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Il Post sotto l'Albero colpisce ancora

I the Sir annually sends his invitation. Bloggers of blandishments and threats collect under the Christmas tree. That is not going to see any tree. Instead of decorations, garlands and balls hung a lot of stories. This is mine. Here the PSlA of all those who participated.

October. Year of our Lord 1441

It was a week before the wedding of Bianca Maria Visconti and Sforza of the leader, in Cremona, where a clear and moonless night, breathless came from Rummy, slamming the door in the shop, his son Jack, who whispered with tears in his eyes: Dad Dad Grandpa died.

Rummy turned white. He started cursing, kicking the copper pot that was on fire, cursing the talented pastry chef Pierre and stepfather, who right now was to fail, that the god strafulminasse him and his entire brood. He stopped then puzzled, because he had forgotten in the fury that had seized, which was part of the breed we also her beloved Jack, who was, giustappunto, gazing with undisguised Supor innocent eyes. Jack was known to the much loved grandfather maternal, very reciprocated, for the sake of truth. Rummy sat down and thought of many solutions and implement changes that could be from there to 25 October, falling a week later and he would almost started to cry, certainly not for the pain, but for the frustrated and impotent rage. Because he now had to think to make the cake all by myself, without a recipe that was one that the father, damn, burn in hell, crazy drunk, could not write and he had said and said nothing during those long years had worked together. So the solution was remained a secret from generation to generation, and Rummy had not been able to take notes on notable numbers, for the old bastard hiding and boasted.

You had to think that the funeral would take place as soon as possible, soon to be joined in marriage the Leader Sforza and his young Duchess, which was said to be not beautiful, but highly educated. There was also the Duke Visconti, slippery and ambiguous man, who was here and there did extensive damage to the lands of Cremona. There were rumors that they had been given as dowry to the young Duchess, and then were going to be a member of the Leader Sforza, very intelligent man, and tempestuous mood but with a reputation for being skillful hunter females. Too bad it was said the Duke, just as well be talking about his young daughter, Bianca Maria, from the soul and precise iron, which many had hope for better times.

Rummy tried to console her es'avviarono Jack to the house of her father. There had been a small assembly raucous crowd. Rummy with his huge disappointment discovered that some of them expressed the same concerns on his cake, which was presented to the marriage. He arrived at a certain time, the parish priest Don Carlo. Quiet spoke to the congregation of onlookers, quiet minds and expenditures blessings and then sent home all but close relatives: Rummy and Jack. That women's family had left this vale of tears just given birth.

Don Carlo sat down and spoke: 's all ready?

Rummy sat down too, with an innocent, he replied: What? What you talking about?

Don Calo, but good man, that we should serve the cake at the wedding of Our Lady! It's all ready right?

It was there that he realized that rummy with his father Piero, damned burning in the flames of hell, he too would be burned in hell same. It remained etched in his mind until the day of his death, years later, the horrible feeling of discomfort that a honest man is not used to having ever: the inadequacy of lost.

Rummy was a bravomo. Do not swear, do not drink, did not hit no one. He loved his very holy Joseph, that the Lord had in glory, and had died of grief when she had passed away, because the puerperium infected, leaving Jack to grow, to which he had transferred all the love remained to. Man was highly respected throughout Cremona, because it was accurate and responsible. He was a man seriously forsanche boring, but devoted to his work and devoted to his Jack. And all that Cremona much esteemed him, knew that the only man on earth that Rummy had a great contempt and hatred was one and one only: the baker father Piero. Rummy went to shop for young madman, eccentric genius and master pastry chef named Peter, and boy was left, until they had asked him to marry the daughter Josephine. And if Piero first felt some respect and affection for the young, the same sentiments as trees fell under the fury of a hurricane squassante. The Cremonese not riusciron never understand the real reasons to the end of the auction that went over the years gradually increasing, leading to hatred and resentment. Nobody understood why Rummy did not even leave. Remain in all the insight that both the pastry Piero hated Rummy, with strength returned, so adored his grandson Jack. And that fact was extraordinary, this love for the little did the glue seemed to hate the two men.

Two days after the death of the pastry chef Piero, there was a funeral where you gave proper burial. Jack came to pass that function to burst into tears and great lamentation. All these people came to sympathize, stunned to see such a widespread pain be a 'yes baby. No one could stop him and had to drag him away by force. While the more you away, the more the cries of tortured Jack rose high. Rummy, subjugated, vainly attempted to remedy the pain of the child.

eventually did ritorno, mano nella mano, alla bottega. Giacomino si sedette per terra e rimase lì, stremato, con le lacrime che gli scendevano senza sosta. Ramino confidò nel fatto che per farlo straviare fosse d’obbligo tenerlo occupato e con dolcezza gli parlò.

Gli sussurrò: In questi giorni dovremmo lavorare molto, perché c’è il matrimonio della Duchessa, sai dicono che abbia molto studiato. Dicono che sappia leggere e scrivere, pensa!

Mentre gli parlava andò via via raccontando al bambino tutte le favole che aveva sentito dire sui Visconti, sulla loro vanità nonché crudeltà. Pian piano Giacomino si acquietò, do not cry anymore, remained with his eyes full of tears barely held, thinking the same hearing, almost concerned.

Rummy ended: Now you go to bed, tomorrow we must be prepared to talk with the merchant that must be followed by the almonds and sugar and you think to make a cake that brings honor to our city.

Jack looked between loving father and said, "Can I help you?

Rummy said with the rapid heart beat: Sure you can.

Jack nodded and he came up with the phrase: Can I make a great dessert as Torrazzo with nougat grandfather?

Rummy smiled sad: Oh great so you can not do! And the grandfather of nougat ... Piero broke off, feeling the ill-concealed hatred is not yet past, strengthened by the fact that they can not satisfy the hurt Jack, in a time of great need, he recovered depressed finishing the sentence: nougat grandfather Piero I do not know, well like him.

He was about to tell him that he had the dose, the patient and the hand of the genial master pastry chef Pierre, who could, for ever and seculorum to come, to burn in the fires of hell.

Jack, if he had read the thought of his father, and he had predicted the lack of knowledge of what to note, stared into the eyes of his father and Rummy came out: I had to keep secret, I had promised to his grandfather, who taught me the recipe. Now that there is a deep breath and pursed-lips-I can not keep the secret and the nougat we do together,

Rummy the ground beneath their feet was opened and how to get out at night and find yourself staring at the sun so as to be blinded. It was like when he saw for the first time the beloved Saint Joseph, whom the Lord had in glory. It was like when he saw for the first time the beloved little face Giacomino suo. Seppe con assoluta e religiosa certezza che il dolce sarebbe stato il più bel dolce di matrimonio dell’epoca sua, che sarebbe entrato nelle cronache delle corti di ogni dove. Sorrise beato e strinse a sé il suo amato Giacomino, liberato dall’angustia e dall’odio.

Il giorno dopo uscirono dalla bottega per acquistare tutti gli ingredienti. Prima passarono dalla chiesa e parlaron a lungo con Don Carlo, che diede loro parte dei denari, per iniziare l’impresa, a cui tutti cremonesi stavano dando vita.

Per tre notti e tre giorni Romino e Giacomino lavorarono concentrati e far uscire il dolce dal paiolo di rame. Mescolarono mieli different flavors. Slammed white of eggs in the pot of copper, so many that they formed a mountain of empty shells at the door. They made a big cloud in the sky as those who passed in Cremona, toasted pounds and pounds of almonds and keep stirring and then copying the drawings that Jack had done Torrazzo, began their work of sweet architecture. It took one day form the basis and then another to raise the structure. They put in the oven and the central part cuocettereo for a few hours at low temperature, making sure the wood for the oven were not too many. The outside was cooked longer and hotter fire. Jack said he had to be soft inside and crispy outside but a lot.

meanwhile had arrived on 25 October, and it was learned that the ceremony had been moved from the cathedral to the abbey of St. Sigismund, for the fears and delusions of safety they had caught the Leader, who mistrusted the troubled father. The dining halls had to be checked again and mercenaries and soldiers went back and forth. The crowd gathered to cheer the bridal couple who married and left satisfied by the church.

Rummy and Jack arrived with their sweet wrapped in white gauze, transported to the wagon, in galleys, and all the chefs are scrambling to take over and it was discovered that was not enough space on the tray. Dopo il primo momento di smarrimento e bestemmie e invocazioni, si trovò una soluzione. In quattro e quattrotto si costruì una tavolata con braccioli atti al trasporto e la si ricoprì di tessuti pregiati e petali di rosa. Si posò sopra il dolce e s’iniziò a spacchettarlo dalle bende e garze. Ramino e Giacomino erano assai fieri della loro opera, ma essendo d’animo umile e tranquillo, non avevano capito d’aver prodotto un immenso capolavoro. Ma se loro non lo capirono, tutti gli altri invece rimasero soggiogati da tanta bellezza bianca e possente. Un aroma paradisiaco di mandorle e miele avvolse tutti, e stettero silenziosi mentre ci giravano attorno, estasiati. Poi si ruppe l’incantesimo in cui erano caduti e alta esplose joy, burst into resounding shouts of joy. Embraced moved Rummy, ridicules happy with paternal pride he said: oh no no, do not do so, it was Jack who helped me and had the idea. To which Jack was caught in the general jubilation and was almost brought to triumph.

After several days of festivities and banquets, the wedding party was coming to an end when the cake arrived es'era. The Cremona took their sweet wrapped in a golden veil, the bride and groom. The Duchess, blonde and smiling, he was asked to remove the veil and appeared Torrazzo, making the same impression made in the kitchen. After a burst amazed ohhh endless applause. The Duchess, dressed in gold and jewels, velvet fabric by the vivid colors, the master asked who was so clever to build such a wonder.

She was led, almost dragged recalcitante Rummy, who leaned in and whispered a bow subjugated by so much precious wealth: Thank you, sir, thank you. Then he stopped and said thanks to stammer a clear voice in truth is my son who had the idea.

was brought before the leader and the Duchess Sforza, Jack who was very pretty, small and thin but not emaciated, learned from generations of master pastry chefs, including the best was the beloved grandfather. You could see the serene and peaceful posture was much loved child. Jack bowed, smiled kindly es'avvicinò without fear to the Duchess, handed her a piece of nougat, which he had taken from inside the building. The Duchess thanked him, took the cake and began eating it while in the room was a sudden silence fell. All the courtiers followed the scene fascinated and worried expression appeared on the face of Duke Visconti was imagining that you were poisoned. Perhaps it was real venom but the fact is that when the Duchess tasted the cake made by Jack and Rummy, including almonds and honey, the sweetness on her tongue s'impresse memories of the future and the crunchiness of the pain that would have passed.

savored the secret recipe of the brilliant and lost master pastry chef Pierre, who had met Jack, rebuilt and shaped by the skillful hand of rummy. He opened his eyes, looked at Jack, who returned the look quiet, with a veil of sadness from the loss, spoke to him. And Jack, beloved son of Rummy said.

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un anno fa

November 26, 2008 In memory of those with whom I worked and all the others.

That even in following this life, we can be in the kitchen, a peaceful, sweaty and satisfied, to cook as in the past. Without anyone to enter shooting.

Because I know for sure that you really liked the life there.

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Gli indiani a tavola

Teresa's grandmother always said 'in Rome, do as the Romans do' or 'many countries, so many customs'. I was little and fascinates me the sound of the word 'custom'. Is a word that still intrigues me a lot. It sounds exotic and strange, that the sound of 'rite', 'costume' and 'habit' does not have. There is the vision of tolerance, not so common, the adaptability and understanding of others' customs. Because it is intimately aware of the difficulty to understand and understand the different. It 's a small dictionary of survival of the traveler in the territories of others. You log on to the trip only if you are open minded. Paradoxically, this saying on the one hand imagine a human being open and sociable, the other is a notice to raise the threshold of attention, because out of their villages, a variety of absolute habits and customs. Because the bipedal sentient, you know, is very creative. Basically what is common to humans is primarily subsistence, then obtain food and eating. And while about how we pursue it food types s'assomigliano a bit 'all (hunting, fishing, agriculture, livestock), substantial differences arise when the food is handled and consumed. These two activities are confined to specific areas: the kitchen and the table. In the West, as well as in the East, the development of preparation and cooking has had a long road. The same goes for the consumption of food where the ritual of the lunch table in the way of food and equipment set up groups and social classes. If you have any sense of critical observation about how people eat, get to know very unclear as to their social background, without having to request information. From how to hold cutlery, how to lead food to the mouth, by chewing to sip drinks, intuits the human and social types. Crossing the threshold of the East, their critical thinking and observation evaporate because the subdivision is completely beyond anthropology, unless you are studying history and culture. There are lots of East and entering the premises where drink, the first thing that leaps to the eye is that there are no utensils, not least those known to us. It 's a bit like being which occurred in the sixteenth century. West (where the knife was the only real cutlery. The spoon has had mixed fortunes, while the fork is the dawn of the Renaissance). In the Far East is eaten with chopsticks, while in India using only the mano destra, perché la sinistra serve per lavarsi le parti intime. L'India, culla della civiltà indoeuropea, è rimasta fieramente attaccata alle proprie arcaiche usanze, quasi fosse in uno spazio atemporale.

Il cibo viene servito su una foglia di banana e la varietà dello stesso dipende dalla regione in cui uno si trova. Ovunque il terroir ha un enorme importanza, ma in India è fondamentale. Tutto è preparato in giornata, quello che rimane non viene mai riscaldato il giorno dopo. La mancanza di frigoriferi in un clima caldo umido impedisce la conservazione della rimanenza. L'acqua viene sempre fatta bollire, data la penuria di acquedotti. Le verdure sono generalmente stracotte e rare sono quelle servite crude. L'insalata indiana consists of tomato, cucumber and onion, cut into thick slices and served with green chili. All raw lettuce are viewed with extreme suspicion. The abundant use of spices is a common feature of warm climates. The spicy has a high disinfectant and helps ward off disease. It therefore includes the use and abuse of masala (curry and what we call truth is that in a plant) that is composed of five basic spices: turmeric, cinnamon, coriander, cumin and black pepper and the addition of other choice. Every bride before the dowry of his knowledge of masala recipe, which is passed on from generation to generation which has variations on variations.

It was said that Indians usually eat with your right hand. At the beginning and end of the meal hands are always washed. Then there is a precise manual to get food and take it to his mouth, without stain to and smeared. There is the concept of sitting at the table and eat together. There ie the concept of the table as we understand it. While we live the event starting from the table and the consequent consumption of food and then move to take the social relations where chatting, dancing and drinking in India is just the opposite. Before you drink, it entertains us through the conversation (the Indians are very friendly and chatty), then you dance and sing and just sits there and eventually wears out fast meal and you are greeted just finished eating. While you eat you do not talk, eat in silence. When the Indian is put under 'Western' is extremely difficult to eat and converse together. As if the two acts were going to the conflict. The Indian began to talk about long-winded without touching the food on the table, which cools inevitable.

The men sit on the floor on mats, or simply on the bare ground (farmers and craftsmen) are served and eat first. The women eat when they're hungry or with children, the children are fed separately. This in general. In particular: the Indians are immensely formal, enclosed in small groups, caste and subcaste, and each caste has its own special way d'assunzione e consumazione del cibo. I contadini hanno un loro modalità e maniera nel mangiare, gli artigiani un altro, i commercianti un altro ancora e così via. Nella stessa casta dei brahmini le differenze sono enormi. Non è solo la qualità che fa la differenza di casta, è soprattutto la quantità di pietanze e la varietà che determina il tessuto sociale e gli accorgimenti che dimostrano al ricchezza o la povertà della propria casta.

In questi ultimi due decenni si sta assistendo alla rivoluzione di usi e costumi dovuto all'influenza dell'Occidente. Nelle città l'introduzione del piatto, delle posate, della tavola e delle sedie, ha fatto sì che subitanenamente in due generazioni (a parte ovvio i ricchissimi, categoria che qui non si prende in esame) ci sia stata un'estrema evoluzione nella dimestichezza dell'uso delle posate, delle ceramiche e dei vetri.

Rimane la vastità dell'India rurale che continua tuttora a sedersi sulla stuoia in terra, a usare la mano per mangiare il riso e il dhal e l'incredibile varietà di verdure speziate, dove il metallo e la terracotta in cui servire il cibo sono i materiali predominanti. Lentamente (troppo lentamente) si sta cercando di risolvere il problema di una fame atavica. Esiste una enorme divergenza tra il il nord afflitto da una povertà disperata ed endemica e il ricco sud, dove la stessa ha un aspetto molto più dignitoso e sereno. Non è difficile capire che il cibo non ha ancora assunto valore implies that the abundance of pleasure. When you are all alone then you look for the best. Here is the basics: food is still just for sustenance. Mica to speak. Seriously.

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Cambiare non è trasformare

A little 'turn the tables, it maintains friendly conversation with customers, all the rich, smart and prepared, and think and draw much of what is being said. Everyone says there are big changes and you have to wait until the wave passes evil. It is said that evil should exist trivially that you understand the good, and better. It is said that the economy is cyclical and that the crisis needed to clean up the market. The crisis, he told me a rich man Indian is also to understand what is wrong inside. There are many things that are not in this system, and you have to put them all in place without too much damage. Change is not change. He told me the rich man in India, here we need to understand if you simply want to change or transform. So

chatting the other day on FF, I'm over that I saw Simon Le Bon ( has always been a fat ) who sang at the party Berly, with the latter turned the tables, dressed as Tony Manero (white jacket, black shirt, that Scarface is damned for aesthetic that has influenced and still influence all future generations of Mafia / tamarri Camorra, the nouveau riche. Want to put the class of the Godfather?).

At that moment I realized that followers of the 80 had survived and not fighting for anything with us. Indeed. Michael Jackson then I die. The same 80 end up in the tragedy of a star who represented a generation marked by the addition of dall'egomania and success of substances and money. A tireless man who underwent the transformation of himself, so as not to admit to having any of the diseases which probably felt horror. So as not to change anything about himself.

do not know if we can make a decalogue of the 80s and what have led to historical levels. Certainly for me, years that were depleted in an dramatic sense of politics. So much to agree, that to give birth to a party, he should do as opposed to Berly (and his vision of the '80s, but never finished dead seriously, at least not at home) is proving more and more complex operation. So complex that you do assemblies assemblies, to reinforce concepts that everyone said outpaced fault things that I assumed, to reaffirm the ideals that were believed to old but they are still relevant (and sometimes I get the feeling of being thrown in the middle years 70). But I think it is not yet time is not enough, you have become poorer, much poorer. Because if there are hopes of making reforms, and those reforms are never implemented, then it's time for a change. But so much. It 's true that the transformation starts from the subject. But change does not mean change. So when there is hope and not rely on the dream, you rely on tomorrow. When you are poor, there is no hope, there are valid reasons to delay the change. But I do not know if tomorrow is another day. I think they are all the same these days here. To say.

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say that the husband's opinion Lia because 'or Rattus to me has always been pretty crap.

remains that there is something I do not come back. I do not back that there was no talk of economic crisis, earthquakes, Mills.

All 'I'm much talk, gossip, state, and not trumpeting fuck made me think that the last case where you have stirred the conscience of the Italian ", was the case Englaro. There. The case is the same as Letizia Englaro case. Think about it: two young women with two totally different destinies. United only by the fact that they have fallen in spite of themselves on the pages of every newspaper, willy-nilly. And let us well if: their father was a socialist. Again, two cases are completely different. And yet ...

The dichotomy is that: eros & thanatos. Think about it long and hard. I think you have to stop talking about Letizia? as we stopped to talk about the case Englaro?

must continue to battle on the case Letizia. It 'important to understand how far we are from the concept of being civilized, to become beings of civic and political actors to move forward. We are light years away from democracy. We're still at the dawn of human thought. We are always there, on the same stage to recite again and again the same grotesque melodrama. With '0 Rattus that gasps and rolls. Like a rolling stone. To say.

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has 1 billion people, of which 72% of young and go to the polls. Get a party led by a young man who says he wants change, that wants to bring his country out of poverty, which should encourage schools, hospitals, roads, that we must work together against terrorism, against the caste system, against the religious factions, against all forms of intolerance, you have to work on it so much that we must fight corruption at all levels, and we must be united to do so. Going village to village to explain this political vision. In India. Full of hunger and caste.

Then take his family. A family that has in some ways the same fate as Kennedy. Always been in government, politics have always done. Where death stalks the side of power. The father died in an attack in Tamil Nadu at the hands of separatist Tamil Tigers. The grandmother was taken out of their Sikh bodyguards. A family that has made the Indian Constitution. Who fought for the unification and liberation of India. Who tasted the betrayal of family members: cousins \u200b\u200bare part of the opposition party, the intransigent Right nazionalinduista.

Then take the mother Sonia and his sister Priyanka. Two strong women and unwilling to compromise, but absolutely contradictory. The mother, who so disliked the policy, is found to lead India, without much meaning to. It is not clear if he does owe the memory of a famiglia o se ne subisce la leggenda. E non solo la madre,  la sorella Priyanka dice di non volere entrare in politica. Di fatto è l'intelligenza grigia, quella che gli scrive discorsi e pare gli detti le linee da seguire, molto amata e stimata, che tutti vorrebbero entrasse in politica, perché dicono questo è il suo karma: seguire le gesta della nonna Indira e del bisnonno Nerhu. Eppure se ne sta defilata, quasi fosse ancora in lutto per l'assassinio del padre, come se non volesse sentire il richiamo della storia della famiglia, come se volesse avere una vita normale di una persona normale. E' la sua intelligenza carismatica a non essere tanto normale.

Quest'uomo si chiama Rahul Gandhi. Ha 38 anni. Ha appena stravinto le elections, against all odds. Obama almost had another landslide, but without having anything in common. He says he wants to change his party, wants to rejuvenate, an India wants modern, wants an India first and not third world. We will succeed because it has 72% of the population has its age if not younger. Then go to power. Now he says he wants only to make the secretary of the Congress Party.

belong to India five years of stable government, maybe boring, but with a very clear vision of politics. 1 billion people. Quiet and calm succeed. Rahul Gandhi will lead the young man. Mica to speak. Seriously.

ps Here detailed analysis of the Indian elections.

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La solitudine dei primati porta numeri

good days were full, because if someone does not know, here you work and you do not fuck. It was rebuilt around the menu. The construction of a menu in India requires us to remember the vegetarians. And it is something normal in the West miss a chef thinks. It is possible that people do not abbotti of cured meat, meat and eggs. How do you live on vegetables? asks a shocked chef normal.

Now after two years I knew those two things and I split the menu into three categories: vegetarian, di carne e di pesce.

Ho la mania (vezzo?) di scrivere il menù mettendo l'articolo alle pietanze (tipo: Il filetto di manzo con la purea di patate agli agrumi) ed è un vezzo (mania?) che ho ereditato da Carla Sozzani (10CorsoComo a Milano, dove ho passato quasi tre anni della mia vita professionale). Devo dire che ha faticato molto a convincermi ma con il senno di poi penso avesse ragione. L'articolo dà un'identità al piatto, lo impreziosisce e gli conferisce importanza.

Dopo aver scritto il menù si va alla costruzione del piatto: cosa ci sta dentro, quanto e come.

Il cosa: le materie prime. Il quanto: la grammatura. Il come: l'estetica.

This seems so simple and easy. In truth is the work of preparation of raw materials research, the size, cooking, presentation building your own kitchen. Then you can also copy one thousand thousand recipes and menus, but ultimately not worth it, it costs you double trouble, because the dish that you've seen you can never reproduce it faithfully. Perhaps the colors and assemblers. Perhaps, but then there is the indisputable fact that every chef has his own taste and his well-defined palate. And if you want to copy, Where's My Car type that you see a photo taken on a restaurant in Italy and you're in another part of the world (eg egotic in India), you know that stuff you'll ever NOT to do. Because you can never find that cut of beef, or beef. You can never have that wonderful salad, in India you to forget the salad, we can make dreams on the salad. And 'here that takes the nostalgia of products unavailable, herbs and semi-unknown Give yourself the solitude of primate, which is exhausting looking at the horizon of the Desert of the Tartars. You want to convince yourself that indeed, the only thing you have is their loneliness, because you're always in the midst of the people / customers and live with the brigade (ie all components of the kitchen that cut and cooked for you and you're in steps and check that the dishes are as photos taken months earlier, alias standardization of the product). Would you like to say, and undo and redo and control and angry and curse and do it. And the alienation you feel, every time it gets to the customer table, you, primate smiling (obviously not with the fake smile that realize it but subitosubito hoisting the smile that you truly believe in it, if not, it makes little sense ) when you realize in a split second of the numbers that you had to do, so this dish is so beautiful, I said that strange, turns in a bang and again in solitude. A human being, that human is not long enough, you do not know how, because you've turned into a toy car producing very profescional. Especially guess that the dish there was not worth all the effort and enthusiasm that both disappear within 10 minutes. The rifarai thousand times, always the same, saying the same things, always pissed for the same reasons, but the food always disappears. This blinding awareness brings you subtly to give numbers, which are never the first, nor second. In fact they are no longer numbers are just food, millions of meals that disappear, eat, eaten, washed, criticized or appreciated.

was to say that I finished reading Solitude of Prime Numbers. indigestible?

E 'because before I had eaten Infinite Jest . That it is a flat built so well and so smooth that we can find in a single sentence in all the flavors of the world. To say.

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La Storia

Oggi PuzzoJoshua ha iniziato a camminare con le sue gambette.

Miriam Raffaella Bartolini (in arte Veronica Lario) ha chiesto il divorzio.

Pare il caso di affermare che oggi 3 maggio 2009 sia una giornata storica.

Milena Velba - Reading

Kato Shuichi

Conobbi Kato Sensei (ché io lo chiamavo Maestro e così per me è rimasto) nei miei primi anni universitari a Venezia ed era un essere piccolo, tenero e curiosissimo, che faceva domande su cose che allora ti sembravano buffe davvero. Type, because the chimneys of Venice had that aspect and because there were so constructed. He was curious about everything about you, about your life, why he believed in communism. What he had read, how much and when you ask for everything. And then he thought. In front of the Giudecca Zattere, sitting at the bar where I had taken to eating the gianduiotto walking (a Gianduja gelato with whipped cream, a very good stuff that you only ate there and liked him very much, so much so that it became then a sort of appointment before the gianduiotto afternoon to discuss the destinies of the world, and they did a thousand hypotheses about possible futures), it was I who asked him why he had become a Communist (or at least that which was then thought to be communist, a company does not want to split classes, nations, ethnic groups. These days it would be the correct definition of libertarian left). Rise relax and told me that when he was young he liked a lot to go alone to the movies. He was watching a movie when he joined a band of nationalist soldiers who had grabbed a young man sitting a few rows from him, took him, carried this out while screaming abunaiabunai (aiutoaiuto) and badly beaten. The screams had stopped in a few seconds. The spectators remained in the room had shrunk on the chairs and then he, with extraordinary recklessness of youth, had got up and walked out to see if abunaiabunai was still alive. A mass of blood lay on the ground and discovered that he was a dissident writer who became his friend. At the beginning of World War II, there in front of the body sbrandellato, Sensei clearly understood that he was Japanese and lived in a nationalist-imperialist regime. He was proud of being Japanese, but could not share anything of his personal convictions with a regime of violence, racism, imperialism and the lack of freedom was a fine show. He was a convinced pacifist and fought all his life so that others, Japanese and not understand that the wars with nothing advanced, pacifist and he remained until the end. When he graduated in Medicine becoming a hematologist, he went to Hiroshima to treat a range of diseases then unknown to science, due to radiation. He was so impressed and in awe of having a painful crisis of conscience, so much that he changed jobs, so that the world must know that war and human stupidity should not move forward. In the postwar years became one of the leading Japanese scholars, close friend of great writers and poets, himself a writer and poet. He knew a number of languages \u200b\u200band all spoke very well. He had an impressive culture of the West is that of the East, a huge well of knowledge. One

when young do not know when it is touched by history (that stuff with a capital S), therefore only with time I realized how important this man and what I have been fortunate to know him and have him as a dear friend, who advised, gave tips on the authors, said things were unthinkable in the days (like: author Mishima translated and adored by crowds of "Italian", Kato Sensei I said forget it, says not so good, we say that he writes in an almost epic rhetoric distilled, but writes a mountain of crap). His History of Japanese literature is the best popular book written about Japan since time immemorial and which nippologi arrays are formed. He stayed in Venice for a year as visiting professor and teach us WELL. He was the only teacher who taught me poetry. To say. And teachers do not find them around like that. Difficult. He said that Italy (which he and his girlfriend Midori had traveled far and wide) was an ancient nation, full of history, filled with sediments human, that there was less wild and natural place in the Bel Paese and yes that was a really nice country and that we Italians so refractory to patriotism in truth we were so disconcerting ONLY nationalists on the food. One feature that he had found overwhelming and unique. I did the Italians believed that the original confidence of political animals in a nutshell. In the sense that they had written in their DNA a sense of compromise and mediation dellla. I told him that in fact we extremely stable even though a government dancer. And we discussed how Italy and Japan in some respects are similar: a sense of the clan, family, food, the precarious fate of innate fatalism, the earthquake, the sublime irony and tragedy is imminent.
The last time we saw was again in Venice in the 90s. He had aged a lot, but always had the intellectual clarity and precision, its peculiar feature, so that we ended up talking about politics. We told him and we said of the latest films and books read, what would happen after the fall of the Berlin Wall. We talked about the end of communism. But we said that the best utopias never die. Evolve into another. Then yesterday on this site here I accidentally discovered that my Sensei died.

weep and mourn his profound culture of the past and future-oriented intelligence, his conscience and his other highly sensitive human capacity to love and be loved, because only now I understand how difficult it is to have good teachers and walk with history. And everything he taught me and thousands of others like me certainly his passage on this earth was not in vain: that we have cherished every day and learn how deeply he is right. Thanks

Sensei you can eat one thousand gianduiotti beyond your other one thousand lives.

ps I thank Giulio which I have been editing the post jam-packed with typos

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PuzzoJoshua sul terrazzo verde

PuzzoJoshua is becoming more sociable and smiling, the rest goes to sleep with the direction of the geckos and wakes up at dawn to the sound of the forest that stretches and starts to work. He knows when he wakes up he must be awake us that unless we wake up screaming angry that he has no patience to expect on an empty stomach. Auroville to the small family lives in a house on the second floor in the middle of the green trees that surrounding a large terrace green floor. The ground floor lives the owner of Indian family house with two very nice children: Ajith and Jagan. PuzzoJoshua loves it and is lovingly reciprocated, it is known that friendship knows no age. PuzzoJoshua seem to spend hours waiting for him and when he hears noises coming from below, rushed to greet the railing, leaning on wooden legs plump and start chatting in an ancient tongue speaks PuzzoJoshua because the mother of all languages, and all respond then in the same language is Esperanto child, it does not take unnecessary and misleading translations dictionaries. It 's a universal language and humans when they are corti la usano, poi crescono e se la scordano. PuzzoJoshua ha un udito finissima e appena sente la voce di Jagan il suo amichetto preferito, si precipita alla ringhiera felice e lo chiama cosicché i due fratelli salgono, lo prendono e se lo portano via. Oppure passano ore a chiacchierare con lui sopra e loro sotto facendo versi nella loro lingua comune e PuzzoJoshua ride tutto contento e loro pure. Ridono e ridono, innocenti come sanno essere solo le persone corte che si perdono a ripetersi per ore e a farsi facce e boccacce divertendosi un mondo. PuzzoJosua si mette la testa tra i paletti di legno e si tira su battendo eccitato i piedini e partono a parlarsi nella più antiche delle lingue, fatta di tantissime vocali e pochissime consonanti, raccontandosi a thousand stories. In the middle of the jungle these sounds seem like the verses of a language he does not know the blood, illness and death. It is perhaps the language of the time without smiling innocence and empathy among the living are promoters, well pleased and happy to assist cheerfulness and joyous spectacle of themselves smiling and complacent laughter of children.

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Zeitgeist 2

Because when you're in the kitchen, it's really light years away from the room, it happens that we would rely on the waiters and you realize that the long handle so unrealistic that happens in itself.

thought you were dead. Here also no. I have never killed and are still among us. And they do damage. And too many. So expect bursts Vesuvius. Then maybe they'll talk about how and where to rebuild without a curse.

that I signed the contract to stay here another year. Seriously. Mica to speak.

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Zeitgeist

I speak for myself because I realize how difficult and painful to me die just a plant. I have killed chickens, rabbits, lizards, not to mention frogs. I continue to kill mosquitoes, cockroaches, flies and for some reason I do not do out of spiders and scorpions, and I must say that I have a bit 'of regret by killing ants. The latter, however, I do not throw in the killings discomfort let alone in the cosmic guilt of the crime. I can not explain but the plants I'm a bit 'more harm, perhaps because I'm behind to care for and cost me effort. But the insect life and I care little who kill without guilt and without morbidity.

do not know if I would be able to pull the plug on my daughter if she ever were to happen that would remain subject to the machines for years. In-course. One thing so I tried to explain it to me from Indians who looked upset and worried: how to say something so here is inconceivable. Death is equal to life. It has its own inner meaning and grand. The machines are not allowed, science is pulled back, here there are not so much money. Perhaps

past 17 years I could do it. But I do not really know. Maybe I would do it because I could not stay for so long and so suspended in the desperate feeling of disintegration of hope. Maybe I would do it much earlier because everything has a cost and I could not keep up and inside. Maybe I speak for me.

So the whole story Englaro (but how many other similar cases in which nothing is known and all hypocritically silent?), His life (vegetable) made of awesome casino, said, screamed, and the overt and death here and now, I do not just have the memory of what I've read on various blogs and seen on iutiubb. As the silence salt but I would like to talk about it now.

A spiegarla bene ci sarebbe da farci un trattato. So di per certo che di trattati sull'argomento ne sono stati scritti. Ci sono dei tempi o il tempo che ti attraversa e tu non riesci neanche a vederne la forma per non parlare dei contenuti. E' il tempo materiale diverso dal tempo spirituale e sta di fatto che esistono zone estreme tra i tempi e in quelle zone lì difficile che entri: la pazzia, la malattia grave, la morte sospesa, il nulla. Di questi temi è inutile parlarne. Bisogna starci dentro e un'idea sussurrante di certo salta fuori.

Ma sul testamento biologico ho un'idea mia, precisa. Non so se sia l'idea della maggioranza e manco mi frega un cazzo della maggioranza, si sta parlando di una cosa così intima e privata che è la my death, that the world has no right to enter into that room there. Last but not least the State and the Law. And since we are only talking of my intimacy with great sincerity, we can understand if others out of me or not have the sense of my death and the meaning I give to my life. If you have to have respect for my living will or not. Then there is the law that I did not get to stay suspended in the void while barking out the newsboys. So I want to have a hundred thousand cases Englaro. For

not get to listen to the end the extreme banality and superficiality that comes the bad. To not see the morbid media shake their schedules because no one knows Fucking really dark area. (Although a little 'we saw in the camps. But you know: we always manage to overcome).

reasons that I want a cool head. I want them to find possible solutions respectful of his will or not wanting in meeting his end. In a dignified manner or not. But everyone should be allowed the choice of respect themselves and others. I want my living will has a valid legal value, and then the law would make sense, true and accurate, and I would support because I proteggerrebbe. That 's what to do my state, I must stay near the more helpless when giving help to my family who will surely need.

If you happen to pass a different law and other, away from all this, I'm forced into exile, that this state does not represent me, does not help me so absolutist and represses the decisions of my inner life.

Here the sublime clarity of romance and here Veronesi's speech to the summary of your days chattering.

And again, on the whole tragedy of a party that is dying as if it were another metaphor of darkness that Zeitgeist is coming down on my land, my duty is to write . You have to have a duty to think about what we are doing and where we want to go in the future. If we want to be on the bench waiting for the next train that will never know if, perhaps because they also sopressata and nobody has notified, or if we take our bags, undo and belittling to rimmetterci the road again. To do us harm we are trying for too long. It's about time we wanted a minimum of good. It's about time to put us there and make a nice program with a few points (I am just five, a year is fine) but they are leaps forward and back 10. Programs with real priorities. Just crap. With a charismatic leader because true enough great leader.

Q ui there is a good and valid opinion to be supported.

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Il futuro

flustered and has run trial was put into laughter that almost did not believe that even he was there to swear, but then, however, has made a good speech. We hope that the hope we know it never hurts. Mica we are to deceive. To say.

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Rientrare non è mai ritornare

I arrived it was all white, silent and cold as he went to Milan Malpensa from the landscape was so hushed, dreamlike, and cold ice cream that I have congealed into a complete dislocation. What is not solved in the days ahead indeed has become a sort of hole in space and time. Where the night I was awake and felt the fierce and messy and India rarefied day I saw pictures in black and white in a world of decadence. And fortunately I was surrounded by loving girlfriends and boyfriends affectionate (in addition to the family were the only reasons that are not on the first plane lifts subitosubito Caracalla on the slopes at the start). I kept looking around with prudent behavior, which does not recognize anything and I was increasingly falling into oblivion sad. Apart from that I was hot, the cold frozen neurons me for a long time, the only impression was that Italy is a country for old men. One afternoon I climbed on to Milan move 90 it seemed that he was carrying around all Villa Anni Azzurri. There was a child. Maybe I'm wrong bus I said to myself e li ho guardati bene e sembravano soli, incazzati e ammalati. E volevo dirci ma insomma avete tutto, avete l'acqua potabile, addirittura l'acqua calda, avete chi vi viene a prendere le immondizie, le strade non sono pulitissime ma va bene, avete un medico e anche una pensione (forse anche no, ma se state sull'autobus alle 4 ce l'avrete pure una cazzo di pensione giusto? fate un giro panoramico della città a sbafo?), avete la lavatrice, il frigo, la tv, la macchina eppure state soli e incazzati. Ma perché? Ma venite in India e poi me la raccontate.

Ripeto: non c'era un bambino. Ora capisco che faceva freddo e i bambini devono stare chiusi in casa altrimenti prendono freddo e si ammalano, ma sembrava di veder il prossimo and not too distant future. What comes now, indeed it is already. The few children were not seen around smiling. The smiling and telling you these were very serious look at you with eyes: What the fuck do you smile? People already old in court. Sad.

The best part of living abroad and do not understand the language (not English we put the Tamil or Hindi, Chinese or Japanese) is that you lose fortunately the cars of crap that the various non-bipeds sentient produce. We live in short speeches priority of a few non-sense and a lot of insights about humanity in general and not specifically. When you return home (and return to listen to the sounds so familiar mother tongue), we sipped a myriad of crap that you are no longer used and are all feeling for emptiness and inconsistency. A waste of countless neurons in an attempt not to listen and move on as if nothing was happening and it happens. It happens that they feel miserable, and far above all other. But not many special in the sense of artistic genius or just different and different abnormal. At times we've been hurt.

I kept hearing for years that the quality of life in Italy is high, but coming from outside I do not know and I have not seen all this high quality of life. Now they say that those who go around in helicopters with blades of gold there is. And 'that the soniamo there and sing with us. Then we go out and find another world. In cancer of daily living m'è people seemed a prisoner of their homes, wrapped in beautiful rooms, tortured by the loan, stoned by the orgy of fattanza brick and consumed by the paranoia of thieves (but I could say as India, where the windows bring the bars a prison tough stuff). Maybe then you go to see applies to all countries around the world need to have a real home, stay inside, do the sedentary. But it is a sad vision of the future, without flashes of joy, and sad in the final analysis where the material has become the only unit of measurement to describe even the inside. And I wondered if there is a inside. Mica I'm not talking about being more or less superficial. I'm just talking about real priorities, unique and decisive. And I'm not pulling out of the discussion of values. Mind you. Only one and no longer have a being and that being there if he is tired and fatigued, sometimes even bored. I have no opinion on how to trace the energy of a people, and to see that there are other future, other worlds, other consciousnesses. My name is not Baraccaobama. I have not got an answer to everything I've seen and sometimes only hinted at, but I came back the cheerful smell of Chennai. But before I went to the Culinary Rinascente the seventh floor and left me upset because it took an attack of claustrophobia. There was too much stuff, all it cost dear, ridiculous prices or even outrageous, and there were too many restaurants shrunken to say nothing of the tables that were glued on each other and you could eat with his elbow in the course of the next . All packed and crowded. But I write a post better and longer on the seventh floor of the Renaissance.

I am told the crisis center in Milan, but there is and about who is in the center. Indeed immediately close the story here: the Italians have double billed. Those declared and those in black. Then there is the outskirts of Milan and the poor see them and hear them.

I've been away two weeks, but it's like never to be playing and then when I set foot in the house Chennai I thought I was well away from home and maybe now I understand that it has never come back to do it and that it takes more effort. But one thing I have understood well: I know my roots and be with my friends and my family. That in the worst analysis was the best discovery made in my last 10 years. Mica to speak. Seriously.