bay area this weekend.OSP Sergeant Todd Thompson says an OSP Fish & Wildlife Division trooper was working on the Depoe Bay docks August 8, 2009 at 8:00 p.m. when a shark was brought in by a recreational tuna boat.

“The trooper says he contacted the boat occupants after they had already gutted the shark. They indicated the shark had become entangled in their crab gear and was pulled to the surface when they pulled in a crab pot,” Thompson said.

The report pointedly omits any mention of the trooper’s leaning over and scratching the “occupants” under their chins while murmuring “Who’s a cutie? YOU’RE a cutie! Who’s my little cutie? Awwww…” but we at the ol’ raincoaster blog have our sources.

And who could have been behind these vicious, unprovoked attacks? It’s a terrible thing, my friends. Indeed, the facts of this case are such that the truth of it is nearly unspeakable, surely unthinkable. And yet, it is so. Behold, the myrmidon of the meerkats, their trained fish-ssasin:

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Botox Face, by Hedda Lettuce

Yea though I walk through the valley of mashups, I shall fear no dissonance, for I have read the raincoaster blog, and I’ve seen EVERYTHING now.

Right?

Presenting, Miss Hedda Lettuce, with the greatest cover (ever so slightly adapted) of Lady Gaga’s Pokerface:

BotoxFace

via Irina Slutsky of GeekEntertainmentTV

Still not had enough? How about Kurt Cobain singing backup for…well, just watch:

via Mashable

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MC Shat Attack!

You knew William Shatner was a living god.

Sure you did. You read my last post, didn’t you?

But did you know that William Shatner was a rapaciously raptastic rapscallion who can bring out da funk even in someone as WASPy as Conan O’Brian?

Well, now you do.

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The Secret of Shatner

Longtime readers of the ol’ raincoaster blog, plus all Canadians ever born or made, have long been familiar with the singularly sexy superstar of supernatural superlativenosity known as The Shat. To all others, we say, worry not, o obliviousnosceni, we feel for you. What do we feel for you?

Pity, that’s what.

Ah pity da man who don’t know William Shatner! The patriot, the thinker, the lover, the balladeer, the slasher, the rapper, the cunning linguist, the legend.

The masticator:

Oh, you can HAVE your Paris‘s. You can HAVE your Padma‘s. You can HAVE (for about twenty-five bucks, if I hear rightly) your Audrina’s. But none of them will ever approach the irresistable erotic intensity of this pudding performance of the Shat..

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