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I want to express the good intentions for 2010.

- take action to bring to pass the horoscope by Rob Brezsny this year.
- not poison, meaning the word poison is physically and metaphorically. So think well, speak well, eat well, live well.
- Say yes to many more calls, requests, proposals and insights.
- I do not say win, but at least fight laziness depression. Consequently, make it home for good.
- Arrange to see more consistency with the people I love and with whom I am well, friends and closest friends, people I have not seen for some time and with whom I'd like to meet again.
- Reading, writing, studying, and yes, it also arithmetic.

OK, here they are, then I must go back a year to review and monitor what I was after. Now I'm going to try the lentils with the knuckle that I prepare for this evening, I already know I missed a step cooking, I hope that this does not invalidate the results, at least not too much.

For the reader, and indeed for all men and women in the world, very good 2010!

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Cosimo think Santa is a doll. She sees him and goes "Bamble. I told him, but no, there is a doll, is Santa Claus. Jason tells him he is Santa Claus. Cosimo, however, continues to call him "Bamble. He runs toward the pendant imitation colored glass that I picked up at Lidl (together with a snowman, a spruce in the gifts, a teddy bear that comes out of a sock, all plastic glass effect), and we hung on the window, and exclaimed with joy sliced \u200b\u200b"uhuh ... Bamble. In his view of the person of 19 months, at least it must seem bizarre to underline that our insistence on the object, if it is not a doll, is certainly a puppet, that it must be called Father Christmas.
I have not yet overcome my doubts on maternal choice between Santa and Christ Child. Yes, Baby Jesus is a religious symbol, but at least it is rooted in popular culture, and many elements in the story of his birth, understood as a grand narrative that is right, however, Cosimo I know, beautiful and moving. And how nice gesture to put out the door straw for the donkey? Santa Claus with his belly and her rosacea is pure marketing. I do not like very much.

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anxiety I get when I miss everything and everyone. From the first conscious thoughts on, perhaps even from birth onwards, and the unconscious nostalgia not recognize very well.
Just nostalgia for everyone and everything.

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of this sixteen year old girl very nice and very good, who died in the crash of a BMW driven by a friend while on vacation, I know because I have talked extensively about the local newspapers. Yesterday as I was leaving from work I passed a crowd of teenagers waiting for the celebration of the funeral in the church under the office. It was nearly five o'clock, the temperature around 35 degrees.
This morning I crossed the square in front of the church to go to conaddino of Pakistanis. The sidewalk was crowded with dozens of bricks Estate empty bottles of mineral water and Coca Cola empty, an empty can of Red Bull.
In March I spoke with the pastor of this parish, I asked (for professional reasons) if this was the phenomenon dell'accattonaggio. He replied that no, was not present, but an Albanian boy, always the same, she had known for years, "a very good family." "Eh, work is hard," he felt in need of Chios.

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Tipe beach, elegant, Aggressive or freak

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The important thing is not miss the surf.

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jumble the pieces of your costume at will, with an eye to the final effect.

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As circles in the water

C ome circles in the water the expand my thoughts in my mind and bring me back to a cherished past that helped me and help me push forward with joy and great hopes.
Perhaps, in his wisdom, my grandmother Valentina, had begun, not surprisingly, when I was a kid, my first sewing dresses with colorful fabrics that reported fantasies of tribes' Indian , led by Sitting Bull and Thunder Hawk. "Life must be 'conquered' whispered to me while putting on her old Singer sewing machine foot pedal, and as I listened to the sound of the spinning wheel that the belt, and set the points at the seams, I could almost hear the clatter of horses crossing the American prairies and threw war cries.

Cosi'gli American Indians came into my life and have had their triumph at the age when 'five-year anniversary of a carnival in Viareggio, I convinced my parents to buy me a dress Apache's full crown of feathers.
The fact 'that the crown, became legendary for me and for my family,' cause every day remained fair on my head.
The wore throughout the hot summer with a bathing suit while I was helping my grandmother to put the clean dishes in the cupboard, climbing with a chair, as my first achievement was its belief that of our old kitchen.
Then mangy feathers and began to lose their colorful colors for the delight of all, since 'in October of that year I started elementary school.

But, somewhere, embroidered on a green hill by lush vineyards that are interspersed along its flanks, where peace and serenity 'reigned supreme, a young teenager she was picking up the colors of those feathers. The echo of a distant Indian tom-tom drums, invisible waves, which turned cosi'rapidamente that he could not measure it, walked the bone shaking from head to toe. He , a quiet guy, rational and with feet firmly planted on the ground, I, a dreamer without the measurement of time and space, what he had to do, he, with the conquest of the prairies, the screams of Apache, and the rattle of the drums of war?.

Both were part of a world still invisible, and whether or not we believed that there was a real world. Beyond 'any meaning everything' that has to happen can not 'be avoided, and nothing' casual when it comes to love!

Cosi 'when a person tells me: "Come on, Laura, be piu'realistica!" I respond instinctively: "I'm realistic, I believe in miracles." We believe, and I really have the same expectation.

I was born amid the smell of bread and my husband between the bitter smell of the vats filled with freshly squeezed juice. Bread and wine, two very special as connubbio, do not you think?

My father was born in the village at the foot of the hill of the Pearl, where my father lived Almo, tenant of a wealthy local family. My husband had met my father through pastries, donuts and bread from the good taste home. Every morning, his mother gave him the few dollars that would be used to pay the bus ticket that took him to school, the Institute of Corporate Accounting. The ritual was that, at that time, my father used to get the s u truck with big and delicious bread and pasta at the grocery store in the country. Without a second thought times, entered the store and exchanged his ticket with a nice pasta stuffed with cream is still warm. The road that divided him from the school preferred to go on foot, so every morning an early start, the right one to meet my father and get to school on time, one step after another, enjoying the treat.

He would not ever find the opportunity to chat with the man who was watching in a hurry to enter the store to deliver the cakes and bread, the same trend that was found in the cupboard home from school and that would have filled with that juicy good sauce that his mother was Josephine.

Gia 'could be seen sneaking a smile on his face. That young man was a very reserved type, introverted, unlike mine, which I can communicate with the extaterrestri. There was never an 'opportunity to exchange a word, and I'm sure my father would have appreciated the compliment.

la'di Beyond all doubt there is a collaboration between events and facts in a way that involves fate. There are no accidents. And this is why he wanted our lives intersect through my sister Nicole, poiche'diventarono colleagues, in the same office bancario.Un days after discovering that unexpectedly had met the daughter of the baker had found a pretext to get invited to our house to greet my father, his favorite pastry.

Finally after so many years he had had the opportunity to reach out to the man of sallow complexion, with dark mustache that he expected to meet every morning before school, and not only brought those delicious pastries that lit up the sun in the middle of a morning rain, (and he had taken so much), but the view was pretty sweet and melancholy of a past that refused to die. It was a harmony of the set of characters, colors and flavors of his beloved past full of sacred values, lived on the hill of La Perla.
was taken by surprise as he climbed the stairs of my house moved to that visit. He seemed to hear a distant echo, some vibration similar to an Indian tom-toms. He had stopped at the second landing, pretending to get some 'breathing, straining my ear surprised, incredulous, trying to go unnoticed by my sister, who preceded him. Those drums, now advancing on the steps, shouting a song Apache. He had brought his hands to his forehead sweaty while the memory of his childhood resurface in his mind like a cork, making him suspect that something extraordinary was about to happen as he watched the door in a little while you would open.

next Post Title: I suppose I could fight without you, but thank God that I had to do it.

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Who is the Personal Shopper?

It 's a consultant for the purchases paid to do what would a friend or friend, or advise, but especially in a professional and impartial manner, saving time and money.

The personal shopper knows exactly where to buy it at the best prices, picks up all the new trends in fashion, reading magazines, studying the collections of the designers, is attentive to detail and of course loves to go shopping.

A personal shopper can accompany clients to stores, or buy items for themselves.

Customers are usually wealthy people, a career or who gravitate around the world of fashion and entertainment industry generally and with little time available.

In recent years, many people who rely on personal shopper.

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My blog is currently suspended. But it will resume.

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The Democratic Party led by Veltroni was a kind of black cloud of negativity, a blob of indecision, lack of line, slogan failed miserably. It seems to me that right after the one-two on his person and the party, the primary elections in Florence and Sardinia, resigned.
is not all the free fall of the left, there are still European to lose, or to be declared won by one percentage point gained.
But sooner or later it will retract.

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now make a film about the life of Moana Pozzi. Violante Placido interprets it, and it seems to me a choice, at least physically, very apt.
There's this cliché about Moana Pozzi it was a very clever woman. It 's a cliche that I can not explain, all the interviews and reviews of Moana Pozzi I have read or heard were platitudes rare. But this label very intelligent woman continues to be widespread, and no one denies, then maybe I lost some position, some observations, some intervention that Moana Pozzi not allow me to fully appreciate the caliber?
Somebody give me the references soon.
Bella was beautiful, I do not doubt it. The Transfiguration
fisicissima which makes Giuseppe Genna on Dies Irae is interesting.

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I read on Facebook, the status a friend, at least 10 minutes before it appeared in the newspapers online.
Eluana is dead.
The strong emotion I wonder takes me first.
he rest in peace.

The chatter full of envy and anger is already in full swing again, just after the minute of silence.

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This morning I was late to put the flush with the debate a bit 'chilling that developed Loredana Lipperini Blog about a comic book just published by the massacre of the Yellow Beak Circeo (I often find myself in disagreement with Lipperini on the issues of feminism, in this case I agree 100%). They then left the house at 8 am but one, and not to lose I had to run the train. I raced seriously in light souplesse as they said in school, and it was nice because now is the patron and there were no cars. Really. At 8, the streets around the Old City were almost deserted. I arrived at 8.12 (just time) to minimetrò, which today is one year. Only the minimetrò did not work, because on Sundays opens at 8.30. I did notice quite a portly lady of the Russian language, out loud when I asked why all the access gates were closed. "It 's a tragedy!" I exclaimed, thinking of the seminar in which I could not quite get behind the set for 10 to Foligno. The Russian lady, with a placid and good-natured smile that I would have embraced, he replied "No, not drama ...".
"But I miss the train, I felt to be specified, not to go for the girl to whom everything must go stale in the right direction.
"Oh. So call taxi," he suggested finally worried.
Because, despite my forced permanence, I feel New York soul, I have the number stored on the mobile radio taxi, so I called a taxi to the station. But not too much swearing I dropped 8 and € 50 per driver and I took my train, after you bought the Courier in Umbria.
Corriere Umbria I read the interview that being repulsive Spaccino had released time is a journalist and some that had been seized by investigators. E 'be a foul, regardless of how it will end this process, beat and humiliated his wife since the time of engagement, before the children while she was pregnant. But here's what he replied to one of the questions in this questionnaire that was sent to prison.
Think of Barbara [his wife killed her 8 months pregnant, in a crime of which he is the only accused]?
I think my wife ever. I say this because such a terrible thing that has happened just to us. I wonder why fate has reserved an injustice so great to us. The evening before falling asleep I'm always at the window watching the stars. I've noticed two: a larger and a smaller one and the same place every night. I think that is great and that little Barbara Elena [was the name they had decided to put the little girl about to be born]. I would like to abandon the sky to get back to me. "
other six questions, six answers to this effect. The aversion may have some degree, no? E 'this morning on the train who are obsessed with sentimental hypocrisy of these clowns.
The seminar started at 10 and three quarters. I wasted 8 euro and 50.

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God exists, God does not exist.
Oh, I care about something.

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In wonderful book I'm reading Yesterday for pages and pages I followed a six year old off the train to the extermination camp, to be launched to the gas chamber until his death. Then, to other pages and pages, the great physicist Strum, who had made a fundamental discovery while he was displaced, in pain and hardship of war, to realize that, as jew, the Soviet Academy of Sciences has decided to ostracized and set it aside in favor of Russian scientists. Without openly say it again, instead using official and acceptable as an excuse that his theory is imbued with Western ideas, a bit 'as the theory of relativity, and contradicts the Leninist theories of nature.
These days all we see the attack in Gaza. Have to stop the bombing and the start of serious negotiations, real, heavy, which is involved in the whole region, to arrive at two states. But I will not talk about it because I have nothing original to say, idiosyncratic and the chatter between factions and slogans that are followed these days I was sick. I say so sick, so to speak, to explain so colorful that I suck. Except on two occasions. On two occasions I felt a real sense of physical nausea, dizzy, inability to accept what I read. Emotional reactions completely, tears in his eyes.
on Facebook is the profile of a frieze, a fine not care, companionship. Do not know him personally but I heard a long, sympathetic, comes out, play ball, go to concerts, vote marked with the hammer and sickle. On December 28 he had this status on their profile (copy and paste): XXXX thinks that if he had finished mustache, in his time, his work of extermination, today we would have had far fewer problems in Palestine, Intifada until victory!
We were flabbergasted. None of its more than 200 contacts have written a line to question this little phrase. I found that the anti-Semitism on the left is problematized. Usually it is said that on the left there is only criticism of the Israeli government. It is not true at all, there is also the true anti-Semitism, rather than just say it in Ferrara or Teodori let's us too, and actively fighting them. On January 5
I read in the relaxation of Luca Sofri blog, which I like and I visit daily. There is a post about the shirts Brook Brothers. The Brook Brothers shirts are less interesting than I can conceive. So much so that he speaks for decades now, and I I search Google on any stronzatella I never bothered to even look at it in passing. As will be made ste Brook Brothers shirts? Boh. But I was there so I click the link to the blog of Christian Rock. Christian Rock is a paraculetto who writes on the sheet and has a blog. Unbearable. None of the things he says I'm interested in the slightest, but coast to scroll the previous posts, almost all on the U.S. or Israel, I read two lines of wit and borrowed aggression à la Ferrara, however, more forty cynical and ironic self-deprecating step further. But on this I stop. At first I even understand, and I think fleetingly "I do not say that a right as I begin to get Castle parallelism [idiot also] between Gaza and the Warsaw ghetto." But no, much worse. Are frozen. Our little genius is comparing a rich state, with one of the world's most powerful armies, supported by international public opinion and the sole power of the globe, from the very high standard of living, vibrant culture, excellent universities, with the Ghetto Warsaw. It can not be true. I think of the thousands of people who dug the trenches, they hid their weapons, have courage to die without fighting, without succumbing to violence and abuse, alone in the world. Then I think of Chris Rock, in front of his Apple computer, everything met the challenge, to add some more 'free to talk to the controversy never switched off if Hamas is like Hitler, or whether Israel is like Hitler, or Iran is like Hitler .
The Holocaust, the existence of Israel, the Palestinians' right to a state are subject to flashes of genius, boutades, lots of mirror reflection.
Everything is terrible.