Are you kidding? You're kidding, right? Cocaine is huge in Seattle. People need an upper to get through the gloomy weather and lack of sun. Cocaine is one of the biggest illicit industries in the PNW.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

Replacing with proper embed. Matched from previous thumbnail *backup=[...snipped...]

People doubt climate change because the noise of the people pushing agendas has drowned out the actual science. Even the major media, both 'defending' and 'attacking' climate change all get things entirely wrong and misrepresent the actual science. Lets be honest most people, particularly many of the people claiming to be well informed, really haven't looked at the actual science available and assessed it honestly.

99% of the world right now fits into two camps, the 'believers' defending the coming apocalypse that we've created and must adapt to yesterday, and the deniers who disagree.

The actual scientists observing that there is a warming trend that we are contributing to aren't listened to be EITHER side. When the IPCC posts projections for 2100, even the IPCC most optimistic view riles up the deniers and even the IPCC most gloomy view is dismissed by the 'believers'.

Don't hold out any hope that facts, reason and logic are gonna shift humanity anytime soon. Historically speaking it's pretty much not gonna happen,

Gloomy Sunday for me.

Angelina Jordan Does Nancy Sinatra Better than Nancy Sinatra has been added as a related post - related requested by Zawash.

Amazing 7 year old on Norway's Got Talent - Gloomy Sunday has been added as a related post - related requested by Zawash.

Amazing 7 year old on Norway's Got Talent - Gloomy Sunday has been added as a related post - related requested by oohlalasassoon on that post.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

I would like to take a moment to fight the good fight. Let's get down to brass tacks: Idle hands are the devil's tools. That's why Rick Mercer spends his leisure time devising ever more money-grubbing ways to commit senseless acts of violence against anyone daring to challenge his vindictive wheelings and dealings. To use some computer terminology, his gang has an "installed base" of hundreds of disorganized renitent-types. The implication is that Rick thinks it would be a great idea to entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils of the ambition, rivalship, interest, humor, or caprice of acrasial, gloomy finaglers. Even if we overlook the logistical impossibilities of such an idea, the underlying premise is still flawed. Although I can no more change the past than see the future, it's safe to say that I have a dream that my children will be able to live in a world filled with open spaces and beautiful wilderness—not in a dark, villainous world run by lecherous, obstreperous dissemblers. It should come as no shock to anyone that if you can make any sense out Rick's lackluster mottos then you must have gotten higher marks in school than I did. I could be wrong about any or all of this, but at the moment, the above fits what I know of history, people, and current conditions. If anyone sees anything wrong or has some new facts or theories on this, I'd love to hear about them

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=48cTUnUtzx4

Here is "Gloomy Sunday" by Billie Holiday.

Number 1 comment: "thumbs up if you're here because of QI"

Oh, and in case there was anyone who didn't doubt the legitimacy of the claims in the video...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gloomy_Sunday#Urban_legends
http://www.snopes.com/music/songs/gloomy.asp

@enoch

I think what you are doing with the argument about consciousness is rather confusing to me. It seems to me that you are applying our own consciousness to the universe as a whole, in the same way I look at my dog as a human ie: applying human reasoning to an animal that I really know isnt capable of it. (such as predicting or planning future events, like "My dog feels a sense of abandonment when I'm on vacation" etc.) My dog, and even more probable, the universe, doesnt give a shit that I'm in the next room or 4000 miles away, it doesnt know that I'm in a different country and it has no idea how long I might be gone. But its in our human nature to treat the things around us, and even the environment itself, as if it was socially connected with us, the way a fellow human might be.

Now, dogs may be more perseptive than one would think, and us dog-owners may be more right about our relationship with these animals than our research has been able to establish at this point, and there is even some mounting evidence that they understand us better than we could imagine. But again, we are talking about complex animals with very sophisticated brains that have undergone domesticating selection for thousands of generations. In other words, the human and conscious qualities that I unwittingly apply to dogs may not be entirely fictional.

But to apply this (consciousness,awareness,prediction or social behaviour of some kind)to the universe itself, is another matter entirely. Unlike the case with dogs, for example, there really is no evidence for this, there is no known mechanism, or even a credible potential mechanism, to give the universe an intelligence capable of conscious thought. In fact, all the evidence and knowledge we DO have, suggests that the universe is overwhelmingly indifferent, unintelligent, unconscious, and contains nothing but physical energy condensed into matter.

If the universe was conscious in some way, why would it, for instance spend 4 billion years evolving life, and eventually creating conscious creatures like ourselves around a burning fireball thats destined to explode and destroy it all within a few additional billion years, rendering the entire excercise completely pointless in the grand scheme of things. The universe will go on existing for at least a hundred billion years after that, and there will be no, absolutely NO sign that life ever existed in this part of that insignificant little galaxy (one out of a hundred billion) In fact that galaxy itself would be nothing but a supermassive black hole with fading stars(literally) around it. All our books and all our efforts, all our suffering and all our triumphs will be gone. forever.


Allright too gloomy, I know, but its the truth. we live here.. now, and we should appreciate our tiny visit to the spotlight. We are the universe understanding parts of itself, in a few short decade I will be no more, and in a few million years, mankind will be no more. We are conscious, now, and we are as far as we can tell, the only things that are.

We are the universe's consciousness.
As far as we can tell.
I say enjoy it while it lasts.

for the love of the god who doesn't exist, WHY is this man's cartoonish voice and gloomy beats appealing to cultural whities.

This original is equally painful to listen to if not worse than the rip off.

I know right? I was expecting some gloomy forecast of the future.

As amazing as this is, this is a sad moment in my dad's life. OU always beats OSU. They actually had a chance this year, but dad was a gloomy gus before the game, said they never win.

And then this.

Dang.

Be sad for us, Sifters.

My dad is 86 and in a nursing home. He really could have used this win.

My father is very literal-minded and has real trouble making sense of scenes like this. For instance, the scene in Michael Clayton when George Clooney stands with the horses on the hill was a big mystery to him.

The YouTube commenter that gwiz is quoting also has some trouble with literal-mindedness. Not as much trouble as my Dad, but it never crosses the commenter's mind that Alex Cox (the director) is merely constructing a series of symbols. In the commenter's world, this scene can only be a thing that he can identify with, a dream. It must be a drug-induced dream: the human construction of an altered mind.

Well, why should it be so limiting? Ask Blankfist, he'll tell you that directors are visual storytellers. Cox had to figure a way to wrap this tragic tale up in some artistic fashion. Why not re-tell Sid's entire story in the last scene with nothing but symbols? Sid eats pizza in the wasteland (working-class England), he is belligerent and anti-social (flipping the table over), he begrudgingly dances with little kids (the Sex Pistols), and then he dies with Nancy (the taxi).

In fact, the soundtrack lists the title to this gloomy instrumental song as "Taxi to Heaven." So is it a dream or something much much more subtle and therefore better?

I rest my case, your honor.