Is this the result of the euphoria of winning at Ripon, or the result of other substances?
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Lasagna Tin Foil On Pot
Across: Pass the wind
Saturday, February 19
NOT DISCUSS
"Every day you are more unbearable," a friend tells me. "Soon there will be no you're impossible." The truth is that I've always liked to discuss, I'm a born polemicist, but increasingly find fewer people with whom I like to discuss. What a waste of time. It's like playing chess someone who does not respect the rules or cheat without being continually made aware of that does.
"You think you're smarter than anybody," he is my friend Elena. "Think you're the only one reported before talking about a topic, the only one who respects the rules of logic, the only one not widespread abuse ..."
accept the reprimand because every time I like less discuss, especially if there is an audience before which to try to show off. But the truth, I must admit that I think are smarter than many people, I try to tell me before talking about any issue, respect the rules of logic, no widespread abuse. And every time I find it harder to say "that is nonsense "when I hear that nonsense.
"God gave us the thought as evidence. / Blessed are those who do not know that it takes, "writes Unamuno and I must make an effort not to apply them to my friend while I hear about this and that nonsense.
I like to discuss how others like to play soccer or tennis. As they put all their effort to win, I put all my efforts to be right. But if I have not, nothing happens. I give a hand to my opponent and I'm glad I learned something new or having delivered an error.
But do not argue about anything, of course. Not occur to me to engage in polemics whether it is better to vote for this party or that other person. Now what if I would defend before any game is what should join if you are vocationally corrupt, someone with the lucrative trend bordering on legality and often out of it. To me, if these, or I happen to affiliate with the Socialist Party. There, at the first hurdle, they turn away from you and leave you at the feet of horses, and the good Riopedre, that the Government of Asturias exconsejero that old age has become the unwitting star of a novel by Franz Kafka. First you stop, you will be humiliated, he imprisons and then, without any hurry, looking for a particular crime is to accuse him. What a difference from the Popular Party. Yes there is human rights defenders of the corrupt, alleged or not. There will be pampered and loves them, they are piropea jelly, throw the dogs against judges and prosecutors, they are put under the protection of Federico Trillo, who in court knows it all and would be able saved from the gallows to Jack the Ripper.
I'm not saying that there is more corruption in one party than another. I'm just saying that if I were a politician and not be able to resist certain temptations seek to affiliate with the party that best I'd try, to which I was going to leave my position until he had strong conviction and he would ensure them that no never arrived.
Sunday, February 20
not think
Talk Francisco Lain, the man who served as acting president during the hours of occupation of the Congress of Deputies: "I gave Adolfo Suárez a confidential report prepared by the services police information. Before he had gone to the Interior Minister Juan Jose Roson, but when I read it said it was too hard and why I released it Adolfo directory. In the report, two pages, indicating that King did not attempt to criticize harshly to President Smith in conversation with people and very different environments. It added that the monarch expressed openly disagreed with decisions made by Smith and raised the desirability of a possible relief of the president. "
If that is true, and we have no reason to doubt, it is clear that in the coup that took us thirty years ago there was guessing, as in the murder according to the tenth Villamediana attributed to Góngora, "an impulse sovereign." And the king, may be as folksy and friendly as you like, but it seems clear (with reports by police) that his behavior, contrary to what flatterers say, has not always been "impeccably constitutional." But I the king that a basic sense of prudence than he seemed lacking back in 1980 and 1981 - I think not. I merely record for when circumstances change, that I was not (nor in the case of the limitation of rights to part of the Basque population with tricks that do not bother to appear legal) who communed with chauvinistic millstones.
Monday, February 21
THE UNFAITHFUL LOVER
Am I in love with myself? I'm afraid so, and for all, but however much I try I can not stay faithful to that one true love.
Tuesday, February 22
AROUND THE WORLD
In my usual treasure cave, Valdés library, I encounter a Portfolio of Photografs prepared, according to the cover, "under the supervision of prominent lecturer and traveler John L. Stoddard. " It is printed in Chicago, does not indicate on what date, but everything seems to indicate that it was around 1900: Cuba is not English, is not a car through the streets and along the Brooklyn Bridge still does not appear in Manhattan Built in 1903. Even the photograph had not been so popular and volume, as stressed by the prologue, was a treasure.
As I take a coffee give a fascinating trip around the world a century ago. I stop particular routine I'm that, in places I know: the Piazza dell 'Acqua Verde, in Genoa, where, after the statue of Columbus, still do not see a hotel that I know well; Naples seen from San Martino, with Vesuvius smoke making your particular question mark, Marina Grande, where the sea Capri let you get your feet wet, the boulevards of Paris, "the city of this" we are told, as Rome (see the Capitol with statues and are not) is the city of the past ... Photos of jungles and mountains, waterfalls and gorges interest me less. I prefer the work of man that God's work. Put another way, I more interested in what God is doing through the man who makes directly, "where there is no corrupted everything artifice of nature."
A coffee, a book, a time just for me and the whole world at my fingertips and my dreams. I'm a lucky man.
s Wednesday, February 23
THIRTY YEARS AFTER
As everyone, including me asked me where I was an afternoon like today thirty years ago. Read my answer, in the same newspaper edition Avilesina I read then, while taking a coffee after going through the library "Banks Candamo" and leave it with a new book: "I just leave the library Bances Candamo and was browsing the books in a cafeteria ..." I fall
soon realized that at six and a half from February 23, 2011 I'm doing, and almost in the same place, exactly what he was doing at that time on February 23, 1981. I suspect that my reputation as the routine I have is well earned.
Thursday, February 24 A SONG
"Ma noi siamo come l'erba dei prati / che present on il vento Passaro know ..." Where did that song I heard this afternoon sad again and again to my memory? And suddenly I remember, I remember it well. We had spent the day together, an endless summer day, bright and a cool breeze eased the heat. At eleven p.m. started a train at eleven-forty other. Iban in opposite directions. We had arrived in time to the station. We sat in the cafeteria and suddenly, after the euphoric days, full of churches and palaces, and that corner in the garden di Boboli, away from all eyes fell on us all tired and all the melancholy of the world. Knew too well from the beginning that he would not have had before then and none intended to regret. The two had another life in another place and we were happy with it and the grace of this adventure (which happen by chance, stumble upon two or three places with phone in hand: "It seems we took the same route we could go together ") was precisely in its alacrity without compromise.
" I wish this day never ends, I said, knowing it was better not to say, it was better not say anything. "I would have liked that did not end precisely because it never ends.'ve known my best side, I have others, "he answered." It's better that way, I know, but that does not mean that now I feel the most miserable person in the world after having been the most fortunate. " "I get the impression that this film and I have seen more than once," he answered trying to take a joke my sadness, it was yours too. "Sometimes life is like bad movies topical and sentimental" I tried to joke. And then someone had a transistor on a nearby table (it was still the time when people used transistors) rang that song, I've never heard again, which I only remember two lines: "Ma come siamo noi l ' erba dei prati / che present on ...». know Passaro il vento
Friday, February 25 STILL
Yes, we are like the grass of the meadows which feels about himself pass wind ... The wind that you took you to Paris and then New York, and me to Rome then to Oviedo. The wind that blows me away still and increasingly move myself without even the site.
I almost lose my train, which was first started. I know too well not have been happier had he been less cautious and would have lost. I know too well. But now, on this sad morning, I again remembered a song about the grass of the meadows and see you smiling saying goodbye on the platform. Smiling, without a tear, but something tells me that if you train had been the first to leave you would have lost. And another would have been my life. I do not know if better or worse, I know differently. And today there's nobody who does not envy just be me.
Saturday, February 19
NOT DISCUSS
"Every day you are more unbearable," a friend tells me. "Soon there will be no you're impossible." The truth is that I've always liked to discuss, I'm a born polemicist, but increasingly find fewer people with whom I like to discuss. What a waste of time. It's like playing chess someone who does not respect the rules or cheat without being continually made aware of that does.
"You think you're smarter than anybody," he is my friend Elena. "Think you're the only one reported before talking about a topic, the only one who respects the rules of logic, the only one not widespread abuse ..."
accept the reprimand because every time I like less discuss, especially if there is an audience before which to try to show off. But the truth, I must admit that I think are smarter than many people, I try to tell me before talking about any issue, respect the rules of logic, no widespread abuse. And every time I find it harder to say "that is nonsense "when I hear that nonsense.
"God gave us the thought as evidence. / Blessed are those who do not know that it takes, "writes Unamuno and I must make an effort not to apply them to my friend while I hear about this and that nonsense.
I like to discuss how others like to play soccer or tennis. As they put all their effort to win, I put all my efforts to be right. But if I have not, nothing happens. I give a hand to my opponent and I'm glad I learned something new or having delivered an error.
But do not argue about anything, of course. Not occur to me to engage in polemics whether it is better to vote for this party or that other person. Now what if I would defend before any game is what should join if you are vocationally corrupt, someone with the lucrative trend bordering on legality and often out of it. To me, if these, or I happen to affiliate with the Socialist Party. There, at the first hurdle, they turn away from you and leave you at the feet of horses, and the good Riopedre, that the Government of Asturias exconsejero that old age has become the unwitting star of a novel by Franz Kafka. First you stop, you will be humiliated, he imprisons and then, without any hurry, looking for a particular crime is to accuse him. What a difference from the Popular Party. Yes there is human rights defenders of the corrupt, alleged or not. There will be pampered and loves them, they are piropea jelly, throw the dogs against judges and prosecutors, they are put under the protection of Federico Trillo, who in court knows it all and would be able saved from the gallows to Jack the Ripper.
I'm not saying that there is more corruption in one party than another. I'm just saying that if I were a politician and not be able to resist certain temptations seek to affiliate with the party that best I'd try, to which I was going to leave my position until he had strong conviction and he would ensure them that no never arrived.
Sunday, February 20
not think
Talk Francisco Lain, the man who served as acting president during the hours of occupation of the Congress of Deputies: "I gave Adolfo Suárez a confidential report prepared by the services police information. Before he had gone to the Interior Minister Juan Jose Roson, but when I read it said it was too hard and why I released it Adolfo directory. In the report, two pages, indicating that King did not attempt to criticize harshly to President Smith in conversation with people and very different environments. It added that the monarch expressed openly disagreed with decisions made by Smith and raised the desirability of a possible relief of the president. "
If that is true, and we have no reason to doubt, it is clear that in the coup that took us thirty years ago there was guessing, as in the murder according to the tenth Villamediana attributed to Góngora, "an impulse sovereign." And the king, may be as folksy and friendly as you like, but it seems clear (with reports by police) that his behavior, contrary to what flatterers say, has not always been "impeccably constitutional." But I the king that a basic sense of prudence than he seemed lacking back in 1980 and 1981 - I think not. I merely record for when circumstances change, that I was not (nor in the case of the limitation of rights to part of the Basque population with tricks that do not bother to appear legal) who communed with chauvinistic millstones.
Monday, February 21
THE UNFAITHFUL LOVER
Am I in love with myself? I'm afraid so, and for all, but however much I try I can not stay faithful to that one true love.
Tuesday, February 22
AROUND THE WORLD
In my usual treasure cave, Valdés library, I encounter a Portfolio of Photografs prepared, according to the cover, "under the supervision of prominent lecturer and traveler John L. Stoddard. " It is printed in Chicago, does not indicate on what date, but everything seems to indicate that it was around 1900: Cuba is not English, is not a car through the streets and along the Brooklyn Bridge still does not appear in Manhattan Built in 1903. Even the photograph had not been so popular and volume, as stressed by the prologue, was a treasure.
As I take a coffee give a fascinating trip around the world a century ago. I stop particular routine I'm that, in places I know: the Piazza dell 'Acqua Verde, in Genoa, where, after the statue of Columbus, still do not see a hotel that I know well; Naples seen from San Martino, with Vesuvius smoke making your particular question mark, Marina Grande, where the sea Capri let you get your feet wet, the boulevards of Paris, "the city of this" we are told, as Rome (see the Capitol with statues and are not) is the city of the past ... Photos of jungles and mountains, waterfalls and gorges interest me less. I prefer the work of man that God's work. Put another way, I more interested in what God is doing through the man who makes directly, "where there is no corrupted everything artifice of nature."
A coffee, a book, a time just for me and the whole world at my fingertips and my dreams. I'm a lucky man.
s Wednesday, February 23
THIRTY YEARS AFTER
As everyone, including me asked me where I was an afternoon like today thirty years ago. Read my answer, in the same newspaper edition Avilesina I read then, while taking a coffee after going through the library "Banks Candamo" and leave it with a new book: "I just leave the library Bances Candamo and was browsing the books in a cafeteria ..." I fall
soon realized that at six and a half from February 23, 2011 I'm doing, and almost in the same place, exactly what he was doing at that time on February 23, 1981. I suspect that my reputation as the routine I have is well earned.
Thursday, February 24 A SONG
"Ma noi siamo come l'erba dei prati / che present on il vento Passaro know ..." Where did that song I heard this afternoon sad again and again to my memory? And suddenly I remember, I remember it well. We had spent the day together, an endless summer day, bright and a cool breeze eased the heat. At eleven p.m. started a train at eleven-forty other. Iban in opposite directions. We had arrived in time to the station. We sat in the cafeteria and suddenly, after the euphoric days, full of churches and palaces, and that corner in the garden di Boboli, away from all eyes fell on us all tired and all the melancholy of the world. Knew too well from the beginning that he would not have had before then and none intended to regret. The two had another life in another place and we were happy with it and the grace of this adventure (which happen by chance, stumble upon two or three places with phone in hand: "It seems we took the same route we could go together ") was precisely in its alacrity without compromise.
" I wish this day never ends, I said, knowing it was better not to say, it was better not say anything. "I would have liked that did not end precisely because it never ends.'ve known my best side, I have others, "he answered." It's better that way, I know, but that does not mean that now I feel the most miserable person in the world after having been the most fortunate. " "I get the impression that this film and I have seen more than once," he answered trying to take a joke my sadness, it was yours too. "Sometimes life is like bad movies topical and sentimental" I tried to joke. And then someone had a transistor on a nearby table (it was still the time when people used transistors) rang that song, I've never heard again, which I only remember two lines: "Ma come siamo noi l ' erba dei prati / che present on ...». know Passaro il vento
Friday, February 25 STILL
Yes, we are like the grass of the meadows which feels about himself pass wind ... The wind that you took you to Paris and then New York, and me to Rome then to Oviedo. The wind that blows me away still and increasingly move myself without even the site.
I almost lose my train, which was first started. I know too well not have been happier had he been less cautious and would have lost. I know too well. But now, on this sad morning, I again remembered a song about the grass of the meadows and see you smiling saying goodbye on the platform. Smiling, without a tear, but something tells me that if you train had been the first to leave you would have lost. And another would have been my life. I do not know if better or worse, I know differently. And today there's nobody who does not envy just be me.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Mexican-american Hair
Rebollo face
'm a writer, but I never thought so sharp a turn in a response ... Now I know why I'm so bad!
------------------------------------------- -------------------
David Muñoz:
Good evening, my question is addressed to Councilwoman Carmen Rebollo. Etas was made public last week to hire a young coach gaining ap EXT $ 3,000 and is not passed at any time for this Ayuntamient or, if no one saw it happened. You were responsible for the area youth for 7 years and everyone knows that the will has never been to promote this area, provided the basis of lack of budget, commitment, political will, but a technician hired by the City Council never step charging $ 3,000 a month. The public deserves an explanation, I hope I can explain it and if not, the silence and is a response.
I think has been the subject turns to youth advisor, I think the two years we have been the work of youth been done. There has been a report from City Hall and is a decision without asking me and without asking the consultant, and I think that if any irregularity is so illegal to be reported, I think the council is a mechanism to make the complaint and we denounce the court.
David
But it had a contract and is passed by the City?
I think that in these two years in youth has done all the work that has been done.
David
But whether or not?
Let's see, the consultant is not a matter of seeing or not seeing, but it worked because the work has been.
------------------------------------------ --------------------
short, a simple question like, "ever came to his job?" has failed (or did not want to) answer.
Meanwhile, the newspaper "The Case", has become a base for meet a mysterious case of such magnitude.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Spanish Wedding Thank You Phrases
Ripollet People's Party against the bike path
Ripollet People's Party against the bike path, which hurts local business. The government group (PSC-CiU) has taken note and is considering economic use these lanes.
No, not charge tolls for cyclists, the idea is much better. Look.
Monday, February 21, 2011
What Is The Boob Weight Of Miosotis ?
Cerdanyola People's Party complains about security and the cemetery. Gingy
http://cerdanyola.info/web/menu_principal/inici/noticies/2011/02/21/complex_funerari_pp
are right, the other day going through the cemetery at 2 am, and heard voices. I am very chafardero, I stopped to listen.
One of the dead, I was pissed off by the conditions of the cemetery, proposed to the other party go to the World Canibal, to which the other accepted and took the stone. I, on the door, I asked, where are you going to stone? And I replied, "to leave Cerdanyola undocumented" .
How To Remove The Ear Pads From A Salomon Helmet
leaves (presidentegalleta.blogspot.com)
There are moments that life gives you twists. Yesterday I gave it to me. This blog was dead until he turned a nice cookie and said, with the desire that I have to speak and desire that you have to revive the blog, we can make a great team. I felt bad idea. He seemed nice, and if we consider that it was also edible, nothing could go wrong.
But today, few months later, nothing is as it was. A cookie has been uploaded to fame in the head after the last six weeks were the most read your crap. Last night we discussed. I do not know if I lost or won a sofa bed. This morning, I woke up wanting to lower myself into the ground and apologize, which would cede the blog. But it was gone. On the bed, a note.
I have few words to say, you never knew spice this relationship. You were one in a month and doubled the number of visits that had your blog in 4 years. Did not know to thank me, I just asked you to start that damn oven and you made me a cookie which I could fall in love. You'll hear from me in presidentegalleta.blogspot.com.
People who have seen the street, told me that he has clear intentions to dominate the world. It is dangerous and loose. Be careful. Now I'm going to buy a packet of biscuits Prince Beckel. Pity I do not know if because you are afraid to make me a cookie or a monarchy.
As I said to myself, who want to follow suit, presidentegalleta.blogspot.com visit.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Fotos De Foyando Con Animales .
I was in the party primaries Piqué and the "Pesecé"
I admit. But later. I admit. I've caught, I am the pictures. I infiltrated Piqué's birthday. Building boom at Christmas costumes, I bought a human mask and a lumberjack shirt. Had to do everything possible to not suspect Piqué, and I think I did pretty well, if not, look like the picture ... would have been
The party was no big deal, so every night when I leave loud music, and some pica-pica coma. They say I'm the life of the party. Not true, Shakira drink more than me, even worse move, but one thing I say and I repeat, if I fail to be disguised, I had been the center of attention, but the trend would have been tropic "# eldeloscuadros" or "# elgalleta?
I go, I have to prepare for a political rally that I have next week. I must admit I'm a little pissed with the media. Primaries were held yesterday in Barcelona and only talked about and Jordi Hereu Montserrat Tura, but nobody spoke to me, it was the third choice in the primaries. A I call this media manipulation.
Signed: Gingy 2011
Community Volunteer Confirmation Letter
Across: Known Unto God
Sunday, February 13
DREAM COMES AS
"I found myself in front of me yourself at a crossroads." I like those verses of Angel Gonzalez, who I repeat myself often.
I find myself facing myself this evening, before sleep, as every night.
Have you learned anything in all these years?, I think.
I learned to complain less and thank more.
would you choose another path if they were to meet in the ancient crossroads with the experience you have now?
Maybe, but I suspect that any other way I would at the same site.
Do you consider yourself a failure?
No, except that all men are.
A winner then?
not, and certainly not from the point of view. In college I will enjoy the rare honor of retiring, when you have no choice, not before being the last of the ladder. I'm not complaining, what I am is very close to what I wanted to be. Do you miss
success as a writer?, "that when you publish a book, albeit a mess, all the cultural supplements you spend the first page and was amazed admiration?
The truth is that I would not mind anything. But for me, success is like chocolate: I like it, but I can move pretty well without him.
What about love? Would you like to have had more success in love?
A boat soon I would say yes, but if I think about it, I know, I know ... I'm afraid that in that aspect, I have never ceased to be fourteen. I have not been able to mature. I like the impossible love. As an impossible love begins to be possible also the problems begin. And start to stop interested. I've never been able to commit. At this point in life I do not think you learn to do it. I have to resign.
not usually make it clear, when you talk about your love, whether it is male or female. "This ambiguity is deliberate?
course. But I seem to be any ambiguity.
Do you believe in God?
No. What's that?
disappear forever, do not you panic?
do not believe in God, but I believe in fate Nothing like the end. And I think a more comforting.
Do you spend your life telling your life? Are there things you have not ever told?
The more I care. I am a writer bashful. It seems that I get the naked truth on stage, but always wears a flesh-colored mesh.
How would you like to be remembered?
Already want to write my epitaph? Well, here goes: "He did what he could." I did: I could. Not anymore. But no less.
Monday, February 14 SYROS
By lifting the eyes of the book surprised me on TV, blinking in the corner, the smiley face friend and Maria Duran. He was my guide in Syros, the capital of the Cyclades, and now I'm invited back to tour the island. I recall the warning of Ana Vega: Monday, Mary participates in "Asturian in the world." I came
Siros in a tiny, rickety plane with one company for a florid bearded priest and a man with a hat that was missing only the whip to look like Indiana Jones. The airport was just a hut in the middle of windy and desolate hills. What I come here to do, I wondered. It was not the image that I had become a Greek island. But getting off the car, facing the Bay of Hermúpolis, I knew I had come home.
places with me as it is with people: love is always love at first sight. Eyes look at me randomly in streets and I know who I want to spend the rest of my life. Idle bustle of the avenue, between blue sea and the nineteenth of the lackluster packaging buildings, makes me feel at ease, it seems that invites me to sit on any of the terrace and listen to a story. Nearby
a great victory boosts bronze laurel wreath and in the background, you can see the stately portico of a palace. If I leave something, I see the two hills that crown a city that abounds in neoclassical palaces, elaborate ironwork balconies, secret gardens, magnificent churches and cafes in which idle slowly and steadily see over time.
Syros has a long history: it was Phoenician, Greek and Roman, Venetian and Turkish. But the story is much shorter Hermúpolis. The population of the island piled up on a hill, Ano Syros, under the church of San Jorge, to protect against pirates. Since 1820, refugees began arriving in Asia Minor, Greece occupied the struggling Italian unification. It was enterprising people, and the port in the best position of the eastern Mediterranean. Soon filled with activity and buildings around the bay. The old residents of Syros, Catholics, wanted nothing to do with those affluent newcomers, mostly Orthodox. They returned the contempt creating a new city, which gave name in an assembly in the church of the Metamorphosis. They wanted to dedicate it to Hermes, the god of commerce, and therefore called it Hermúpolis. Until the end of the century was the most prosperous city in Greece, one of the most cosmopolitan of the Mediterranean. Those good bourgeois, rich with maritime traffic, the City Council commissioned the best architect, built an opera house modeled after that of Milan, they met, in the English, in clubs where you can read the newspapers of the world, listening to music , do business, discuss policy, to them should also be the first public school that was in Greece and the first female high school. That
prosperity lasted little more than half a century. But Hermúpolis not a ghost town, but is full of ghosts and nowhere best to summon them to the cemetery of Agios Georgios, with its angelic sphinxes, their bearded heroes, their butterflies and pink marble. The city's history is written in some epitaphs that speak to people from Venice and Izmir, London and New York, very different and distant places to make large Syrians and stay forever in this place.
But the sector of the cemetery that moves me most is full of graves equal and anonymous: the Great War soldiers, traveling in ships sunk by German submarines, whose name God only knows.
I open my eyes. Now Mary is in the Miaoulis square opposite the statue of the hero and bandstand with delicate carvings that pay homage to Orpheus and the Muses, greets a student, goes to a bakery to teach traditional sweets of the island. I know that if I pass on the left front of the Apollo Theater, I will come to a small green square on which stands the church of St. Nicholas, with its beautiful blue dome that characterizes the profile of the city, come after a palace street overlooking the sea. This is the Vaporia district, preferred by most successful traders, from their windows they could see the boats arrive.
Tuesday, February 15
LOVE SPEECH
Love is a chimera, a being verbal only exists in words.
The love you feel if you do not say.
First we fall in love and then decide from whom.
The lover is never bored.
Without love, life is crazy argument.
The love that never seeks its own destruction is not really in love.
If heaven and earth, I smile, I love, but still do not know who.
The love that we have attached, the love we have unleashed.
love is sit and wait who never comes because I was with you before you were born.
Wednesday, February 16
HAVE NO MORE LIFE
memory is curious. I was just a few days in Syros, but could draw a detailed map of Hermúpolis, pointing to the friend to go there my favorite: Kymata the stony beach, hidden behind the buildings of the old customs (I found it polished by the sea , a small piece of marble in which still distinguish the folds of the dress of some statue) Kimisseos Church with its icon, painted by El Greco, the Archaeological Museum and the cats who hope to go next door for visitors , a steep place in the maze of Ano Syros, overflowing bougainvillea and the shimmering blue of the bay looking out for any corner ...
I just a look, a few words, one night, for a person to be part of my life forever, I just a look, a walk one or two nights happy for a forever part of the story of my life.
My life? I have no more life than my dreams. The best thing that ever happened to me I do not ever happened.
Thursday, February 17
MORE LIKE WHAT
What I like about being in love is being in love, knowing that walk around the world wrapped in a dazzling invisible armor, so indestructible as the helmet of Mambrino.
be in love I like to be with you, love, simple excuse for a god I have from his hand.
Friday, February 18
IN THE GARDEN
In the garden of your home, how I remember it, podabas a linden tree trimmer with a long pole resting on, the buds fell on a sheet spread on the ground. I stared, motionless on the sidewalk, do not know if you or a tree or sea behind the two, just a sea of \u200b\u200bocean color in the maps that made me dream as a child.
No sleepless night that perfume the scent of that lime.
Sunday, February 13
DREAM COMES AS
"I found myself in front of me yourself at a crossroads." I like those verses of Angel Gonzalez, who I repeat myself often. I find myself facing myself this evening, before sleep, as every night.
Have you learned anything in all these years?, I think.
I learned to complain less and thank more.
would you choose another path if they were to meet in the ancient crossroads with the experience you have now?
Maybe, but I suspect that any other way I would at the same site.
Do you consider yourself a failure?
No, except that all men are.
A winner then?
not, and certainly not from the point of view. In college I will enjoy the rare honor of retiring, when you have no choice, not before being the last of the ladder. I'm not complaining, what I am is very close to what I wanted to be. Do you miss
success as a writer?, "that when you publish a book, albeit a mess, all the cultural supplements you spend the first page and was amazed admiration?
The truth is that I would not mind anything. But for me, success is like chocolate: I like it, but I can move pretty well without him.
What about love? Would you like to have had more success in love?
A boat soon I would say yes, but if I think about it, I know, I know ... I'm afraid that in that aspect, I have never ceased to be fourteen. I have not been able to mature. I like the impossible love. As an impossible love begins to be possible also the problems begin. And start to stop interested. I've never been able to commit. At this point in life I do not think you learn to do it. I have to resign.
not usually make it clear, when you talk about your love, whether it is male or female. "This ambiguity is deliberate?
course. But I seem to be any ambiguity.
Do you believe in God?
No. What's that?
disappear forever, do not you panic?
do not believe in God, but I believe in fate Nothing like the end. And I think a more comforting.
Do you spend your life telling your life? Are there things you have not ever told?
The more I care. I am a writer bashful. It seems that I get the naked truth on stage, but always wears a flesh-colored mesh.
How would you like to be remembered?
Already want to write my epitaph? Well, here goes: "He did what he could." I did: I could. Not anymore. But no less.
Monday, February 14 SYROS
By lifting the eyes of the book surprised me on TV, blinking in the corner, the smiley face friend and Maria Duran. He was my guide in Syros, the capital of the Cyclades, and now I'm invited back to tour the island. I recall the warning of Ana Vega: Monday, Mary participates in "Asturian in the world." I came
Siros in a tiny, rickety plane with one company for a florid bearded priest and a man with a hat that was missing only the whip to look like Indiana Jones. The airport was just a hut in the middle of windy and desolate hills. What I come here to do, I wondered. It was not the image that I had become a Greek island. But getting off the car, facing the Bay of Hermúpolis, I knew I had come home.
places with me as it is with people: love is always love at first sight. Eyes look at me randomly in streets and I know who I want to spend the rest of my life. Idle bustle of the avenue, between blue sea and the nineteenth of the lackluster packaging buildings, makes me feel at ease, it seems that invites me to sit on any of the terrace and listen to a story. Nearby
a great victory boosts bronze laurel wreath and in the background, you can see the stately portico of a palace. If I leave something, I see the two hills that crown a city that abounds in neoclassical palaces, elaborate ironwork balconies, secret gardens, magnificent churches and cafes in which idle slowly and steadily see over time.
Syros has a long history: it was Phoenician, Greek and Roman, Venetian and Turkish. But the story is much shorter Hermúpolis. The population of the island piled up on a hill, Ano Syros, under the church of San Jorge, to protect against pirates. Since 1820, refugees began arriving in Asia Minor, Greece occupied the struggling Italian unification. It was enterprising people, and the port in the best position of the eastern Mediterranean. Soon filled with activity and buildings around the bay. The old residents of Syros, Catholics, wanted nothing to do with those affluent newcomers, mostly Orthodox. They returned the contempt creating a new city, which gave name in an assembly in the church of the Metamorphosis. They wanted to dedicate it to Hermes, the god of commerce, and therefore called it Hermúpolis. Until the end of the century was the most prosperous city in Greece, one of the most cosmopolitan of the Mediterranean. Those good bourgeois, rich with maritime traffic, the City Council commissioned the best architect, built an opera house modeled after that of Milan, they met, in the English, in clubs where you can read the newspapers of the world, listening to music , do business, discuss policy, to them should also be the first public school that was in Greece and the first female high school. That
prosperity lasted little more than half a century. But Hermúpolis not a ghost town, but is full of ghosts and nowhere best to summon them to the cemetery of Agios Georgios, with its angelic sphinxes, their bearded heroes, their butterflies and pink marble. The city's history is written in some epitaphs that speak to people from Venice and Izmir, London and New York, very different and distant places to make large Syrians and stay forever in this place.
But the sector of the cemetery that moves me most is full of graves equal and anonymous: the Great War soldiers, traveling in ships sunk by German submarines, whose name God only knows.
I open my eyes. Now Mary is in the Miaoulis square opposite the statue of the hero and bandstand with delicate carvings that pay homage to Orpheus and the Muses, greets a student, goes to a bakery to teach traditional sweets of the island. I know that if I pass on the left front of the Apollo Theater, I will come to a small green square on which stands the church of St. Nicholas, with its beautiful blue dome that characterizes the profile of the city, come after a palace street overlooking the sea. This is the Vaporia district, preferred by most successful traders, from their windows they could see the boats arrive.
Tuesday, February 15
LOVE SPEECH
Love is a chimera, a being verbal only exists in words.
The love you feel if you do not say.
First we fall in love and then decide from whom.
The lover is never bored.
Without love, life is crazy argument.
The love that never seeks its own destruction is not really in love.
If heaven and earth, I smile, I love, but still do not know who.
The love that we have attached, the love we have unleashed.
love is sit and wait who never comes because I was with you before you were born.
Wednesday, February 16
HAVE NO MORE LIFE
memory is curious. I was just a few days in Syros, but could draw a detailed map of Hermúpolis, pointing to the friend to go there my favorite: Kymata the stony beach, hidden behind the buildings of the old customs (I found it polished by the sea , a small piece of marble in which still distinguish the folds of the dress of some statue) Kimisseos Church with its icon, painted by El Greco, the Archaeological Museum and the cats who hope to go next door for visitors , a steep place in the maze of Ano Syros, overflowing bougainvillea and the shimmering blue of the bay looking out for any corner ...
I just a look, a few words, one night, for a person to be part of my life forever, I just a look, a walk one or two nights happy for a forever part of the story of my life.
My life? I have no more life than my dreams. The best thing that ever happened to me I do not ever happened.
Thursday, February 17
MORE LIKE WHAT
What I like about being in love is being in love, knowing that walk around the world wrapped in a dazzling invisible armor, so indestructible as the helmet of Mambrino.
be in love I like to be with you, love, simple excuse for a god I have from his hand.
Friday, February 18
IN THE GARDEN
In the garden of your home, how I remember it, podabas a linden tree trimmer with a long pole resting on, the buds fell on a sheet spread on the ground. I stared, motionless on the sidewalk, do not know if you or a tree or sea behind the two, just a sea of \u200b\u200bocean color in the maps that made me dream as a child.
No sleepless night that perfume the scent of that lime.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Welcome Letters To New Doctors
The 'snip' of Mas comes to water, electricity and heating institutes
This makes me think ... if a high school you take away the water, it is easy to fall into the alcohol. If after you take away the light, it is easy to hide. If later you take away their crowns and heating, it is easy to be cold.
Since 15 years we are not going to school to study, what happens now when the boys and girls, contentillos, want to warm up in a completely dark bathroom?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Honeywell Rth2310 Installation Instructions
This program then returns the most claustrophobic of Ripon Radio. It is said that is so obscure that they kidnapped one of its members, and this is the best in the hideout in the program. Since then, working telephone.
Today we look at Valentine's bow and arrows, and Cesar Rodriguez, a man who sings with a guitar and has released an album called "let me." With that name, as we would not let him.
The last time someone told you "let me in." deceived us and it turned out to be a speaker octopod. Now they call Paul and rest in peace in a cemetery in cephalopods. His statue is making war.
To listen, click here: http://ripolletradio.cat/
But if you prefer to listen previous programs, so that there are always listeners who like to go late, you have the option to click here: http://www.ripolletradio.cat/programa/el-ascensor/
If, however, want to hear a program ugly, boring, tiring, those that "smell" to it in the freezer, not renewed, which pa'tras check, you do not understand because you tread on each other and a thousand other things, so we Ripollet Radio. Called coffee with salt. It is said that the name that it got when they realized that listening to the same effect when you take a sip of coffee with salt. Vomit.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Dragon Age Origins Infinite Health
the other side: Things I do not dare to say in public
Sunday, February 6
unlucky in love
In matters of love, I have been fortunate to be the unluckiest man in the world. There has been little year since I have fourteen, when I did not break the heart for at least half a dozen times.
In this kind of stories when you're lucky, a gentleman has little to tell. I, however, as thoroughly as I could write my memoirs Casanova erotic and not stop being a gentleman.
almost always gave me the door in his face. Almost never went past the preliminaries.
I've been so fortunate. Sometimes I think it would have been better if things had occurred otherwise. Perhaps what is to come is supported best by two.
Maybe. I'm not so sure. Now what I fear most is that I become so cowardly to look the other way, it protected the heart when they look at me eyes. No more disappointments because old dog, I no longer fooled. But has not yet reached that point, I have not lost the idealism.
"Oviedo Paso tomorrow. I would say hello. " We saw two or three times during a week in Pisa (Pisa I slept in and went every day to Florence), exchanged e-mail. I wrote, I said. And suddenly, almost five years later-this unexpected message. Whatever happens tomorrow, no one can take away the happy fabrications Eve.
We met at the Campo dei Miracoli, empty of tourists, with a huge moon on the phantasmagoria of the marbles. We again agree on the leafy patio of the Feltrinelli bookshop del Corso in Italy. I certainly will not make any case, as I did almost no time. But you remember me ...
Failure again, I say, do not kid yourself. But those failures are what make for me still have some interest in the novel of my life.
Monday, February 7
YOU WANT FREE
A new political party declared in its statutes that expressly rejects the use of violence and threat to achieve political objectives and in this rejection expressly includes ETA terrorism.
Another party says it will not acquiesce in any way that this new party is submitted to the elections.
Who are the Democrats, who so totalitarian? With the Law of Parties in the hand, is the second-which seeks to prevent the right to elect and be elected to a part of English-that should be banned.
But bar the first, with the law, without law or against it. I do not like
talk politics, there is always a friend who is upset. But one thing is not talking about petty politics, and one an accomplice. Therefore, although not help, repeat some platitudes.
In a democracy, just as legitimate to defend Catalonia, Euskadi Portugal and Spain should be part of as it should be independent: in the history of the Iberian Peninsula there are reasons for both possibilities. The defending a criminal terrorist organization ideas (the unity of Spain, for example, as did the GAL) does not criminalize these ideas: it is still legitimate, after those murders (and those of his predecessors: the Leader, the ex-battalion English) Catalonia and Euskadi argue that part of the English nation. As legitimate, at least, as the opposite.
try not to discuss this matter. Extreme nationalism (English as any other) tends to cloud witted, and I do not want any trouble. But you do not write only to entertain the leisure Sunday dear readers, and also to record which side is when serious matters are at stake. The party they vote (in which there are many who think like me, so we thought when we were opposed to Franco, but dare not say) and the main opposition party not only behave in this matter, so much less democratic leftwing nationalist, but they seem to do everything possible to continue the terrorism, not to disappear. I suspect that they are afraid to democratic independence than the other. And they were right: with Euskadi violence will never be independent, with the votes and the Covenants maybe someday. And then I feel so at home in Bilbao as I am now in Lisbon, Madrid or Barcelona.
I who love you, man or woman, nation or nationality, I free to go or stay. And that freedom is not a gracious concession mine, but his duty.
Tuesday, February 8
MY IDEA OF SUCCESS
Not all unsuccessful writers despise success. I, for one, do not scorn at all. Quite the contrary: I would like nothing more than having, not of Vargas Llosa, but Esteban Bethlehem, the lady who will just be like, like everyone else, for everyone, or a good part before she was astounded. I'm that ambitious. My friends laugh and think I'm kidding when I say that my idea of \u200b\u200bsuccess is not going to win any awards (I'm allergic), but because the prime time television brand, I take a program with a duration of several hours, which is titled simply "Spain asks, Garcia Martin responds," in the same format that they devoted to my envied nullity. And then the most serious publications dedicated to ramble on about me and the wrongs of my success.
Wednesday, February 9
FAREWELL "A taste a po'amaro perduto di sew." Taste a little bitter about loss. Who is this line that has suddenly begun to hammer in memory? Perhaps in Montale.
I ask while we wait for the bus that will lead you to Santander (coming from Santiago, from Santander will fly to Italy) and you smile and sing in a low voice: "Sapore di sale, Sapore di mare, / a taste a sewing Perdute po'amaro di, / di lontano da noi Lasciate sew, / dove è il mondo different, different da qui. "
I go home with the bitter taste of something lost and found, found, lost
.
Thursday, February 10 VANITY
Leo in an interview that the school itself (I will not say his name, there are many like him), besides not having TV at home (and therefore presumed of not knowing who is Belén Esteban: this man does not read newspapers), and listen to lots of radio, has pride, but completely lacking in vanity.
I, however, every time I have less pride and more vanity. The proud only cares about the high opinion he has of himself, the vain, however, nothing matters more than the opinions of others.
Yesterday, when I went to Nobel issues, as I do every day since sixteen years ago began publishing the magazine Clarín, a woman who crossed me, turned around and said, "Sorry to bother you, but I read every week. Sunday is the first page I read in the newspaper. " Some
has happened to me again. But it always happens to me when I'm alone, not with any known or one of those friends who think I only repeat myself and everyone has had enough of my travels and erotic phantasmagoria. And I can not tell me these things to anyone: I try as long as nobody noticed my vanity, I am a master of false modesty. Those words, perhaps only out of politeness, I am happy.
Friday, February 11
POLICY NOT SPEAK
still mulling, the politicians of either sign, whether to trust or not the new Basque party, whether they should or not leave to stand for election. I remember those disputes in the thirties on whether or not to grant women the vote. "It they are heavily managed by priests and will vote en masse to the right," said some leftist politicians. Fortunately, Clara Campoamor imposed its view that the right to vote does not support conditions: women, or the Basques, who think voters should vote, not whom we would like to vote.
I would never be a good politician, I would say always what it seems reasonable to me no matter lose votes. Say, for example, now that both political criticism, which seems to me that, in general, are well above average for their voters, culture, decency in any parameter. You have to see what he thinks is a tell-the good people of the street when nonsense on internet forums! What solutions have to end the crisis, unemployment and everything else! But perhaps the good people are silent and are more or less anonymous fanatics who speak on their behalf.
If I dared to enter the independence debate (or is), would not say more than platitudes: that the State is a thing of the head and pocket, but the country is a thing of the heart. Being an independent state or join another state, has advantages and disadvantages, and is a complex issue that depends on historical reasons, agreements, compromises. But I tell you, ordinary Spaniard Alfonso Guerra, Jacobin, which is my homeland. That has to ask me, I who knows.
Not all the citizens of this country feel that their country is Spain. To realize this is not deep sociological studies are needed: just, for example, see "Go short week," the comedy of Basque television.
Saturday, February 12 SAPORE
DI SALE
Life is hard, yes. But occasionally you hear a song about lazy days left in the mouth the taste of salt and your naked in the waves: "Poi tourniquet and you Lascia cadere vicino / così nella sabbia e nelle mie braccia / y Mentre you bacio sapore if he leaves, / Sapore di sale, Sapore di mare. "
The kiss I gave you no never, I keep giving you the song.
Sunday, February 6
unlucky in love
In matters of love, I have been fortunate to be the unluckiest man in the world. There has been little year since I have fourteen, when I did not break the heart for at least half a dozen times.
In this kind of stories when you're lucky, a gentleman has little to tell. I, however, as thoroughly as I could write my memoirs Casanova erotic and not stop being a gentleman.
almost always gave me the door in his face. Almost never went past the preliminaries.
I've been so fortunate. Sometimes I think it would have been better if things had occurred otherwise. Perhaps what is to come is supported best by two.
Maybe. I'm not so sure. Now what I fear most is that I become so cowardly to look the other way, it protected the heart when they look at me eyes. No more disappointments because old dog, I no longer fooled. But has not yet reached that point, I have not lost the idealism.
"Oviedo Paso tomorrow. I would say hello. " We saw two or three times during a week in Pisa (Pisa I slept in and went every day to Florence), exchanged e-mail. I wrote, I said. And suddenly, almost five years later-this unexpected message. Whatever happens tomorrow, no one can take away the happy fabrications Eve.
We met at the Campo dei Miracoli, empty of tourists, with a huge moon on the phantasmagoria of the marbles. We again agree on the leafy patio of the Feltrinelli bookshop del Corso in Italy. I certainly will not make any case, as I did almost no time. But you remember me ...
Failure again, I say, do not kid yourself. But those failures are what make for me still have some interest in the novel of my life.
Monday, February 7
YOU WANT FREE
A new political party declared in its statutes that expressly rejects the use of violence and threat to achieve political objectives and in this rejection expressly includes ETA terrorism. Another party says it will not acquiesce in any way that this new party is submitted to the elections.
Who are the Democrats, who so totalitarian? With the Law of Parties in the hand, is the second-which seeks to prevent the right to elect and be elected to a part of English-that should be banned.
But bar the first, with the law, without law or against it. I do not like
talk politics, there is always a friend who is upset. But one thing is not talking about petty politics, and one an accomplice. Therefore, although not help, repeat some platitudes.
In a democracy, just as legitimate to defend Catalonia, Euskadi Portugal and Spain should be part of as it should be independent: in the history of the Iberian Peninsula there are reasons for both possibilities. The defending a criminal terrorist organization ideas (the unity of Spain, for example, as did the GAL) does not criminalize these ideas: it is still legitimate, after those murders (and those of his predecessors: the Leader, the ex-battalion English) Catalonia and Euskadi argue that part of the English nation. As legitimate, at least, as the opposite.
try not to discuss this matter. Extreme nationalism (English as any other) tends to cloud witted, and I do not want any trouble. But you do not write only to entertain the leisure Sunday dear readers, and also to record which side is when serious matters are at stake. The party they vote (in which there are many who think like me, so we thought when we were opposed to Franco, but dare not say) and the main opposition party not only behave in this matter, so much less democratic leftwing nationalist, but they seem to do everything possible to continue the terrorism, not to disappear. I suspect that they are afraid to democratic independence than the other. And they were right: with Euskadi violence will never be independent, with the votes and the Covenants maybe someday. And then I feel so at home in Bilbao as I am now in Lisbon, Madrid or Barcelona.
I who love you, man or woman, nation or nationality, I free to go or stay. And that freedom is not a gracious concession mine, but his duty.
Tuesday, February 8
MY IDEA OF SUCCESS
Not all unsuccessful writers despise success. I, for one, do not scorn at all. Quite the contrary: I would like nothing more than having, not of Vargas Llosa, but Esteban Bethlehem, the lady who will just be like, like everyone else, for everyone, or a good part before she was astounded. I'm that ambitious. My friends laugh and think I'm kidding when I say that my idea of \u200b\u200bsuccess is not going to win any awards (I'm allergic), but because the prime time television brand, I take a program with a duration of several hours, which is titled simply "Spain asks, Garcia Martin responds," in the same format that they devoted to my envied nullity. And then the most serious publications dedicated to ramble on about me and the wrongs of my success.
Wednesday, February 9
FAREWELL "A taste a po'amaro perduto di sew." Taste a little bitter about loss. Who is this line that has suddenly begun to hammer in memory? Perhaps in Montale.
I ask while we wait for the bus that will lead you to Santander (coming from Santiago, from Santander will fly to Italy) and you smile and sing in a low voice: "Sapore di sale, Sapore di mare, / a taste a sewing Perdute po'amaro di, / di lontano da noi Lasciate sew, / dove è il mondo different, different da qui. "
I go home with the bitter taste of something lost and found, found, lost
.
Thursday, February 10 VANITY
Leo in an interview that the school itself (I will not say his name, there are many like him), besides not having TV at home (and therefore presumed of not knowing who is Belén Esteban: this man does not read newspapers), and listen to lots of radio, has pride, but completely lacking in vanity.
I, however, every time I have less pride and more vanity. The proud only cares about the high opinion he has of himself, the vain, however, nothing matters more than the opinions of others.
Yesterday, when I went to Nobel issues, as I do every day since sixteen years ago began publishing the magazine Clarín, a woman who crossed me, turned around and said, "Sorry to bother you, but I read every week. Sunday is the first page I read in the newspaper. " Some
has happened to me again. But it always happens to me when I'm alone, not with any known or one of those friends who think I only repeat myself and everyone has had enough of my travels and erotic phantasmagoria. And I can not tell me these things to anyone: I try as long as nobody noticed my vanity, I am a master of false modesty. Those words, perhaps only out of politeness, I am happy.
Friday, February 11
POLICY NOT SPEAK
still mulling, the politicians of either sign, whether to trust or not the new Basque party, whether they should or not leave to stand for election. I remember those disputes in the thirties on whether or not to grant women the vote. "It they are heavily managed by priests and will vote en masse to the right," said some leftist politicians. Fortunately, Clara Campoamor imposed its view that the right to vote does not support conditions: women, or the Basques, who think voters should vote, not whom we would like to vote.
I would never be a good politician, I would say always what it seems reasonable to me no matter lose votes. Say, for example, now that both political criticism, which seems to me that, in general, are well above average for their voters, culture, decency in any parameter. You have to see what he thinks is a tell-the good people of the street when nonsense on internet forums! What solutions have to end the crisis, unemployment and everything else! But perhaps the good people are silent and are more or less anonymous fanatics who speak on their behalf.
If I dared to enter the independence debate (or is), would not say more than platitudes: that the State is a thing of the head and pocket, but the country is a thing of the heart. Being an independent state or join another state, has advantages and disadvantages, and is a complex issue that depends on historical reasons, agreements, compromises. But I tell you, ordinary Spaniard Alfonso Guerra, Jacobin, which is my homeland. That has to ask me, I who knows.
Not all the citizens of this country feel that their country is Spain. To realize this is not deep sociological studies are needed: just, for example, see "Go short week," the comedy of Basque television.
Saturday, February 12 SAPORE
DI SALE
Life is hard, yes. But occasionally you hear a song about lazy days left in the mouth the taste of salt and your naked in the waves: "Poi tourniquet and you Lascia cadere vicino / così nella sabbia e nelle mie braccia / y Mentre you bacio sapore if he leaves, / Sapore di sale, Sapore di mare. "
The kiss I gave you no never, I keep giving you the song.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Headband Long Hair Guys
Pol icv Moragas i deixa criticizes the electoral proces Marx Posat pel partit
The famous list of Morral, who claimed to be a role model, like all his actions, the biggest hoax in the history of local democracy!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Messenger Bots That Are Online All The Time
May 22 Carme up for renewal!
is already confirmed it was an open secret in the upcoming municipal elections the mayor Carme Carmona will be a candidate for mayor. And we who rejoice that, after uncovering more than half of the dirty laundry of the previous mayor, Toni Backpack (ended in a censure motion does little more than a year), Carmen and her team shown that they can do things with little money and, most importantly, has returned to listen to all the neighborhoods that long ago that one only saw the mayor to ask for a vote when every four years.
So I will vote for humility, and I turn away from these mayors to spend 200 euros in makeup, 2 million in a bridge between 2 bridges, 200 thousand euros in a roundabout, 14 thousand euros in 4 pots, 10 000 euros in 2 stones to raise up the people to make parking impossible to sell, 24 000 euros in a luminous letters, ... Toni Morral, better known as pharaonic works, or torn pocket.
Carme In one year we have seen how, very low cost, you can make people happier with evening study halls, building playgrounds for sports schools, paralyzing the neighborhood would be built illegally on a pile of shit (landfill), ... or whatever is the same ... not wasting money!
Meanwhile, Toni is resubmitted using the tactic known as "feel sorry", "that evil is all that I have mania," too bad you look at me "... Let us not be fooled again!
And I wonder ... but as we're not going to have a hobby, if you can blame the management of a year in office all your splurges for 7 years?
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Wherecanimeetsara Jay
the other side: An example and a lesson
Sunday, January 30
TOMORROW WILL BE ONLY
obsession with spelling is an infallible resource to recognize a booby illustrated. The other is its disdain for television. When I hear someone say (not as one who finds a fact, but bragging about it) "I see little television, but I hear a lot of radio", they immediately know what to expect. And I am rarely wrong.
long also know what to expect as far as regards Javier Marias. Today criticizes the new spelling reforms. He says he does not know anyone who rule "Buffoon" as John (with one syllable and not two). How little has the famous ear for colloquial speech writer! So pronounce most people, probably even himself when he is not listening to himself.
ends his article defending the tilde of the adverb "only" a joke that seems to take very seriously. Even crimes can bring about the demise of the diacritic accent! How do you know, if not, what is being said in the phrase "'I'll be lonely tomorrow? "If you type in a mail a man to his lover, the difference is not trivial," says academic dissenting. He explains: "Without tilde means you will be without his wife, with accents that tomorrow will be the only day that will be in town. It is no small thing, really. At least there have been homicides. "
I do not know if there have been fewer homicides (there are people, there are the "Letters to the Editor" for any newspaper to prove it-a misspelling who offend them as the greatest sacrilege), I do know is that he has never been as unlikely lovers and distracted as the novelist to imagine grace. "I'll be lonely tomorrow" with tilde or not tilde, means it will be the only day City will be the mistress if you live in another city, and means (with or without a tilde tilde) that tomorrow will be alone without annoying commitments, if they live in the same city. The ambiguities in the real language (not the pipe dream of grammarians, or better, the fans Miquis tiquis grammar), the clear context.
Monday, January 31
WHERE LIFE IS PAIN
"Sybille Bedford know?" Angels Carvajal asked me this morning in the cafeteria every morning. "I've never heard of it." "Well, see how you like it." And I passed one of his books, Quicksand. Anything unless I feel like reading a novel by an illustrious unknown. But it is not a novel but a memoir that began in Geneva and then continue to Florence and Rome, Paris and New York, Capri and Ischia.
Like most sedentary lives fascinate me cosmopolitan. I know plenty of boredom lives in all places, but I like to think that there are places where life hurts like an awkward posture.
Ischia, for example. I came to the island just looking for something or other, running from something that he knew very well take me wherever he went. But it was a winter day that seemed to spring, the blue sky was the transparency of extraordinary times, smelled of sea and happiness. I left the dock and started to walk to the left, not knowing whither he went. A long street with restaurants and shops, which are then replaced by hotels and big villas surrounded by gardens. I keep walking and suddenly I find myself, like in a fairytale, with a castle on a dark rock that emerges from the water. I did not know, but it is exactly the place he was looking for. A bridge that leads me to another island on which stands not a castle but a secret city with its cathedral and its strength and its orchards and gardens. Walk just for that unusual maze. To give back to a path bordering the sea between laurels, I hear a cackle I am familiar with a yard full of chickens. I smile. "I would stay here forever, I think. But suddenly a cold wind blows, the sky darkens, and in an instant way of wanting to stay there forever to dread having to stay there overnight. Looking at my watch: just a half hour for the last ferry. He escaped in a hurry to that paradise, as I have always escaped any paradise. On the boat, two lovers look and wonder, oblivious to what is happening around them. I watch them on the sly, with envy. Suddenly the girl turns to me and says something. I get scared, I have noticed my attention and have been disturbed. But no one wants to tell me that I had dropped one of the books I brought with me. It was I who had no eyes for them.
I find them again soon after, Feltrinelli bookstore in the Piazza dei Martire, where there was a book of poems. She recognized me and greeted me smiling. In his companion believed to glimpse a gesture of displeasure. Many nights I dream I return to Ischia and the Castello Aragonese and that we meet again and she is not alone that smiles at me.
There are places that life hurts like an awkward posture. But they are all out of my life.
Tuesday, February 1
THE DECLINE OF THE SPELLING
When talking about the decline of spelling, I always remember a story that has Eugenio d'Ors in Glossary , I'll go back often, we examined
a History of Literature in the company of a meritorious teacher when he jumped in our eyes there came a picture with the portrait of Francisco de Quevedo. In the area of \u200b\u200bthe image, a handwritten inscription of the time gave the name of the great poet (and more), but graphing one with a 'b' donkey instead of the 'v' cow. The face of my companion checked any surprise contemplation, while some reluctance. After a brief meditation, so I said, very comforting penetrated anointing: "No one can deny that what has most modern progress is the spelling."
Wednesday, February 2
DECENT MARRIAGE
Beautifully shakes its cries Tristan on stage at the Campoamor. Unlike Woody Allen I do not feel like invading Poland when I listen to Wagner, but according to succeed the hours I can not help thinking that Hitler needed less time to completely invade the country.
not just Tristan never die in the third act of Tristan and Isolde . Between the harmonics of music I detect a slight buzz, a peculiar purring. I look to my left and I remember the words of Peter Ustinov in The love of four colonels : "The only decent marriage sleep together in the box at the opera."
Thursday, February 3
HOW WAS THE MASTER
I open the newspaper and remember I come before any other consideration, a few verses of Antonio Machado: "As was the teacher, / light this morning I said to Van three days / my brother Francisco does not work .... " Jesús Neira, the best teacher, gave us the kind of language in one day in 1968 when I was eighteen and he was much younger than I am now, had not even married, "but I thought the old kind, shy and wise I always thought. "Did he die? ... Just know / that we went for a clear path, / saying: Make me / a work of mourning and hope. / Be good, and no more, be what I have been / among you: a soul. / Vivid, life goes on, / the dead die and go shadow, / leads who leaves and lives he has lived. "
I also remember the verses of León Felipe cited at the beginning of one of his books, Bable. structure and history: "It will come a strong wind / I take my place." But it was not necessary. Was where he was, he was always in place.
Friday, February 4
JET D'EAU
My favorite emotion: the glare coming to a city that has not ever been and with whom he has dreamed many times. It's like going to bed for the first time who has been your secret love for years.
"I got off the train, followed the waiter paused cart through the two customs to the slogan of the station, and walked free for a few hours in the city that was shed light the water sparkled and lit up the snow against the blue summer. " Thus begins his memoirs
Sybille Bedford, and I go back to her to Geneva and a June night in the White Comet Jet d'Eau is a huge moon rose up surrounded by all the stars. "It's too romantic", as you told me to remove the lips.
Saturday, February 5
Influence Peddling
reading these days many scholars to criticize the new rules violet spelling, I am reminded of the story of Damaso Alonso I heard him tell Jesús Neira once went to his house in the square of the Deed, on behalf of a friend, asking him to have kindness to him and that the subject of Dialectology, that he had choked, it was the only one who was to graduate. Was the only time I practiced influence peddling and I had pretty bad. "No problem, no problem," he said before I finish my request babble. After talking about those who want to submit the living language, in which only send the speakers, the last of their prejudices grammar, Damaso Alonso told me that walking in Andalusia, in the company of poet Ricardo Molina, investigating a curious phonetic: words ending in "a" forming the plural by changing it into an "e" open ("bottles" sounded like "BOTEY"). As was rare, and the two good drinkers, their method of investigation was to stop at the village tavern, inviting parishioners and ask them. When there was doubt, they would send a boy to find the teacher to inform them. And there was one who mistook them for primary education inspectors. Quickly followed. Finally showed up dressed in full regalia, with hat and even tie pin. Not yet recovered from the shock, he said, stressing much the recipes, the vee and elles, that "in that town, as have occasion to note, and thanks to his excellent teaching, talked with the most correct English pronunciation and according to the latest standards of the Royal Academy. "
Sunday, January 30
TOMORROW WILL BE ONLY
obsession with spelling is an infallible resource to recognize a booby illustrated. The other is its disdain for television. When I hear someone say (not as one who finds a fact, but bragging about it) "I see little television, but I hear a lot of radio", they immediately know what to expect. And I am rarely wrong.
long also know what to expect as far as regards Javier Marias. Today criticizes the new spelling reforms. He says he does not know anyone who rule "Buffoon" as John (with one syllable and not two). How little has the famous ear for colloquial speech writer! So pronounce most people, probably even himself when he is not listening to himself.
ends his article defending the tilde of the adverb "only" a joke that seems to take very seriously. Even crimes can bring about the demise of the diacritic accent! How do you know, if not, what is being said in the phrase "'I'll be lonely tomorrow? "If you type in a mail a man to his lover, the difference is not trivial," says academic dissenting. He explains: "Without tilde means you will be without his wife, with accents that tomorrow will be the only day that will be in town. It is no small thing, really. At least there have been homicides. "
I do not know if there have been fewer homicides (there are people, there are the "Letters to the Editor" for any newspaper to prove it-a misspelling who offend them as the greatest sacrilege), I do know is that he has never been as unlikely lovers and distracted as the novelist to imagine grace. "I'll be lonely tomorrow" with tilde or not tilde, means it will be the only day City will be the mistress if you live in another city, and means (with or without a tilde tilde) that tomorrow will be alone without annoying commitments, if they live in the same city. The ambiguities in the real language (not the pipe dream of grammarians, or better, the fans Miquis tiquis grammar), the clear context.
Monday, January 31
WHERE LIFE IS PAIN
"Sybille Bedford know?" Angels Carvajal asked me this morning in the cafeteria every morning. "I've never heard of it." "Well, see how you like it." And I passed one of his books, Quicksand. Anything unless I feel like reading a novel by an illustrious unknown. But it is not a novel but a memoir that began in Geneva and then continue to Florence and Rome, Paris and New York, Capri and Ischia.
Like most sedentary lives fascinate me cosmopolitan. I know plenty of boredom lives in all places, but I like to think that there are places where life hurts like an awkward posture.
Ischia, for example. I came to the island just looking for something or other, running from something that he knew very well take me wherever he went. But it was a winter day that seemed to spring, the blue sky was the transparency of extraordinary times, smelled of sea and happiness. I left the dock and started to walk to the left, not knowing whither he went. A long street with restaurants and shops, which are then replaced by hotels and big villas surrounded by gardens. I keep walking and suddenly I find myself, like in a fairytale, with a castle on a dark rock that emerges from the water. I did not know, but it is exactly the place he was looking for. A bridge that leads me to another island on which stands not a castle but a secret city with its cathedral and its strength and its orchards and gardens. Walk just for that unusual maze. To give back to a path bordering the sea between laurels, I hear a cackle I am familiar with a yard full of chickens. I smile. "I would stay here forever, I think. But suddenly a cold wind blows, the sky darkens, and in an instant way of wanting to stay there forever to dread having to stay there overnight. Looking at my watch: just a half hour for the last ferry. He escaped in a hurry to that paradise, as I have always escaped any paradise. On the boat, two lovers look and wonder, oblivious to what is happening around them. I watch them on the sly, with envy. Suddenly the girl turns to me and says something. I get scared, I have noticed my attention and have been disturbed. But no one wants to tell me that I had dropped one of the books I brought with me. It was I who had no eyes for them.
I find them again soon after, Feltrinelli bookstore in the Piazza dei Martire, where there was a book of poems. She recognized me and greeted me smiling. In his companion believed to glimpse a gesture of displeasure. Many nights I dream I return to Ischia and the Castello Aragonese and that we meet again and she is not alone that smiles at me.
There are places that life hurts like an awkward posture. But they are all out of my life.
Tuesday, February 1
THE DECLINE OF THE SPELLING
When talking about the decline of spelling, I always remember a story that has Eugenio d'Ors in Glossary , I'll go back often, we examined
a History of Literature in the company of a meritorious teacher when he jumped in our eyes there came a picture with the portrait of Francisco de Quevedo. In the area of \u200b\u200bthe image, a handwritten inscription of the time gave the name of the great poet (and more), but graphing one with a 'b' donkey instead of the 'v' cow. The face of my companion checked any surprise contemplation, while some reluctance. After a brief meditation, so I said, very comforting penetrated anointing: "No one can deny that what has most modern progress is the spelling."
Wednesday, February 2
DECENT MARRIAGE
Beautifully shakes its cries Tristan on stage at the Campoamor. Unlike Woody Allen I do not feel like invading Poland when I listen to Wagner, but according to succeed the hours I can not help thinking that Hitler needed less time to completely invade the country.
not just Tristan never die in the third act of Tristan and Isolde . Between the harmonics of music I detect a slight buzz, a peculiar purring. I look to my left and I remember the words of Peter Ustinov in The love of four colonels : "The only decent marriage sleep together in the box at the opera."
Thursday, February 3
HOW WAS THE MASTER
I open the newspaper and remember I come before any other consideration, a few verses of Antonio Machado: "As was the teacher, / light this morning I said to Van three days / my brother Francisco does not work .... " Jesús Neira, the best teacher, gave us the kind of language in one day in 1968 when I was eighteen and he was much younger than I am now, had not even married, "but I thought the old kind, shy and wise I always thought. "Did he die? ... Just know / that we went for a clear path, / saying: Make me / a work of mourning and hope. / Be good, and no more, be what I have been / among you: a soul. / Vivid, life goes on, / the dead die and go shadow, / leads who leaves and lives he has lived. "
I also remember the verses of León Felipe cited at the beginning of one of his books, Bable. structure and history: "It will come a strong wind / I take my place." But it was not necessary. Was where he was, he was always in place.
Friday, February 4
JET D'EAU
My favorite emotion: the glare coming to a city that has not ever been and with whom he has dreamed many times. It's like going to bed for the first time who has been your secret love for years.
"I got off the train, followed the waiter paused cart through the two customs to the slogan of the station, and walked free for a few hours in the city that was shed light the water sparkled and lit up the snow against the blue summer. " Thus begins his memoirs
Sybille Bedford, and I go back to her to Geneva and a June night in the White Comet Jet d'Eau is a huge moon rose up surrounded by all the stars. "It's too romantic", as you told me to remove the lips.
Saturday, February 5
Influence Peddling
reading these days many scholars to criticize the new rules violet spelling, I am reminded of the story of Damaso Alonso I heard him tell Jesús Neira once went to his house in the square of the Deed, on behalf of a friend, asking him to have kindness to him and that the subject of Dialectology, that he had choked, it was the only one who was to graduate. Was the only time I practiced influence peddling and I had pretty bad. "No problem, no problem," he said before I finish my request babble. After talking about those who want to submit the living language, in which only send the speakers, the last of their prejudices grammar, Damaso Alonso told me that walking in Andalusia, in the company of poet Ricardo Molina, investigating a curious phonetic: words ending in "a" forming the plural by changing it into an "e" open ("bottles" sounded like "BOTEY"). As was rare, and the two good drinkers, their method of investigation was to stop at the village tavern, inviting parishioners and ask them. When there was doubt, they would send a boy to find the teacher to inform them. And there was one who mistook them for primary education inspectors. Quickly followed. Finally showed up dressed in full regalia, with hat and even tie pin. Not yet recovered from the shock, he said, stressing much the recipes, the vee and elles, that "in that town, as have occasion to note, and thanks to his excellent teaching, talked with the most correct English pronunciation and according to the latest standards of the Royal Academy. "
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)