Monday, February 28, 2011

Ceal Wrestling Shoes Original

Phobias

sitting at the dentist this morning thanks to an old belief that medical insurance will not be able to renew. At least until things change.
Well, except that the dentist is my worst phobia. Not only is the idea of \u200b\u200bthe dentist I frightens to death, but also feel the teeth in the mouth causes me discomfort. I can not stand even to speak of other teeth or dentists and even less I can watch movies or television where someone goes to the dentist or talk about teeth.
marathon, for example, is a film that I watch only if I know I have not even a cavity, and at the scene where Dustin Hoffman Laurence Olivier torture makes me not a little uncomfortable. Denti Salvatores I never wanted to see, and since the listings like them so much I want to add The Dentist Brian Yuzna, Little Shop of Horrors Frank Oz, Tom Hanks in Castaway when we extract a tooth with the blade an ice-skate, or comedy in which Mr. Bean is drilled and stucco teeth alone?
I thought many times because of this uncontrollable phobia and perhaps digging into their memories, I think it can be attributed with some confidence when I was seven to eight years and my father almost every evening, made me sit on his lap, I immobilized arms and, with a white cotton handkerchief, I widened the lower canines in muscle strength. And my father had mica muscles to laugh.
I still remember the anguish of this, hankies spotless spotted by my blood and my mother sitting in the chair opposite, which he oversaw.
Some memories should be deleted, but is not easy. Who knows why these things are more traumatic to haunt us throughout life, and those are always nice so rare and difficult to bring out the memory.
is easy to say that you must live in the present and not to indulge in memories, good or bad they are. But it is also true that they are the fruit of our life experiences. So, to deny the memories would not be to deny oneself?
PS: The next meeting is on Wednesday.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Street Racing Syndicate Cd Kulcs

Xavier Rudd - Come Let Go [HD]

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Why Crescent Moon On Outhouse

Oh no! Back in the ass!

Things are really quite simple.
Monday, the former director says he's going to seriously consider the proposal for a relaunch of a magazine and that she intends to entrust part of the development and restyling chart. I say that I can support on my shoulders the whole magazine without any problem, but he beat around the bush.
Tuesday said that the publisher would like to bring some pages of the new project, not much, just a couple of sections and a service from three to four pages. "We are not certain to work unless they were sure to bring home the loot." Then he says he wants to divide the implementation of the newspaper, not a question of lack of confidence, but because it turned out yet another human case.
This is a chart that had a motorcycle accident, the mangled leg, which is now more than twelve centimeters short of the other, and that it is getting treatment from a Russian extends the bones and so on.
What can I say? That I was here first? What I have both her legs but I do not know how to keep the family? For some reason when I speak of my condition no one ever takes me seriously. Maybe I should do a little 'scene, cry some tears, but I'm not the type.
Wednesday: turns out that the pitiful case was made to redesign the alone, and continues to churn out columns, and testing services that cover the former director shall submit to me as if I could be happy. This, in my house, do you call someone's shoes. What shall we do then the Imprint of the newspaper? We write that the restyling did the lame and I just do the performer?
Asshole me and my naivete, to think that after all everyone needs to work, especially in times of difficulty, and find out as soon as you turn, what we've just done some good tries to insert it in the ass. Really great.
But now my path is directed to the search for peace, I will no longer angry, if anything, I feel a great sadness and great sadness to see this way of life. I'm sick of the "I fuck you before you fuck me." I find it so petty and sad. I much prefer to embrace the philosophy of The Big Lebowski: "When understand that it is better to live life without philosophically fuck anyone, then you've reached the Zen Dude. "

Unclogging A Frigidaire Dishwasher

who is without sin ... Schizophrenia

I know that what I am about to write will not matter to anyone. And I also know that those who follow this blog it is because, perhaps, he likes to read on my own.
But it is also true that, for me, this blog has turned into a therapy. A little 'as seen in some American films in which, typically, a group of people is sitting in a circle and each in turn says of himself: "Hello, My name is Roger and I'm desperate ...".
And since it is my intention to somehow achieve a certain psychological balance I must find a way to get rid of everything that annoys me, I'm forced to exorcise my idiosyncrasies, and this blog is currently the only tool at my disposal. Here
therefore, set aside forever the mafia bald, I need to close the discussion also to other people and things that I mentioned.
The Republic - as a newspaper - it was for me the first real independent cultural memory. It was 1976, I was in eighth grade and I had the mania of the early numbers. The number one of Captain America, Alan Ford, Maxmagnus, the last issue of the Times and so on. Something fairly typical adolescent, I think. So I can still see that the exit from school, buy this new daily: new format, graphics, content, and leafed through it while going home.
I liked it, I do not know why, but I am fond of us and I often followed. Not every day, but when something important was happening, I've always bought. In high school alternate with the struggle continues, the bad and sometimes the Manifesto. I have never endured instead Corriere della Sera, but I'm not going to throw it in politics, so be content to know that is a newspaper that I never liked it. De
the Republic I have endured - how to bear the escapades of a lover - the infatuation to Craxi and the social partners, flirt with the former PCI and PDS, sympathies for the intolerable and snooty D'Alema, the trombone intellectual-philosophical Eugenio Scalfari. Everything to continue reading a series of signatures that others only dream newspapers: Giorgio Bocca, Peter Citati, Miriam Mafai, Gianni Brera, Tiziano Terzani, Altan, Natalia Aspesi, Emanuela Audisio, Stefano Rodota, Vittorio Zucconi, Umberto Eco, Giorgio Odifreddi and so on.
I endured the shock on the way of historical revisionism that turncoat presumptuous new Paul of Tarsus, Giampaolo Pansa (which I found to come from the Corriere della Sera!).
remember the titles during the Moro kidnapping, when I attended the Art School in the former convent next the church of San Marco in the street. We climbed the narrow stairs two at a time, clinging to the thin iron railing, with newspapers under his arm to discuss in class, organize meetings, events and company.
Maybe that's why I get so annoyed today to attend the most vulgar and commercial side of this newspaper, the philosophy of one hand washes the other, to please his friend and the friend of a friend, all'ossequio advertiser, the triumph of journalism pushovers.
It is too easy for me to blame the usual Sara Chiappori. One who writes every article the same way, always using the same pattern, with all those always out of place and redundant adjectives, such as defining and pulitina nerd in high school, then that has nothing better to do than go searching on the internet as a teenager infoiati. I gave a last statistics of the blog in less than a year related to your keywords Sara Chiappori are over fifty, second only to a man overboard. And who ever want it to go to find a journalist who writes a hustler in the local news a week if not herself? Now
Gabriele Galimberti has been added to this as "D", the additional female Republic, paid a trip around the world in which this brilliant journalist, he meets strangers masquerading as emeritus of creative artists, etc., asking them questions such as a stunning banality: " If not here, where would you be? What's the matter of urgency to tell the world? First thought upon waking? ". Strong stuff, in fact.
But the thing that struck me the most is that this acute left with the same name by Umberto Galimberti, the learned philosopher and psychoanalyst who writes a column for years on the same newspaper.
And what are all the same name?
Or rather, they, too, "end user" of the usual system of baronies?
And that whole slew of artists, architects, designers, event managers, designers, emerging or already emerged - a bit 'like the shit in the water - Are not also recipients of favors, various debt and mess-ups?
E Cinzia Sasso? Republic journalist who lived for twenty-two years in an apartment owned by the Pio Albergo Trivulzio, in Corso di Porta Romana 116, two peanuts paying rent, € 572 or € 3480.00 per month plus administration cost?
And now only known to scream conspiracy and machine Mud Berlusconi. Who has helped you? Who introduced you to this wheel of fortune, instead of helping the aged and destitute homes procured a rich, famous, sons and journalists, at ridiculous prices? And
Saviano? Which occurs more often on the Republic to tell us that the water is hot? "In Campania there is the mafia, the Camorra is an international organization, the Camorra has now permeated even the north of Italy, the policy is dropped, and yet come to terms with the mafia and organized crime are the massacres of state; Berlusconi bad ". But what do you think, that apart from him and Fabio Fazio, the rest of the Italians living on the moon?
I am increasingly convinced that most, beyond the fine words, everything turns the same way: favors to friends and friends of friends, cronyism, baronies, recommendations, deference to advertisers and mountains of tricks hidden in the pages of so-called culture, shows, in local backs. I'd like to know how to define this system values \u200b\u200bof the journalists themselves when they are left to use it and wallow in it.
The only thing that consoles me is that a few weeks ago have emptied the store on Via della Spiga in excavations. Five million Euros in the booty. Remember? The daddy of Maria Elisabetta Scavia, scion who writes the history books-itchy, also in an excellent position in key research blog.
How do you say? Who is without sin ...

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Online Claw Machine Games



As I and my brain - either voluntarily or physiologically - now we are constantly reaching out to the search for peace as a novel Siddhartha, is my body to embody - giustappunto - rebellion, the soul on earth.
Headaches repeatedly, almost Chronic bronchitis, tinnitus, sore teeth, recurrent colic.
The revenge of the shit on the mind of the blood against the floor, against the thought of pain. I live in the expectation that this schizophrenia
former director present the fifty pages to which I devoted ten days of my life for free, or at least conclude the agreement for the creation and recovery of a newspaper rather than known, but steady loss.
These are currently my perspective, this serene, in whom my hopes, my desire for revenge, the alpha of a new life.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Two Sore Lymph Glands

confused and doubtful

I have to admit, I am a bit ' confused.
Confused, but traveling along a new road. Whether on the readings of recent times? Or simply a practical demonstration of the theory of mourning with the usual Elisabeth Kübler Ross? If so, I would not be so happy.
possible that human beings are so predictable? Indeed our feelings are just chemical messages between neurons? And free will? How can I be sure my mental processes are only mine and not the result of a conditioned reflex like a dog Ivan Pavlov?
then I do not know if I'm chasing the serenity that is the result of a common process, automatic and inevitable, like that of any other human being, or my only choice, a conscious and considered decision, a path that I chose to take voluntarily.
But why, then ask a similar question if the result is still the achievement of peace?
is very simple: I do not want a serenity and peace of taxes from my unconscious, I do not follow the road that everyone - rich or poor, educated or ignorant, sensitive or rough - would still sooner or later, willingly or unwillingly.
So there I am, I do not accept being just a voodoo doll in the hands of my unconscious, I do not want to be a robot that simply turn a key chemical or psychological make him move. Even when the watch is my own self.

Most Beautiful Travestites

From: "Mosaic of the days I prefer a contract to a trophy February 21, 2011 - Tonio Dell'Olio" The Ghost of Tom Joad

 
Mosaic of days I prefer a contract to a trophy
February 21, 2011 - Tonio Dell'Olio


Gabriele Del Grande is a journalist born in 1982. Sometimes
his signature appears on some newspaper, but his name is especially linked to his blog
Fortress Europe ( http://fortresseurope.blogspot.com/ ), the site of
far more serious in theme and documented Immigration and
surroundings. Several books to his credit, some of which also
translated into German and English. Awarded national and international awards.
On 21 January had been invited to the awards ceremony
journalistic Saint Vincent (Enrico Mentana winners for
television, Antonio Padellaro for the press, and Bruno Vespa
for "the prestige of the category"), Del Grande has chosen to boycott the ceremony
and write a nice letter to President Napolitano.
The reasons are varied and all shared but I like to bring back at least part
full: "President, do we celebrate
again. When this country will be changed. When
the best among my friends returned from abroad where they emigrated.
do we celebrate when my friends come back for job interviews
to look at the curriculum instead of the boobs. We celebrate that
when the editors begin to pay for the work
what it's worth, in money and not pats on the back because we
teammates. "

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Fathers 60th Birthday Speech




THE PHANTOM OF Tom Joad

men walking along the tracks
direct nowhere, there is no return;
helicopters that sprout from the hill road,
soup on the stove to heat under the bridge,
the line for the housing that goes around the block:
welcome to the new world order.
Families who sleep in the car in southwest
Neither home nor work, nor security nor peace.

The highway is alive tonight But nobody has any illusions
about where it ends
'm sitting here in the light of bonfires
and seeking the ghost of Tom Joad.

pulls out a book from the sleeping bag
the preacher lights up a butt and takes a pull
waiting for the day that the last shall be first and first last
in a cardboard box in the subway
I have a single ticket for the promised land
have a hole in the belly and a gun in his hand
sleep on a pillow of stone into the water you brush
Hall.

The highway is alive tonight
but where does it go and we all know;
'm sitting here in the light of bonfires
and wait for the ghost of Tom Joad.

Tom said "Mom, wherever a policeman knocking a person
wherever a child is born crying from hunger
wherever there is a fight against blood and hatred in the air
look for me and I'll be there.
Wherever you fight for a space of dignity
for a decent job, a helping hand wherever someone

watch them struggle to be free in my eyes and see me. "

The highway is alive tonight
but no one has any illusions about where it ends
'm sitting here in the light of bonfires
along with the ghost of old Tom Joad.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Installing Tile Trowel Size

The mighty woodsman

I hate this limbo. This expectation that rips the soul but at the same time, I would not ever end. Because I'm afraid, afraid to know whether the former director will be able to sell those fifty pages and the project behind it, because that would mean to know if I can survive for a few more months, if I take the children on holiday and let him go this damn bronchitis. Would feel more virile, able to provide for the family, as a powerful Canadian lumberjack.
But so far everything is quiet and I do not know what to think.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Pepper Spray Jockstrap

The umpteenth

last rains. The only valid measure - and this is independent of a mayor unable - to lower pollution in Milan.
Well, finally ... today we have a meeting with the agency that is reflected off before Christmas. It is a formality and we know it well. We receive only because we are presented by one of their major customer. We should receive, even if we did not mind anything.
The name of the agency is the usual combination of letters and numbers. Pronounced according to English spelling takes very deep meanings and intriguing, but for someone like me, chews a little, it remains a kind of alphanumeric password.
But I do not want to seem conceited or snobbish idea some brilliant managers, never mind. If anything I have to be out by this kind of logic, I put to myself out of time.
How did the advertising unbearable? "Because I live with my time ... with the progress, performance "(1). Well, let's face it, these things are a bit 'i loathe. If being a snob means using terms equivalent to the Italian rather than American, then a little 'snob really are.
Never mind the fact that I gave myself when I renamed my Anglican structure, under the illusion that this was enough to brighten my professional life. And he was also to pay tribute to a master of cinema and trends cross in which I have always recognized, but for now this has nothing to do.
Nothing to do, so for example, those with children playing games with words like "T4-2", which could be read Tea for two. There
receives a kid in a suit that may not reach the age of thirty. I am amazed. I was expecting one of those about fifty sixty trombones and instead I have to feel old and outdated. I do not even, do not tell a complete, but even a jacket, only one of four shirts that I gave my mother a pair of jeans and Nike five years ago at least. The old Montgomery remembers the first chair of the Board Craxi, it makes me sweat, while my wife, who home- not silent a moment and which, because of that, I entrusted the job of account executive, does not open his mouth.
However I can not make me dislike this kid, because it is not. It will be because it is a account - then that would be for the vendor, or account manager. By this standard, my father, who was a salesman for a textile company, he could define tissue account, but never mind.
As always in all the recent discussions we had, apart from the usual corporate Pippone:
"in your facility who are you?" Ask him.
"For two hours - I say - but according to the needs that arise, we are able to activate a network of professionals that allow us to satisfy the most varied ... bla bla bla. "
I say this as you repeat the little lesson learned by heart, with conviction in the tone of voice and body language, but the first to get bored with same old broken record is really me.
"Oh, - he says - I see, now we are more than one hundred and forty."
Meanwhile, my balls dropped into stockings and listen with patience and a certain stoicism this kid who sings the many facets of its business, using such a number of specialized terms that do not even know existed. The iPhone will ring, but politely turns it off. I hope that the old nokia pathetic and do not put in play with the sudden ringing of an old rotary phone to spare the humiliation of pulling it out of his pocket.
then takes us on a tour to the agency that, needless to say, staying in an old restored foundry. We pretend interest and admiration, perhaps simulating the same himself, but we have all understood that many of us would not know what to do.
At home or studio, then that is the same thing, I expect the last two pages of work for the former director, made that on trust, or rather, hope that is of interest to any publisher who tries to place it. I am convinced more and more that we are now living in the parallel world of the excluded, the unemployed, the outcasts, exiles. It seems the same in all of which were debated, but in ours, the fact that everything is systematically wrong, it is a physical law is impossible to refute.

(1) I pretend not to know, but she said Claudia Schiffer in a L'Oreal advertisement.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Ugg Sizes (b) M Versus M

comedy What a coincidence!

"Then Siddhartha had spent the night in his home, including wine and dancers, had sliced \u200b\u200bhis peers to a superiority of which was not quite sure, had been drinking a lot of wine late at night and tried the bed , with a heart full of misery that he thought he could no longer bear, filled with a disgust which he felt penetrated as the warm, nauseating taste of the wine, the music sweet and barren rice dancers too soft, too sweet scent of their hair and their breasts. But more than anything else was sick of himself, smelling their hair, the smell of wine from his mouth, fatigue and flaccid inamena of their skin. "

Herman Hesse, Siddhartha.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Facebook Chat White Means

Fuck Valentine's Day! Rosetta

I do not like and I have never liked certain occasions. Celebration for bakeries, flower shops and intimate.
like Valentine's Day: a celebration in which the original message exchange of love - of his writings perfumed papers on hand - you are horrible baby doll replaced with a window on the ass, pathetic plush, slip "Brazil", chocolates that avoid the trouble of thinking of a sentence that makes sense for your woman / man.
Party for bumbling and pimply boys and little girls mythomaniac. Useful to overcome shyness adolescent and nothing more.
For my part, now I feel closer to Al Capone and his Valentine's Day massacre. I too would have my George "Bugs" Moran with whom I'd like some regular account and put the record straight on who is wrong and who is right.
See also my wife so disappointed, frustrated, and exasperated and miserable that I can not do shit about anything, it hurts so bad that I did not even more breath to breathe.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Foot Pain While Ice Scaking

3D Sanctum

not even deserve so many arrows. After all, is based on a true story, has not granted a basic idea and is developed in a dignified manner. But it bears the name of Cameron (as executive producer: the director is the journeyman Alister Grierson), 3D promises wonders and is so boring. So arrows.

For starters, the plot: a group of brave cave explorers venture into a network of underground caves in New Guinea in search of unexplored passages for the sea. You will be surprised by a hurricane, flooding the tunnels, which will force them to find the way out.

As we have been suggested, the Sanctum 3d would be a perfect movie for Sylvester Stallone, that, so to speak, more unabashedly muscular Daylight and Cliffhanger, but as time passes and we had to fall back on the lead role, Richard Roxburgh on the lesser-known, that remains impressed in the mind, rather than the rocky interpretation, a striking resemblance to Lance Armstrong. A missed opportunity, because there was little for the rest of that act, given the multitude of stereotypes depressing action put together by writers. In series: the son of the hero, adept at climbing, but in perpetual conflict with the father character, a rich financier of the expedition, in spite of struggling with a fight for survival (which of course will show off the worst selfishness), and their girlfriend, cute but - alas - inexperienced divers. In outline, the unarmed members of the crew, all properly expendable, either crashed into the granite, either exhausted from his wounds, or, more simply, drowned.

If all of this, at least, the 3D glasses surrendered by what it says, go home happy. But the only thing you will notice, on balance, it repeated the draft of the insights of Avatar: the forest wild shot from the top (a la carte menu for initial dupe the viewer), aquatic mortified shots from the narrow maneuvering space (the characters are constantly facing steep escape routes), the insistence on pornographic detail in relief, now a real three-dimensional bugs: a leaf here, a tank there, wherever a ledge mineral. Depth of field, the invasiveness of the most illustrious ancestor, there is absolutely nothing.

Another, rather, was the hope, they learned that the plot drew its inspiration from a reality, we have waited until the last that came out from the dark recesses, such as a joke worthy of the carnival, some juicy sea monster, of the good ones to rehabilitate the entire company (Alien strikes back). But no: just mouthpieces, effort, and banal dialogue. On which stands as a unique baroque, the quote of Coleridge's Kubla Khan, the hero declaims to his son from climbing the other, comments: "It was made of opium when he wrote." Thanks Lance, also returns to decompression.

Sidenotes:

  • Excellent portrait of the hero escaped from the script: imagine Lance Armstrong slightly aged gym and driving with an air of reluctant decision a handful of fellow sufferers (ie, soldiers on duty) to the unknown. Cynic, at ease with the tragic choices, appears unfazed in the face of horrible deaths, horrible suffering and more or less explicit disagreements on its operational decisions. Memories, in this sense, the order of the shipment only woman remained alive (the other one, incidentally, died of drowning in a vain attempt to wrest our ration of oxygen is not for it) since you the lower, close the line, so if you jammed between the rocks you just die. It is surprising that, faced with a similar example of humanity, the child is not manages to weave some much-needed dialogue with him.
  • Also notable is the climax of the sequence described above: closing the line, the unfortunate fact is stuck in a bottleneck. I already give up for dead comrades, then, in the next scene, here emerge unharmed from the ravines. None of them know how she did it and, in truth, neither do we.
  • Poor, once again, the treatment of exotic cultures from the American production: just before and just after the break out of the hurricane that gives a kick (ok,) the film, we see the silhouette of a secluded and funeral Aboriginal ashen. The usually quiet warning not to defy nature. And tell us that we had not read well the headlines, we are in New Guinea.

INFORMATION

Sanctum 3d

In a sentence: "but when they get the beasts?"

Sconsigliatissimo: to anyone aspects of the beasts, Stallone and James Cameron. It is convinced that Armstrong, in fact, it is doped.

Rating: KKK

Friday, February 11, 2011

Bloodmoon_v1.6.1820 No Cd



do not know why my dreams of the past few days are so vivid and real, and above all so cinematic, exciting, almost Hollywood.
But I'm not going to be analyzed for what you dream, I would say that for now I have put in place more than I wanted and he will not speak about this, but rather to Rosa.
"La Rosetta", the article before habit indispensable to us northerners, it's not the michetta washer or if you prefer, a type of bread, but a person, almost my own age. The daughter of Sicilian
low culture, a propensity to commit crimes and experts in dirty tricks and loopholes, it is the only girl of three brothers, one of whom has spent most of his life in jail, and - just out - did not match the better to kill himself in a minor car accident.
has been in prison for so long that almost no one remembered him as one who, when his father was on his deathbed, came with the phone of the police to greet the parent . No more than a couple of hours with the soldiers who guarded the road and yard over the shoulder machine guns.
The other brother does not live here anymore, but every day with the mother sends her sister fuck, smoking cigarettes under the door and see all as if the whole world on the same shit.
Rosetta was in eighth grade when I attended the first or second. It was certainly a beauty, perhaps he was also a bit 'of a mustache, but lacked the nerve and rough upbringing. Think of it, seemed almost a half-mad. Maybe that's why, across the street from school to home, he loved belting songs like "Come with me to Milazzo, I'll see ..." and stuff like that. I found it rather strange and a bit 'put me too intimidating, so slowed down and let some twenty yards ahead of me, which did well his numbers and sings his rhymes. I do not think we'd never even said goodbye.
It is true that his should not be an easy life. The father, though always elegant dress, complete with a Borsalino, was still part of the archaic and closed world from which it came. Using the barrel is the wife to her daughter. Easy to light up like a match, were the proverbial scenes of various kinds were consumed between home, yard and street. And the brothers did not have to be much better, because the mother had to rebuke them when they were too interested in the generous bosom of Rosetta. I heard her say to the concierge, but not without some pride, things like: "I have to be careful, because Rosetta is ddonna ddonna and understand that these are also men. "
I lost sight of the "Rosetta" for a long time, I knew I was married and had a couple of children, that her husband had the same defect in the father, who could not keep their hands in place, which has had several breakdowns, which have removed their children, got divorced and she returned to live in his mother's house.
is in this period, inevitably, often meeting in the reception and she began to greet me with a "hello" that seemed to encapsulate all the suffering of at least twenty years of a life incredibly miserable and rough. A hello that looked like a helping hand in search of aid that I could not offer a hello that flickered an unstable equilibrium, dangerous and desperate.
When the Moon has good, Rosetta singing. The feel to the street, when traffic allows a bit 'of silence, or even from the backyard, his voice bouncing off the walls close. Biagio Antonacci sings, Ligabue and stuff exclusively Italian.
But when he wakes up on the wrong foot and the fuck are the outbursts that resounds with his mother outside.
The other day I met her in the lodge, I had stopped to see why the lock of the door is not good enough and, unfortunately, every condominium that he had passed his authoritative and useless opinion to express. Until we arrived Rosetta. A close look at it still makes me uneasy. Those eyes are expressionless as those of a shark, or the tension huge, noticeable, that runs under the skin, or those shots of the head a little 'how do lizards. His opinion was that it is the fault of "them". Those were all non-EU citizens indiscriminately, or as she calls them "bastards, bastards, thieves. You should all die. " Accompanying his words with an eloquent cross made by hand, like a pope's blessing.
I escaped on the run, while she, looking at two North Africans who were passing at that moment, whistled between his teeth: "Look at the faces, bastards."
PS: Of course the business meeting I had blown it for today, postponed until next Tuesday.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Pendulum Clock Works Perfectly Earth Taken Moon

What will become of me?

I confess the idea of \u200b\u200bworking for free, or better, with no prospect of certain salary, it makes me crazy. Indeed, I am also a bit 'angry.
While I pretend not to be out of the loop, the ability to maintain graphics and publishing, I know that other work in this way can not take me anywhere. I'm sick of half-promises, smoky contacts, appointments unnecessary quotes perverse.
Why can not I work? That is the question that continues to haunt several times a day. Why, despite a good experience, good attitude and a "hunt" I can not even lay out the magazine of the parish? Why
fate has been so shit? Why they had to bring so many negative circumstances to bring me in this state?
Because I was deprived of the dignity to keep my family? What will become of our future, especially that of my children, and why not, one of my old age?
not like, but are things that consume the soul and body.

Monday, February 7, 2011

How Many Times Has Tawnee Stone

Parallels

A heavy week has just closed and a new one that does not bode well, opens.
Yes okay, thanks to the usual knowledge, We have an appointment for Thursday in an agency nearby. But I think it is more like the usual exchange of courtesies that will not have the slightest result.
Tuesday I will have instead a probable clash with another accountant. It is an old friend of this blog and, unfortunately, I also believe a case not too minority percentage of the loss as a client of the mafia bald.
Unfortunately I have hands and feet bound, how can I go looking for another accountant ? When I ask what is my business now, what I will never answer him? Zero? That's why, for now, I can only fight with this stupid bitch will not understand the situation, which continues to send parcels completely insane and against which I have to constantly fight. But the accountant should not be the one to protect my interests? Indicates that the best way, the most convenient?
Sometimes I wonder why things happen in life to me so foolish, unrealistic, stupid nonsense. How, for example, take the car to make the cut and found the next day with the flashing arrows paroxysmal crazy speed. Or not being able to come out of this crappy bronchitis that does not make me sleep at night and that seems to make me want to burst the lungs. Or find myself free to work with the former director on a draft of fifty pages without any certain prospect of effective implementation. Or try to get in touch with the art director, Carl Marx, what seems ten years younger, and find out who is in Sudan or some such place, on behalf of "party" to see how to solve problems' water supply and the like. O hear the guitar teacher of C. we should study composition because it is a boy of rare ability and then, by the same boy, found two deficiencies in the first semester school report.
I do not know, I seem to live on different worlds, in two parallel universes in different space-time, one where things start in the right way, according to the rules that we would expect to find them to conclude what had started as another world, where things are going in reverse, in which the mouse eats the cat and imbeciles command.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Kate’s Playground Feet



Mombarcaro WE ARE, AND WE TALKED ABOUT LAST NIGHT WITH THE BOYS AND GIRLS OF THE CONCERT FOR FRIEND 'SERENA' scheduled 'HERE TO Mombarcaro Saturday July 2, 2011. PIER THIS MORNING IN KITCHEN, WAS Peel the potatoes, and called me and told me "IF YOU WANT A HEART SHAPED POTATO, here it is." I approached and took hold of the potato, it was A HEART, A PERFECT FORM. Unfortunately we could not photograph because 'WE DO NOT HAVE THE DIGITAL WITH CELL PHONE AND THE MEMORY OF PIER HAS FULL AND CAN NOT' TAKING PHOTOS. E 'DOLCE THIS WAS BEAUTIFUL GIFT TO PIER. We like to believe that Serena INTENDED TO GIVE A SIGN OF HIS FATHER '. THIS MORNING, WHILE WE WERE IN CHURCH TO TAKE PART IN THE MASS ON THE WALL, NEAR THE STATUE OF JESUS \u200b\u200b', on our left, there was a large circle of light, I saw I did notice, small voice A PIER. PIER Saw it and before long, CIRCLE 'tis gone, there was nothing that reflects on the WALL. TODAY'S READINGS WERE CENTERED ON THE LIGHT AND WE LIKE TO BELIEVE THAT OUR serenity which is' light, sweet light, ONCE AGAIN INTENDED TO GIVE U.S. A SIGN OF HIS CONSTANT NEAR. Puppy THANKS, THANKS SERENA.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Mircowaving Lung Cancer

TESTIMONY FROM THE SKY MAIL RECEIVED BY PROFESSOR FORLI '

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Consumer Reports Dryers 2010

We went to play, but we were

is a period in which it is useless to hope for. The hope is dead as we are dying slowly all those who, imprisoned in a country in decline along with the values \u200b\u200bof capitalism and consumerism is a fact that old and outdated.
understand that things can not continue to be as before, that you can not continue indefinitely to sell cars, you can not create unnecessary needs for people who can not afford it, is pretty easy.
few years after the release of the first mobile phones - to buy dear and phone calls that cost a thousand pounds a minute - I saw people asking for bank loans or installment payments while of owning something completely irrelevant to their needs, to know barely speak Italian understandable, but the whole family accompanied the event of purchase of the new fetish, the totem of communication, such as once decided the purchase of new bedroom or kitchen.
Perhaps it is my position that allows me to perform before others that we are on the brink of the ravine, one foot already reaching out into space, falling below the gravel, while from behind, continue to push cheerfully: "Buy, connect, new car every three years, the phone that does everything but we do not know to run the 3d television, the shoe that breathes, the trick of cholesterol that kills you, that if the clock did not you're a shit, old forced to dress as lolitas, young girls forced to give himself the image of a bitch sailed, men who can not accept losing her hair. "
Yes, I'm pissed off, not hide. Angry and discouraged. Why Brescia who came to visit us yesterday, did nothing that promoting the printing services of his company. What a fool! And I thought he was going let us work together in some way.
Now I can not do anything but work for free for the former director, hoping that his plans are eventually approved by some editors.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Shaving Getting Rid Of Green Skin

WONDERFUL LETTER THAT HE WROTE MOTHER FIORELLA

Fiorella Umberto I am the mother of Umberto Pasanisi, until June 16, 2007 my life was normal and happy rhetorically: A husband, a daughter of 28 years, a son of 21, beautiful, serene. What more could I want'???? On 16 June2007, the 20 or so, there was' nothing normal, the empty abyss: Umberto ... due to a traffic accident with the motorcycle, was literally blown away. In that moment of my person in my life, my soul is very little, perhaps nothing. I cling to Charles, my husband, my daughter Silvia, both granite and bolt carrier of my rebirth. To them I extend my thanks to more 'largest and most' strong, and thanks to them that I can now tell my story. The phone call, I came to the 20th of that tragic sabato.Qualcuno, low voice, told me that Umberto had a serious accident and that unfortunately there was no more '. I was stunned for a few seconds, then a sorrow pervaded me cold, very hot accompanied by tears and screams strazio.Ero to 900 miles (we are Taranto and he was at Parma) did not want to believe it, could not be vero.Tutto was over and I with a miracle last lui.Speravo momento.Pregavo God to let me get there in time. And give me a chance, it can shake and shout in his ear that he could succeed fare.Accarezzarlo and cuddle so 'as he liked, until it re-open those beautiful eyes he had and let him return to that pleasant smile that set him apart from everyone. But that I was not granted. My baby was gone by now '. I live with my family terrible day, that June 16 marked the end of our serenità.C 'is still disbelief for what' has happened. Grief and anger alternate. Hug my husband and my daughter and together we cry. We do not know how to continue to live in the huge void that has left Umberto. But in any case, our lives can no longer be 'the same. There was a boy torn sweet and sensitive, cheerful character, full of vitality and concern for others, a boy from the wholesome, with big plans for the future. Yes, I was Catholic, but he asked them, 'and I here. Then I wondered: If it is true that he is, how could remove a child to a mother?? I started looking, looking for his men, his priests, my human thirst for justice. I wanted some answers at all costs. I met only nice words: lady cheer up, we must go forward ECCC. But the answers to my anxiety? No! Then, by chance, we say so ', a Franciscan friar, simple, highly educated, stubborn. I was detached, I thought, usually the priest say he wants to justify his "superior." The days, months, and the brother becomes a slow drip through, between us and God us up and down 'on a swing: today, tomorrow and just hope in June 'to the anxiety. A few months later, he decided to celebrate a Mass for young people ... dead ... I can not stand to hear my son call defunto.La evening of the Mass, how many mothers, so many tears, how much pain palpable . And he? What does it say in the homily? Communicate, talk to your children, with your children, they are here with you, among us, you who do not vedete.Ma if you feed your faith, the source, at that crucifix up there ', you will understand that the project is not yours, not nostro.Poteva be a simple homily, but it was a call for all of us to meet and embrace our children in heaven with the eyes of LOVE OF GOD. FAITH. What to do? I do nothing ... ... ... ... ... GOD Umberto much more. Cosi ', on tiptoe, I returned to that God with whom I was very arrabbiata.Sono started the first messages of love Umberto, to get to you, wonderful mothers, just as ANGELS MERAVIGLIOSI.Grazie you to all you, who do I meet with my puppy all giorni.A all, but just to all, a caress HEART !!!!!!!!!