Episodes Of Left Upper Quadrant Pain Pain

(Almost) Our first 1,000 fans

The day started very well, everything was clear except for the summit, but it is normal, 1,107 meters is no small feat. Is serious.

Everything was going well until we got to base camp number 2. We were well equipped, we had food for two days and, what is best, a part of this meal, we will never be left without calories, because that was filled with examples of women who go to Mercadona and deviate. I always liked the old goosebumps.

From base camp 2 all changed. We started spinning senseless, to find the right path. Any member of the team composed of a whopping amount of 2 climbers without experience, he lost one of its limbs and legend, who was also about to lose his penis. Today still looking, he excuses himself by saying it's because of the cold.

was not as hard as I was lost, and that is, as you will see, we also ran out of hard drives. We had to stop recording for fear that, when we submit any unidentified flying object, not tuviéramo s evidence to lead to the fourth millennium.

After more than 50 minutes by following the slope of the Mola (Sant Llorenç de Munt), we reached the top, and stayed locked. Well, we really missed 2 meters to reach the summit, a step, but could pose dire consequences of trying. The snow had become lost in the ice and, when you looked at the sides, only see clouds. Any misstep could cause a major loss, and also the human. We

circling the mountain to find a shelter to give us heat, and all was lost and the only solution was to spend the night there, when suddenly, they heard voices. Yes! It was them! They had come to rescue us. We do not know where we were and they did not know how to get out. Meanwhile, joked that it was all a big props to rob, kidnap and request a ransom for us.

the end we had to give them grief, because we were taught the way back. But night came and there was still a long way to go down the 1,107 feet of rock. Yes, you hear the end of the video are s cry of distress of a rescue team member.

Best of all was when we said: "It took 1h 45 minutes to climb, you on your way, you have taken?. I replied: 45 minutes, but actually she wanted to answer: ah, but there's way? "

Lg Chocolate Touch Light Sensor

the other side: When you get tired of looking

Sunday, January 23
WOULD HAVE LOVED

No one is happy with his lot. Even I, who am a man more conformist in the world. If one day write the history of all that I wanted to be (all my "exfuturos" Unamuno would say) would be a curious book.
would have liked to be a mathematician, not to deal with vague words and sticky feeling, but with clean abstractions. Would have liked be homeless, not being anchored to a place and a job, let me go from one place to another, where the wind takes me.
would have liked too, but this was never confess to anyone what-not practicing errabundia heart grow old with someone who is not perfect (because even I am), but he loves me and supports me when everything seems to collapse, as now, about me.



Monday, January 24 Villa Belza


In dreams I am still what I'll never be, and occasionally I like to play in realizing one of my fantasies. Last night I dreamed Villa Belza, Villa Negra, high house mysterious that rises over the Atlantic. Had not thought of her for maybe thirty years. Would be the scene of my first novel because I, like everyone else, I also wanted to be a novelist, that they now hate both. In that village that night of storm seems about to sink occurred sumptuous ritual masquerades and claims back in the twenties, in that village, which was owned by a relative of Stravinsky, a persistent malcasada, Wallis Simpson, grabbed the nose (not to mention other appendages) at a regional crackpot and made him dance to the sound since she played. There was a Russian cabaret and restaurant, Le Château Basque, and some Nazi leader chose it for its grizzly ritual.
All that I know of Villa Belza told me an old drunk who used to frequent the library Aviles, back in the seventies, and who ended up not letting him go because they engaged in disturbing the students. He said he had been a waiter at Le Château Basque. Somewhere still must walk the notes I took of her unborn slurred speeches for my novel.
I dreamed I had often dreamed that came to the door of Villa Belza, called and called and no one came to open up. I woke up, got in the bag the four essential things, and went after her, to see if the reality was luckier than in dreams.



Tuesday, January 25
PAGES OF A BOOK

Cities that live mostly in the summer have a special charm in winter. I look out the window and see the lighthouse that separates the rocky coast of the Basque Country Landes sandy, I see the empty beach, the melancholy that goes in and out at the casino, wandering the streets, he stops to contemplate the horizon Place in Bellevie ... He first came to Biarritz, but not going for the first time: I was here in the pages to me more real-life "of such novelty finisecular idle.


road at random and giving names to places I had never seen, but which are familiar to me. Yes, this spectacular palace, surrounded by gardens, is Villa Eugenia, where they will see the Empress. Nearby are the domes of the Orthodox Church: in 1909 she attended the wedding Baroja his friend Paul Schmitz, his teacher in Nietzsche and the anarchist way of perfection. Right next to the hotel I have the old casino, with its sumptuous end of the century, which seems to be looking over his shoulder to present on the beach, stripped art deco. As crushed under the weight of the neo-Byzantine cathedral mole is the Port des Pêcheurs, which seems about to be buried by the waves.
Nightfall in the deserted streets. Following the Port Vieux beach, a violent corner I left in what seems like a stretch of road on the edge of the water. I've noticed in passing, but then I turn and there it is, perched on itself, Villa Belza.
whole time melancholy suddenly collapses on me. What Am I Doing? I do not know. I do not know what I came for, I do not know what my place in the world. I wish I could take refuge in the pages of a book and never leave them.
In the hotel room, close the curtains to see the light that makes me insistent winks, which seems to tell me something that I fail to understand and open a book: "The fog has advanced over the sea crossing miles and miles, passing over the Bidasoa, between the rock Rhune and Aya, and stops at the beech Velate port. Play in the canyons denuded by winter, clinging to the huge peaks and dips in the sea of \u200b\u200bmist oak birthplace Basque rights and sacred mistletoe. Caress with their blue veils the serene night, and lovingly tended on the River. When the sun rises, it begins to break down slowly in the bright air of the morning. "



Wednesday, January 26
OF RIVERS AND SHELTERS

Sitting Theatre in the cafe, facing the spur at the junction L'Adour and the Nive, the two rivers of Bayonne, memory, or reinvented, the nuptial that Baron gave them: "The Adour, river Gascon is Growler, petulant, moody , bilious color and air of menace, the Nive is quiet, humble collection, not dominate anyone and start where you give way. The Adour from the fields where progress is born boy wearing a cynical drifter, wandering the muddy wave and unhealthy for people rioters dialects are spoken, the Nive is small lush hills covered with grass, and jump on the rocks, hiding quietly and modest in the hills ... "


Close to my right, I have the Rue Port Neuf, with its arcades, bakeries, antique shops and in the background, the towers of the cathedral, lit like an old picture. A Baroja, who knew the late nineteenth century, it seemed that when seen again in the murky spring of 1940, I had lost all its character. But still the most beautiful of the city from another time.
If Biarritz abused me with his melancholy, here I feel pampered and wrapped. In the Grand Bayonne, to my right, I found refuge. Opposite the cathedral, a small garden square where they await the spring Japanese azaleas, camellias, hydrangeas and a huge magnolia tree; right, following concrete and glass, another garden: the public library. I walk in, walk among the shelves, open a book at random: "Kneeling on the ground like an arrow that vibrates, retain the sweetness of the world in their hands." I look at the name of the author, Jean Sulivan.


Also at the Petit Bayonne, just across the river Nive, I found refuge. Is in the court of New Castle, seems an odd log cabin covered with snow: the University library.


I'm not made to live outdoors. I am no one without a book in their hands. The world-as large or small Bayonne, is for me an inexhaustible library illustrated.


Thursday, January 27 THAT NIGHT


Pierre Loti, after a thousand and one exotic voyages, took refuge in Hendaye. From his home, bathed by the Bidasoa, English land was almost within reach. A day at the window was surprised an unexpected turmoil in the churches and convents of Hondarribia, whose bells ring and play with the ringing of the great festivals. Then a large red and yellow flag is raised quickly at the top of gloomy castle, shining on the dark mountains. And the river is full of French boats are scrambling to get to the opposite bank. "What is it? "he asks. "She's the queen, the queen of Spain, who comes from San Sebastian."


do not know why I remember that now, when I climb through the dark streets of the old town of Hondarribia. The castle of Charles V, with its black walls with little windows, looks more like prison castle. I have no memory any of my verses, but then I remember verses of thirty years ago, "Solo, and shame of being alone, / the night in Hondarribia, / when someone went and took with him / everything that made the / life worth living. "
had not returned to this city since then, but I have not afraid of that ghost. Something I learned: I have no shame to be alone and I know that there are things nobody can take away. And many-smile-I can not tell.


Friday, January 28 PASS


What I bring to San Juan de Luz? The memory of Unamuno, who here expected the fall of Primo de Rivera as pamphlets flooded Spain's aggressive against that Mardi Gras and King felon, some quiet and good natured streets with overhanging eaves, walls whitewashed beams that crisscross green and red, large trees beyond the walls of a garden overlooking the sea surf blue or brown Pyrenees a leisurely coffee in the Place Louis XIV, the Venetian palace of the Infanta, which looks down upon the old lighters swaying in the dark water, peace and quiet between white walls, a pebbled floor, the tower Cubist Andre Pavlovsky who wave at the entrance of Port ...



Saturday, January 29 ANOTHER NIGHT


could not sleep, as so often happens to me, and went for a walk. The night was dreary, cold wind blew, there was a soul in the street. When next thing I knew, I was in front of Villa Belza. There were many rings: the luxurious mansion, with its ghosts witches and kings, after years of ruin, was now an apartment building. Not for me to call anyone, heard a click and the front gate opened. I looked for the switch, did not find it, I started up the dark stairs ... At the end of a corridor, a sliver of light.
from the bed, could see the sky full of stars and white image of the Virgin Mary on a rock that broke the sea, illuminated by the moon.
When you get tired of looking, gives the name of what he wanted to what was found.

Headaches From Brazillian Blow

Jonas Brothers and Justin Bieber faced by the initials JB on Twitter

http://www.netjoven.pe/noticias/54557/Fans-de-Jonas-Brothers-y-Justin-Bieber-enfrentadas-en -Twitter-for-initial-JB.html

Old Ladies With Girdles

the demagoguery and bad memory of Mr. Cayuela

The last letter we have read Mr. Cayuela on the increase of IBI never ceases to amaze. It provides its views, we believe that in a less grounded, leaving aside the real question is to explain to the public: Why property tax increases in Cerdanyola? By now it should be clear for all the world the reason but it never hurts to insist on the inaccuracies to improve public information.

As a preliminary matter, the IBI's worth saying that what goes up, because in 2006 the government approved an update Backpack has resulted in the current increase, the only thing you can blame the current government is not increasing and have reduced pre and consequence of past decisions.

But we need to answer the question raised four arguments:

ONE. The primary responsibility for the precarious economic situation of the City Council are Mr. Cayuela and Mr. Morral after 7 years of bad and incompetent economic management.

DOS. Mr. Cayuela has been the direct political responsibility in the period 2003-2009 the municipal staff increase by 20%, that they did staff costs by 56%, current expenditures by 71% and for finish, that will be spent to pay 750 000 € / year in interest on debt to 1.8 billion euros.

THREE . Mr. Morral and Mr. Cayuela have led the City Council Cerdanyola a debt of more than 50 million euros. Borrowing short and long term supplier to December 31, 2009. Ojo! Do not criticize the debt, consider it a tool that municipalities have to deal with different contexts and investment, however, it becomes a real problem when you enter less than what you spend and that is precisely what happened in this council. This phenomenon has a name: mismanagement.

FOUR. It is somewhat disappointing that some based their entire campaign strategy that property tax will be charged before the election, getting so pissed off citizens pay their taxes, opts for policy options that currently do not govern. We sincerely believe that you do not mind the tax increase, what worries them is that they will not get electoral performance.

Go back to the original question. Why property tax increases?, And we sum up the answer: Why do you, who ruled the local economy during these years, it became so bad that left no other option. Does anyone believe that any politician can, just in an election year, raises taxes for pleasure?

Before his economic mismanagement, the PSC-CiU government has reduced staff costs, positions of trust, has implemented a rigorous control of the budget and approved a feasibility plan that allows us to look the future with optimism. Moreover, tall tales.

(JSC Cerdanyola del Vallès)

Images Of Ring Worm On Black People

Across: Likelihood and impertinence

Saturday, January 15
STRANGERS ON A TRAIN

never be a good film critic. My friend Joseph Havel (which itself is a good critic) always tells me I look at the less important. I go to see The Tourist knowing it is not much, but quite the opposite, but set in Venice and I never get tired of returning to Venice.
The argument sounds like one of those novelties with which I fall asleep on the nights of insomnia. As a child, I slept with a story, and I still do, but now I tell stories to me. A tourist traveling alone by train to Venice, being entertained by a book, a mystery novel, and when his eyes upward next to a woman he smiles. Everything changes from that time. Also in my fantasies just in the Hotel Danieli, but opening the window do not see the Rialto bridge, as in the film, but the beautiful silhouette of San Giorgio Maggiore, and in reality. In my fantasies care verisimilitude. There is a fact that breaks the routine, a wonderful meeting, from there, everything has to be thoroughly believable. The writers of The Tourist think otherwise. So my identification with the protagonist (is, like me, an obscure professor, and if you get nervous speaking, like me, in Portuguese when you speak Italian) quickly broken. I entertain myself recognizing places: Camp Renaissance columns of San Francesco Vigna for example, where the crooked cop trying to deliver Frank to the mafia. And I enjoy watching the absurd licenses I have already spoken of changing the Danieli, also prefer that the airport is not far away and place it in front of Piazza San Marco.


I'm a fan of verisimilitude, but the reality does not tend to me plausible. I also like Johnny Depp had a surprising encounter once I went by train to Venice. Who boarded the train at an intermediate station (I can not remember which one) and sat in front of me, although there were many empty seats, it was not Angelina Jolie, but a monk in white robes and bare feet. On Baggage carrying a plastic bag, such as those given in the supermarkets. It took an apple, and after cleaning with sleeve and offer me (I declined, of course), began to devour it with great bites. Several times he tried to make conversation, first in English then in French, and finally a vague English with a Mexican accent. "Do you already have accommodation in Venice? He asked. The hotels are very expensive. I know a house where you can stay for free. " I had already booked hotel and although the reserve set aside, should pay the first night, I did not care. I'm one of those people whose lives and nothing ever happens, however, spend their lives telling their life, so I could not miss such an occasion. I had my doubts before arriving at Santa Lucia station. Was this a real monk monk? Looked like a tramp, with dirty feet (and I was going barefoot), but instead the habit was pretty neat, and a shaggy beard that long ago I did not know scissors or comb. The eyes, however, blue, laughing, inspired confidence. The calculated age would not know: the same could be forty years sixty. I was walking briskly, to a place near Santa Maria Formosa. It was an ivy-covered mansion, surrounded by a narrow channel that seemed more like a moat (no sidewalk on one side or the other), a narrow footbridge left us at the front door, which opened without the need for flares, as if we were waiting and come see us. "What do you do?" He asked as we walked. "I teach literature," he said. And he: "I do miracles, heal people." I looked into his face, surprised, but was very serious, not joking.
that I spent a week in residence. I do not think that I never dare to tell what I saw and lived there. It's too implausible. But her brother Jonathan, who was from New York, smoked dope and had met Allen Ginsberg, truly worked miracles. I can vouch for that.



Sunday, January 16 RHAPSODY


"All existence is decoded in dreams." I open at random the last book of Pere Gimferrer, Rhapsody , ready to throw a few laughs, as we have lately grown accustomed to his neo-modernist verbiage ripiosa, and I find a remnant of the former greatness. The poems (or fragments of a single poem) start well, but not long in headlong. "It is likely to be stripped of half my life," read the first verse. And in the second "as the feed of dawn collapses in the Willows "(or" the sword of the day slip on the hill ", I smile: anything goes). On the back cover and preface urges us that the entire book was written in six days. Do not hesitate: it shows. Arbitrariness has its seat in some verses in which, from time to time, the poet who was looming. I like especially the variation of Cernuda's poem: "Thanks to demos and Dante Góngora, / demos through the verse and its tolling: / in the hourglass and ever / every word is our redemption."
I close the slim volume and decide not to write about it. A writer worth at best he has done. And I know by heart any Gimferrer's poems that dazzled me when I was twenty and it's the gift to say with truth beauty. "
But this battered Rhapsody talk about me: It has to be stripped half my life and dreams help me figure out who I am.



Monday, January 17 FRANKLIN STREET


a friend gave me The New York of Woody Allen movies and I take this opportunity to give me a tour of the places I was happy. My memory stops especially at a subway entrance is at the intersection of Broadway and Franklin. It has a wrought iron structure that distinguishes it. There at midnight, a mediocre writer, disgusted with his life, tells Winona Ryder and loved before meeting already in your dreams long before appearing in your life.


smiled when I see first Celebrity , reached the scene. There, in the same place, I was about to commit such foolishness, but my shyness kept me from making a fool, but do not be so bad again. After all I am accustomed. Came down from heaven to earth when I asked for money. It is not the first time that happens to me. I Ready for life and then I behave like the naive suckers Mihura Miguel theater.



Tuesday, January 18
THE BEST PUBLIC

already has become a pleasant habit dinner with my friend Rosa Navarro Durán as it passes through Asturias on one of his regular tours. Before her, coming out of her English class, I find Ernesto, one of his fans, which gives me a message for her: "Tell him to come and talk to the kids at school of the Immaculate Conception." Ernesto still almost can not read, but you know by heart the story of Ulysses and the Cyclops, not like Homer's account, but as the account Rosa.
"Children are most grateful to the public and more demanding. This morning one raised his hand and asked if it was easy or difficult to write a dictionary. I do not know, I have not written any, I answered. He politely said nothing, but while I was signing books, he left class, went to the library and returned with a school dictionary that I had written the foreword and that I had forgotten. Excuse me, I said, this puts Rosa Navarro Durán and professor at the University of Barcelona. There may be another. "
I am like that child, but less friendly. I remember once, tired of listening to José Agustín Goytisolo said that he had never been a social poet, and had never used in his verse the word Spain, I to a reading anthology with José Luis Cano The theme of Spain in the English poetry and I turned to ask the question. Replied that always answered, and then I opened the book and read his poems of social and unequivocally tone in which it appeared that the word of the swearing. Said: "These poems have corrected." And yes, he had changed the word "Spain" with "country." I felt no remorse for letting public ridicule. I was not as polite as the ten year old boy who asked Rosa for his dictionary, one of those collaborations that venal or saved memory.


Wednesday, January 19

NO COMMENT "Have you seen the letter to the editor about snuff published today by Francisco Rico?" I asked a friend. "It seems there has been consistent with the resounding slap that gave him the reader's advocate."
---- No, I have not seen, nor do I talk about it anymore. Since I got bored.
---- Well, you should. I had read many times in newspapers Trapiello that Rico was silly, and always thought it was a vengeful evil. Now I see that you can be (have been, rather) a great scholar and reasoning as a resentful shower. Start saying reactions to his article "are almost all inquisitions clumsy in his private life." And if you refer to their smoking status is inquiring into his private life, it is surely right. But he neglects to add that it was he who began by stating that his life had smoked a cigarette. Nobody, he said, responding to his assertion that "not a few of the arguments against the snuff lack scientific rigor." In fact, he continues, there is little literature. And when you expect him to say "about the negative effects of snuff" is that the literature is scant regard to "the effects of legislation on the health of nonsmokers." He cites the work of British Academy Review which show that the more snuff is prohibited in places of entertainment, more grown nicotine levels in nonsmokers, "especially in children, which are major affected in the short and long term. " The reason? "The ban in bars and restaurants make snuff consumption moves to private places": So if I understand correctly, no doubt Rico and the negative effects of snuff for the health of smokers and nonsmokers (although the little literature that says there is about it), but does not believe that current legislation benefits of passive smoking because smokers pissed going to smoke in their homes, twice, regardless of the health of their children. His poor wife and their children, if any. I would not want to be in place
---- not engage, I will not talk about it anymore. Let Rico, sounded like a boxer (he is a professor at the former, the gallows and knife, and used to the whole world would thank him and hold him impertinence), continue punching the air until crash on the canvas.

Loss Of A Mother Sympathy Quotes

The Government Launches Off 'case Millet '

http://www.elperiodico.com/es/noticias/politica/20110120/govern-pone -marcha-desactivacion-del-caso-millet/671469.shtml

Where Are The Gay Cruising Spots?

Dóna'ns idea per la teva millor the barris nostres! Bridge

PSC Cerdanyola initiate an open and participatory campaign that aims to collect ideas and suggestions of all citizens to improve the neighborhoods of our city.

This campaign, which began last Saturday in the 15th district Canaletes involve the establishment of ballot boxes and tents in different parts of the city where every citizen can put those proposals that he believes can improve their environment and therefore the quality of life for residents and neighbors.

With initiatives like this and the "door" already began last October, the PSC wants to find the maximum proximity with people. Beyond telling the public that is what we want to Cerdanyola consider necessary tools available to the public so they can convey what are those aspects that are needed or that could be improved. Since we want the PSC ruled in coalition with the neighbors, because nobody knows them as reality and everyday neighborhoods where they develop their life projects.

This campaign, which is part of a wider process and serve the future development of the program with the PSC will be submitted to the next municipal elections, wants to move towards a model based on the concept of neighborhoods with "Q" for quality. That is, since PSC first understand that a city is only possible if you enjoy great neighborhoods • Excellence and it is precisely in this sense that we, the neighborhood, if it is a priority for political action.

next polls:

Neighborhood Place and Day-Time

Guiera Canaletes Ramblas Av. January 15 Canaletes

FET

Fontetes Faced Market January 22 10:30 to 13:30

Center Plaza Abat Oliva January 29 10:30 to 13:30

Passage of Poplars Montflorit February 5

10:30 to 13:30

Serraparera Plaza Universal

February 12 10:30 to 13:30

Plaza San Ramon San Ramon February 19

10:30: 3013:30

Ebony Bonasort-Constitution Square February 26 10:30 to 13:30

Serraparera Ebony-Faced Market March 1

10:30 to 13:30

Note: This is forecast to 1 March and will extend it until May and it can do around the city more than once.

milloremcerdanyola@ carmecarmona.cat

Rose Quarter Seating Rows

Morral. Part

Filmy Mptoryzacyjne Do Pobrania

Circulating

Stihl Ts400 Change Blade

The Government reduced by 40% trust positions




http://www.elperiodico.com/es/noticias/politica/20110118/generalitat-reduce-los-cargos-confianza/669602.shtml

Difference Between Regular And Inverted Bob

Across: History and Life

Saturday, January 8
DEATH OF A JOURNALIST, ARREST OF A DEPUTY
Union
Republican Congressman, Mr. Casas, challenges Minister of State and Marina: Having been taken to a dark dungeon Mr. Serve, one day, at four in the afternoon, entered the room, in droves, three officers, one of which was Dimitri Ivanov, an officer of the Legion, of Russian nationality. This Luis asked: "Who are you?" "I Serve, journalist", "You are a murderer and now you will not kill anyone," I confused you, I'm confused. I am an honest man. I am a journalist. " They ignored these words of protest against the newcomers. A shoving pulled into the yard to Luis de Serve and there the officer Ivanov forcible unlocking him six shots with a pistol. They opened a suitcase carrying the reporter, it took some papers, they covered the body with a draw and were absent. In some houses nearby were heard the cries of Luis de Serve before dying. Keep talking
Mr. Casas. He says he has even denied the family the right to recover the corpse. Read a moving letter addressed by Father Luis Eduardo Serve Ortega y Gasset.
Minister of State and Navy replied that there should be more careful in the expression, especially when it comes to facts not shown. All I have to say, "he concludes, is that everyone who wears a uniform is incapable of such acts.
In the Caffè di Roma, right near home, browsing the newspaper and took coffee. The newspaper is an old issue of Heraldo de Madrid (November 22, 1934), then will go to La Fanciulla del West, the most picturesque Puccini opera, broadcast from New York. I am a very ambitious man: no more need to be happy.


And yet, before the start of the function, I have time to browse another number, a few days later. Just arrived
Ablana the civil guard forces of Oviedo, Mieres and Aller and a section of Assault Guards surrounded the village and approached a building owned by the widow of Montoto, owns a wine store, which surrounded. The head of the forces knocked on the doors and opened. When coming up the stairs, González Peña opened a balcony and looked him in shirts, being held at gunpoint by the civil guards. He turned quickly, went and met the chief, who was pointing a gun and ordered him to surrender. Did not raise the slightest resistance. It toilet, got dressed and made available to the authorities. Immediately, the Socialist deputy was taken to Oviedo. In the house of the widow of people living right Montoto, in spite of all were friends of Mr. Gonzalez Valle. Ablana The neighborhood has been surprised by the arrest of the revolutionary leader. Nobody saw him enter the village or at the home of the widow of Montoto. It is assumed that took the night to enter the village and take refuge in the house where he was found by Major Doval. Mr. González Peña middle region had to cross to hide in the mining town above. His arrest is the subject of all conversations in Oviedo.


Sunday, January 9


Another mistake these days I'm a little disappointed in myself. I've always tended to consider myself smarter than anyone and reality has always endeavored to prove otherwise. Despite all precautions possible, I've mistaken. "It's as if overnight you have changed by someone else," I say. "No, I have not changed. Is that for the first time you noticed me and I've noticed that I am a real person and not one of your fantasies. "
Again remember the phrase I heard in one of the Batman movies: "What fall? To learn how to stand up. "
The truth is that, over the years, I've learned to look at me with a certain detachment and irony. A friend always tells me I do not work, set to work. I'm afraid I also play many other things, for example, fall in love. And that, basically, despite how bad it happened, nothing I like better than to be rejected before taking on serious and have to stop playing.
I've fallen countless times, but never completely, except perhaps myself.



Monday, January 10
a boy who dreams

I have my shelter, places to hide, such as a child, the outrages of reality. "This is the beautiful city of Naples", starts the movie I bought at the Feltrinelli Alberto Sordi galleries during the last trip to Rome. And the camera lingers on the magnificent panorama which has been reproduced many times. Recognize trees the Villa Comunale, Castell del'Ovo about to slide over the water, the double silhouette of Vesuvius ... And then a train arrives at the station of Piazza Garibaldi and it drops an American, Clark Gable, who in one of the nearby streets, he encounters a disguised Queen Sophia Loren. The rest of the action takes place in Capri (distance from Naples' two hours of dizziness, "according to the protagonist). I soon desentiendo conventional vicissitudes and I make up another story, of which I am leading in the same scenarios. Man is a thinking reed, said Pascal. I'm just a boy who dreams.
happy after I fall asleep And told me a story.



Tuesday, January 11
THEORY AND REALITY OF FRANCISCO RICO
snuff
That, contrary to what you want the topic is not conducive to intellectual activity is something that we are seeing these days. Many blunders, by alleged intellectuals are writing about the alleged persecution of smokers! But all is over, published today, in the opinion section of The Country , my admired Francisco Rico, our first Petrarchan, the best editor of the classics. Begins by stating that the arguments against snuff lack of scientific rigor that The snuff is like olive oil, once thought to be bad for cholesterol and today we ponder its virtues (it is likely that, as she will soon be part of the "healthy Mediterranean diet.") The law defends the non-smokers is a blow to freedom, a sign of stupidity and cowardice. But the most fun of the tantrum as an article is not that, but the final apostille. Stating that the law "completely rejects the data, the will and the suffering of others, the individual sacrifices on the altar near a remote generic ideal," adds the following postscript: "In my life I smoked a single cigarette" . That gives more strength to his argument: no There is no particular interest in attacking this nefarious law that ignores "the suffering of others, sacrificing the individual at hand" (and everything to tell you not to smoke where smoking annoys others, where harm the health of others) .
But the few times I've seen the professor Francisco Rico've seen with a cigarette in his hand began to smoke in the auditorium while presenting a book of Emily Alarcos (had to call attention to the Rector and went to smoke outside with very bad manners) then began to smoke in the restaurant without the owner for false respect to academics, should dare to ask him to stop.
final indication Is that a joke? Is there a grammatical subtlety of fine analyst? You mean you never smoked a single cigarette smoked because they are always dozens? Or simply means that the famous Cervantes is also an irresponsible spoiled kid?



Wednesday, January 12 THREE YEARS


I called a radio program. How do you remember Angel Gonzalez in this day marks the third anniversary of his death, he asks. With sadness, I say. With the same sadness that he would feel upon seeing the mess that they have embarked those they loved most. "Whenever a woman took me by the nose" wrote. Now a woman's nose leads him to the purgatory of sensationalism and forgetfulness. But nothing will erase her from my memory verses: "You know that a paper can cut like a knife? / Simple white paper, / not a letter written / bleed me today. "



Thursday, January 13
HAS LOVED ME NO

nothing I like more than the gift of chance. And the random hand of my friend Almuzara, generous today shows me as a Neapolitan prince. Philippe Jaroussky and More Emanuel Cencic sing for me, just for me (or so I feel) unpublished pieces of Baroque music: "Chi d'Amor work Catene him / possesses a sucker giorno foot ... "(Who love in chains / tangled one day unwary foot / into the abyss of penalties / hapless must fall). In their voices, manly women, burn all the anguish of these days, it becomes smoke rising into the sky and the sky turned into touch again ...
"I've loved and flee for your years ...." I wish I was also able to turn this pain into music.



Friday, January 14
FOR SILVIA Ugidos

In a number of yellowish Top meeting, signed by Eugenio d'Ors, a little story that copy here and I like to dedicate to my friend Silvia. Reigned on earth one day because of an appalling epidemic, plague so great that the task of San Pedro at the gates of Paradise was exhausting. Surrendered and decided to go to sleep, closing the gate on the nose of souls to spend the night in the open if they wanted, he would not pull back the latch by anyone. A huge outcry was raised then. And each one to get, with piety, exception, claimed credit for their misfortunes and sufferings. "I went, by mistake, half my life in jail," claimed one. "I've been married three times, each time with mother and sisters", was pushing other ... The Saint remained inflexible. Finally, a nostalgic soul, came over and said: "I, after three years in Paris, I spent the rest of my adult life in Oviedo." "Come in, then consented to San Pedro, compassion.

Vidya Balans Blouse In Parineeta

Across: Lucid dreams

Saturday, January 1
LUCKY MAN

It's midnight. I slept a little later than usual, I woke up a little earlier, I attended to my family responsibilities and I sat to read. Before leaving to take the first coffee of the year, now that I've come over, scribbling these lines. The book I read - Writers , Azorin, I bought the other day in The Third, a bookshop in Seville. It is a collection of articles written over forty years. Of all that talk Azorín on these pages has spoken on many others. Beginning, so, reluctantly. But then I see a familiar spot: "There is a modest house in Oviedo placed on the outskirts of the city and the countryside, on the outside, the house consists of a single floor. When we enter it we see that the land has fallen and that the house has a floor, almost underground, which is hidden from the outside. And climb stairs, walk flat coming from the street, we are in a wide gallery of glass, overlooking a Fuertecillo planted with magnolias, roses and geraniums, and from which you can see through blurred environment of the country and beyond in the distance, a gentle mountain , a friendly mountain with its slopes covered with green pastures. " In this house, June 13, had died Leopoldo Alas, when I have always felt like someone in the family. Azorín Also, sometimes bores me as a grandfather who always has the same battles, but that never stopped me from minute gifts, when I was ten or twelve years, a close friend who saw me writing always gave me a certain irony a little volume of the playlist Southern writer, the first adult book I read and I came to learn almost by heart, although he understood that only less than half. Who took me out to ten years to come, half a century later, has anything to say, much to teach.
In a moment I'll go for my first ride of the year, go about the usual places, as do half a century, and the new bridge that stops in the middle of the estuary (a ritual I've added to my rites); I feel, is another of my custom in these opening hours, grateful and happy. Life is hard, I know. But I'm still a lucky man.


Sunday, January 2
WHOLE LIFE

hear in the film (usual happily recovered) one sentence: "His work was for him a lifetime." And think of those people without family or sentimental life without work. "You're one of them, I say" That's why both terrifies you retire. You hide in your work because out of it you are lost. "
Some days I like to get a bit masochistic. My favorite work is the devil's advocate and often against my own army.
But that suits me at that sentence would be turned around: "Life was his whole work. " And that job, I try to always happy, we just retire death. And although tireless hover around me, I'm still not fully convinced me that you can touch me. I know, I know: "All men are mortal." But there is no rule without exception. And why I'm not going to be the exception?
Some days I feel I've failed at everything. (But do not just believe me altogether.) And others that I am the king of the world. And I find it hard to convince myself that I'm not.
Advantages of being a spoiled child.



Monday, January 3
PRAISE OF POLICY

How wonderful, after so many parties, recover routine morning coffee at coffee forever. Even the air seems more transparent. Do I think? Suddenly I realize. Miracle has occurred. No smoke. You can no longer smoke in public places. Breathe deeply. I do not quite believe it. Oviedo seems New York.
I have not yet seen the newspapers or television news. I imagine it will be full of the protests of the alleged victims and ingenious sophistry Savater, Sanchez Drago and other strenuous liberals. But fortunately, the politicians, not intimidated by the demagoguery, they refuse to sell the health of its citizens by a handful of votes. Hats off to them. For once I feel we are in good hands.


Tuesday, January 4 PRAISE


scholarship The scholarship has a bad press, and often justified. I read it as a more or less sophisticated mix of gossip and bibliography, and it amuses me more than any novel. Scared a little thick book (nearly eight hundred pages) of the Library Newsletter Menéndez Pelayo , but took him to the cafeteria sure that between the unavoidable waste wise curricular find some amenities. And of course the meeting. My friend Francisco Trinidad, who is slothful dusting that had accumulated on Palacio Valdés, offers a chronicle of deception: the correspondence with the writer who had published a Hispanic was manipulated. I suggested the idea of \u200b\u200ba novel to Henry James: the relationship between a famous author and scholar of his work, how the admiration is turning slowly into resentment and hatred.


and then finds a letter from Valle-Inclan, then director of the Academy of Spain, addressed to the Secretary of State: "You tell me who sent the necessary orders to our ambassador in Rome authorized to purchase the necessary furniture for my rooms. I am deeply touched! But I can not accept the honor of the Ambassador I get home. The Directors of the Academy have ever bought furniture and appliances that needed it. The distinction that has me fills me with gratitude. That's nothing! The Ambassador pans and chamber pots buying my service. Where has seen greater honor? ".


Wednesday, January 5 Quietly


scholars gifts follow. Jose Manuel Gonzalez Herran sent me a reprint of eleven stories by Emilia Pardo Bazán Argentina recovered from a magazine. They speak of another world, and I love this trip back in time, but then talk about my world, as he always does great literature. "In times of expansion," says the narrator of one of them, I entrusted a kind of moral disease that I suffer, something that could be called the scorn of myself. I always believe that no good, that everything has to go wrong, I'm going to say or do something ridiculous, and this apprehension paralyzes me and embarrasses me in society. " And his partner replies, "No matter if you have the mania if you get anybody to know. All that nature has given us to defend ourselves, and we have no claws, no horns, or horn, or sharp fangs, is a nursing home or interior stronghold in which they hold what should not be anyone to see. That or we can pursue or surprise, if we ourselves, reckless, do not open the door ... "
Yes, as much as we teach our private castle, and I let go every Sunday to anyone who is curious, there is always a door as in Bluebeard's castle, not open to anyone.
Until one day someone opens it and go without asking permission. While impatiently await verdict out and come to my memory a few lines from Ben Hazm of Cordoba: "open my heart with a knife / kick you in and then sew back / chest back home is mine and yours / so that it always and never in another, / I dwell as a bird White / to the days of the resurrection and the trial. "


Thursday, January 6


DANCE "I feel like I've come to dance in the middle of a meeting of friends, and I dance and dance and a time, in the midst of happiness, closed eyes to better enjoy the company and the music and when opened, only a moment later, there were friends and were dancing and music and dancing alone in the middle of the track. "
was almost closing time and I was alone in the room, as so often happens to me. Then this woman came to me seemed very young to the observed near-and between all tables to sit chose mine. "I'm a fan of his. May I read you a poem? ". Nothing I hate more. But I read with caressing voice and I liked what I heard. More or less said what I noted at the beginning of this note. When you finish reading, I looked into his eyes: "You want to dance with me?". "I just dance in a dream," I replied. "As this is a dream. Did not you notice? ".


No, I had not noticed. Long ago that my life is a Moebius strip has only one face, and step from reality to dream and the dream to reality not in a blink of an eye, but without having to open or close them. I looked at the waiter, I have endured many nights, but I was engrossed in a book: Les rêves et les moyens de les direct, Hervey de Saint-Denys. The woman I knew, somehow, named Star, she got up and danced and danced all forgotten. I went over to Caesar, the waiter, and he pointed to a paragraph: "Any of us could find in the dream of a night that would fill that with a year of its existence, if in the morning keep the memory of what has dreamed ". Star then the waiter came over and pushed him to me. "We were looking forward," he said. I blushed, I do not know whether asleep or awake.



Friday, January 7 OTHER GIFT


often think that you're not really, you can not be true, you're just another mirage of a lonely heart. "I'm really, but I happened to me in a dream saying," do not admire them too me. "
And I, I'm in good shape, I wake up happy: "You pass, but you are." And I remember Cernuda: "So many years spent / With my loneliness alone and now you sleep with me."

Supercharger For Scion Tc

the other side: The Remains of the Day

Monday, December 27
WALK

The first time I came to Sevilla was back in 1977 or 1978. I called Fernando Ortiz, who was the only person I knew in the city, and just exchange greetings, she said: "I am going to present the best young poet in Spain. You who have read them all, he still did not know because he has not published anything. But you'll see what wonder, what technical perfection. " And he took me to a house in the cathedral square. There, on a terrace from which almost touched the Giralda, I read Abelardo Linares typewritten poems Myths, a book that would appear shortly thereafter.
Fernando Ortiz has long ceased to be my friend. Abelard also be stopped for alleged disloyalty do not know what I made in a volume of these journals, but we reconciled and nothing pleased me more to find him working on his ship full of books, almost always on the go, and accept me dinner tonight. And rub my hands with pleasure at another discussion of ours, those that last two or three hours, and in which the only agreement that we reached is that we do not agree on anything.
Before I take a walk around the hotel and the random-street steps Santiago, Plaza del Cristo de Burgos, Calle María Coronel, left me with a dark street whose name is familiar to me: Dueñas. Camino few steps and see a gate with a colorful historian shield surrounded by flags. Indeed, here it is. This is the palace of his birth Dueñas Antonio Machado. So many times I spent in Seville and I have never come to this place. That night, not over-striking. A mansion with ivy-covered facade. More like a English country house than a palace in Seville. Two huge palm trees make you watch.
Antonio Machado was the first poet I read completely in one of the first books I bought: a book in the library Austral I still have. I know it almost entirely from memory: "It's in the family room, dark, / and between us dear brother / child in the afternoon of a clear day / we leave for a distant country." It gives me more than a poet. I feel his shadow lenient with me as I wander aimlessly through lonely streets and plazas.


Tuesday, December 28 RANT


yesterday's dinner was so fun like old times. Of course I seem to have recovered his friend, but not the fan: "Do not you think you talk too much in your daily travel? That was some interest other times, but today everyone travels. The truth is a bit tired of hearing you tell your walks in Portugal or Italy. And then those ghost stories, houses and libraries, which nobody believes. It seems that every time you do more literature, you are not sincere. Not seen you in what you write, I think all fascia and false. Before you had the most attention were talking about books, real life. A newspaper must be a record of daily life, though it is monotonous at times, such as González Ruano, I've read many times. Nor are the critical and aggressive, sharp as before. "


During an hour or two was the best of my declining Abelardo reproach. I I had fun with his rants, nothing I like better than being the center of the conversation (although try to hide it) and she knew that everything was hiding a recent bitterness. Nery just sorry for his wife, who was there as bystanders. I tried to change the conversation for her to intervene (I understand that I am a fascinating topic, but I fear only myself.) "For me not to worry," he said. "I grew up listening to the speeches of Fidel Castro, so I'm used to watch that. And compared to those yours are the most fun. " "Nery has been a professor of Marxist philosophy at the University of Havana" Abelardo said. I immediately went to his theme: "You're the critic before. And for once I want to be who do you get? Well, with Ricardo Defarges, who has eighty years, no one talks about it and has no power. In contrast, you do not get Gamoneda. Clear as Zapatero's favorite. "
"Defarges was just an excuse in my article Abc " I say. "He was a poet, short and valuable work, years ago. Now there is no greater or lesser poet, but writing more than ever, as all those who cease to be poets. I messed with his editor, that instead of advise, as any good friend would do, to save those little things in a drawer they are published in a prestigious collection, thereby misleading readers. " This editor is
Abelard himself. Smiling the detailed listening lecture-has heard a hundred times, I give below on what should be the functions of a good editor.
"Well, you should be happy, friend Garcia Martin, who still has bad editors in the world, without any professional publishers like me or friends of the Book of the Pexe Lock or because we are the only ones to publish your books."


Wednesday, December 29
LET ME PET

I get up early, as usual, and until midnight I have nothing to do. I think a massage would do me good. Leo the hotel offers fun, offering "a world of natural elements for relaxation, arousal and the senses." I hesitate between the Ayurvedic massage, which "uses a combination of fast and slow movements to relieve tension, restore energy to the body and give vitality to the mind," and Balinese massage "her gentle manipulations to relieve muscle." I hesitate to none, I prefer to walk and let me cherish the city.
My free time has been very limited lately, and now when I travel is for business only. A briefing paper and tasty, I must admit. In half an hour I deliver. It turns out that all members of the jury, without speaking to each other, we have chosen the same pair of books. One is signed by Juan Peña, and has memorable poems, but also a hodgepodge, and the other, Pablo Moreno, one of those poets which my friend Martín López-Vega sneers are the acolytes of Miguel d'Ors. The award calls a worthy private foundation and the jury I am pleased to meet old friends, as Rafael Adolfo Tellez, a good poet something crying. I'm so glad to discover that I am the oldest of all. "With very few exceptions, if we disregard the work written after the sixties years, instead of a writer in the history of literature does not change. So who in the sixties has not written anything worth not ever write. You still have hope, but to me and I do not have any, "I say with my usual false modesty. For me, though this year I completed sixty years, I have not lost hope of writing something that is there in the world's memory, for ever and ever.



Thursday, December 30
CORRAL DEL CONDE

nothing I like more than walking in Seville along with my favorite guide. Juan Lamillar it knows everything about their city and I will slowly pointing secrets and wonders.


In the church of Cristo de Burgos, a Zurbaran perched high jumping with an angel. In the Santa Ines, the Becquerian Maese Pérez, the face burned and the incorrupt body of the founder, Doña María Coronel, and relics of the eleven thousand virgins and the image of a saint who is my patron saint. San Expedito, a saint, like me, molto accelerat : up a cross with the inscription "hodie" (today) and tramples a crow caws "cras, cras" (tomorrow, tomorrow). In the Hospital of the Venerable, architectures and angels fake Valdes Leal triumphant painted on the ceiling of the sacristy, a baroque, dazzling trompe l'oeil. In the church of Santiago, right beside the hotel, shows me the layer of the Emperor Charles V, with silver brocade and silks of various colors ... Nearby, beside the palace of the Marquis de Torreblanca, shows me one of those cities within the city that I love. All a huge block is closed by a high white wall with small windows close. Only one door in the street in Santiago, and next to a golden inscription: Corral del Conde. Many times I've been there unattended. Now John Lamillar press a buzzer. And the door opens with metallic screech and what I find behind is the magical atmosphere of the story: a huge square garden, towering palms, a town of white houses with wooden runners that seems out of the world. Only hear the sound of a fountain. "Here lived the servants of the Count-Duke of Olivares," he says. "If I come to live in Seville that I seek in any palace, I look here." Sure inside, protected by high blank walls, I will make more bearable over time and again and stumbles.



Friday, December 31 GIFTS


to stop thinking about what I can not stop thinking, I entertain myself with Recent gifts count.
Las Dueñas Palace, afraid at night, after standing out in a deep blue, as in the sonnet I prefer Machado ("The light of Seville. It is the palace / where I was born, with its source sound ..."). "I visited him once, I consider a friend. Inside is more sumptuous than it seems. It was when Jesus Aguirre wanted to publish his book of erotic verse. I came to hear him read with Abelard. Jesus Aguirre was taken very seriously by the Duke of Alba, that his friends laughed. A cook in the palace, Lourdes, told me he liked the soups, the Duchess hated, and that's why they were preparing one for the service he said: Today I have a stew of peas, Duke ... And he called for him to carry a clay casserole that ate half the Duchess secretly while dancing, then said he was not hungry. He died alone, hidden in his palace, while the Duchess was dancing back and forth. " The
around the convent of Santa Inés, I discover on my first evening walk, and whose sweet smell of vanilla and soon bores me back to childhood.
In infancy, childhood and perhaps invented remote begins to know myself all that brings happiness. The smell of incense, for example, when I enter the church of San Esteban and hear the end of the Mass, the priest and acolytes lined dress and children's choir that sings ...
suddenly ends the year and remind you once again to Vincent Gaos: "Life is hard / and ... there is no consolation. " But I still have the light of Seville, candy from the nuns and the smell of incense.