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Rear Window ...




few days ago I thought of the old courtyard which is overlooked by many windows and lots of balconies, which faces every day countless people, you knew all there was trading news: who was right and who had the illness, those who are married and who died, births and loves. All
shared between the walls of these courtyards

... All this has now changed to "Internet" in the "Social Forum"

... There are people who can be found, which is said or simply stands by and watches from the window ...

Each monitor has become the "Rear Window", the balcony on the world. You
way to tell and to listen, watch or to show off, perhaps leaving the window ajar or leave the light on showing your image like a shadow behind the curtain.
There are people who stays behind to spy on the tax and who voluntarily put on display.

Maybe it's a way too romantic vedere un mezzo freddo come il computer, ma come dicevo è solo un mezzo, la cosa importante è come lo usa.

La mia “Finestra sul Cortile” è sempre aperta: osservo tutto ciò che accade e m’informo sui miei amici, racconto ciò che mi accade, anche le cose più intime e personali. Certo, a volte, sono stanco e mi affaccio solo per guardare in attimo per poi rientrare nella mia quotidianità.
Ma sapere che la finestra è sempre aperta e la porta non è mai chiusa, mi da la tranquillità che non sarò mai solo.

Certo, io non sono mai solo perché con me c’è il Mio Amore, il Mio Cicitto, che completa la mia vita, riempiendola di tutto. Ma non We certainly can not rule the world and we would never.
not ever live a separate life and, for that tell us everything that happens to share it with everyone.

And still resent the voices of children playing and mothers call them for dinner, the kids cackling with motor and fathers who scream back, telling tales that the grandmothers and aunts gossiping about everything and everyone .

Perhaps all too romantic, but tonight I feel sad. It will be for this persistent rain on the skylights, it will be because he is not here tonight Cicitto home with me, simply because you are just beautiful emotions that I want to share with you my "Friends of the court. "

When you put your life at the window, you can be sure there is always someone who will come to share her with you ... and everything returns to "Old cup", in the most humane and beautiful ... The voices that come from homes , the lights that light up at sunset in the kitchens which are the smells of dinner, the buzz of chat before going to sleep, waiting to awaken to the sound of pots with the scent of freshly boiled milk ...

And then, for the time, I greet you and refer you to the next time we will meet and talk with our "windows" and our "balcony", to exchange maybe the latest news and gossip from the latest gossips.
A big hug. You, Sal.

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AND GROUP PHOTO: OTTO GEESE AND A RESERVE OF Porchetta

I'll be back after a period of comings and goings of influences, temperature changes and profound reflections.
What have I done now? Well, I was watching? Watching what? Nothing, absolutely nothing. It is said nothing: everything that happens regularly and that it is not surprising more for its intrinsic banality.
In the midst of all this nothing, in truth, there was something slightly more annihilating ... and want to talk.

In recent weeks in which the world was focused on the ecological disasters, on earthquakes and contagious sluts of Mexican origin, I stayed in my villa in the mountains to see the world through the window ... and the TV. Nothing new under the sun, of course. Except for the last own goal in chronological order signed Mediaset. Let me be clear, Mediaset I is not nasty ... I causes only a slight boost in hives and sprinkle the fragrant world of diarrhea ... it will be that since the Smurfs are on the government on such prestigious television makes me want to subscribe to digital terrestrial and once buy a power saw to reduce it into thin slices thin that you can not say no.
I refer of course to eight photos of the ducks.
Ah, do not recognize? Shit, I'd say the opposite. Well, I present them briefly. (From right to left). The first is

Pamela Prati. Chorus girl at the supermarket over the years has been promoted to principal dancer incapable of discernment. In turn, is said to be a transvestite, but I am firmly convinced that it is only one, which is simply given a burqa ... and a subscription to a school dance. Who knows, maybe with a little 'good practice can not dance alone instead of being moved from one place to another stage by a squadron of forced dancers.

The second is our Valeriona. In the picture is not easily recognized because the disguise palmiped and certainly the next to give birth to a half kilos of foie gras. Unlike the first, that at least tries, she does not even know the meaning of the word "dance" ... and yes in the last twenty years a host of experienced teachers are given a lot to be done to make her understand that an account is Another dance is the flirtatious fluttering in front of the cameras. Okay and here you could write a treatise ...

The third is the well-known Nina Moric. Graduated to the role of sucker subscribed silicon greatly loves the art of camouflage. Then it takes little ... ed'altronde where it could hide a total failure if not in the middle unable to so many? But she can not do anything. Nothing is said, everything a good wife does it for love, but someone else does for that money to unusual altitudes.

Then there's Angela Melillo. Winner of reality do not know which stands out from the crowd for that its ability to produce expressions of childish cunning little girl. And some still believe.

As you are noticing, but they go down the list the curriculum of each of these begins to shorten. Was followed by the remaining four, among them being a former Miss Italy winning the competition for its amazing resemblance to Sophia Loren. It is enough. Champion of spelling and syntactical gaffes, has taken refuge role in her most congenial to the shoulder to shoulder Bagaglino comedians. The last three are unknown.


You probably wonder why this brief review. We believe the word. Also I have asked my the same question. In short, why make a program with eight women (ah that euphemism!)? What will the authors wanted to communicate? What message have wanted to give these eight men to the people stupid, and even more than women?
Perhaps the authors wanted to insinuate that will have to make a real show girl today - with the logic of patchwork - it takes at least eight ... and this is to try to hide the overall level of incompetence inherent in each of them. The geese have decided that instead of joyous parade in this brothel television (dear Carfagna, the whores are not just for the streets) but have wanted to communicate - to us mere mortals women - today the successful model of a woman is what they promote with their image: a woman who does not need to be but only to appear.

Mind you, there is nothing moralistic about this statement. What really irritates me is the fact that the foot in the grave of the cultural status quo is still so firmly stopped. Ok, yes, maybe it's the usual brought her feminist ... but of course I'm really tired of not seeing me around women with added value.

The beauty, real or alleged to be, overwhelmed everything. But beauty really enough? I have always wondered this myself. In fact I miss the sense of this race. Where are you getting at? Most of these pseudo variety of dance art is neither a husband nor age-age birth. They are returnable bottles. They might need money?

may simply exist ... and to have some hope that even at fifty you may still be handsome. You know, old chicken makes good soup, but here are indeed talking about ducks ... and then the analogy is lost.

Fortunately, the program was a flop and someone is already planning to cancel it, and I trembling more than ever I hope the message comes loud and clear these tardone ... like the bullet in the head that placing willingly among the eight brain empty.

Today I turn it ... because I fortunately I still have the menstrual period.

Hasta Lueg

Amanda

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WOMAN AT WORK ... OR THE EFFORTS OF WOMEN'S EMANCIPATION

I own I broke the ovaries. Yes, I can no longer hear them babble. Women, I mean.
For some time now, almost all the women began to feel overcome by deifying a flame, so that everything that is said against them takes on yet another attack on the sacredness del proprio status di “intoccabili”.
Oltre a sentirci divine, noi amiamo anche percepirci come il centro del mondo: un mix letale tra wonder woman, la casalinga, l’amica e la madre perfetta. A noi questo ruolo piace… e ci piace soprattutto perché così abbiamo una buona scusa per rompere i coglioni per le vie del mondo. Sai che caciara!!!
Ecco, credo che sia proprio questa nostra attitudine a lagnarci che ci abbia portato a considerare ogni cosa troppo stretta e, per converso, a desiderare un mondo che non esiste nemmeno nelle favole. Infatti, quando ci proiettiamo in una fiaba – una qualsiasi, ovviamente - prediligiamo sempre il ruolo della piccola fiammiferaia oppure quello della principessa di turno o, anche meglio quello della sfigata che alla fine trionfa, tralasciando distrattamente tutto quel variopinto paesaggio umano costellato di streghe simili a mogli, sorellastre molto simili a colleghe d’ufficio… e ippopotami col tutù del tutto identiche a quelle immagini che riflettono lo stato di avanzamento-cellulite del nostro corpo.

Una delle lagne create ad hoc nel corso dei secoli è quella che riguarda il fatto che non ci venga mai data l’opportunità di dimostrare quanto siamo realmente cretine. L’uomo, dal canto suo, nel suo continuo ostacolarci ha cominciato a vestire il ruolo dell’alibi perfetto. Per fortuna nostra.

Nei giorni scorsi, il ministro Brunetta durante il convegno denominato Women at work, ha detto qualcosa di assolutamente vero, ma che nessuna donna – nemmeno la più autocritica – si sarebbe mai lasciata scappare dalla bocca, e cioè che la femminilizzazione dei lavori e delle professioni che scegliamo è una tomba che ci scaviamo da sole… e come siamo brave a farlo!
Su quel letamaio infiocchettato di rosa dette Pari opportunità si è infatti costruito tutto il nostro modo di vedere il lavoro oggi, ovvero una doverosa pausa remunerata maldestramente lasciata cadere tra i bambini che vanno lasciati a scuola, fare la spesa, andare a fare shopping, andare in palestra, dissipare lo stipendio proprio e del marito, cucinare preziosi manicaretti per la famiglia, lavare le mutande del nostro life partner.

God how long is the life! How exhausting it ... Yes, must be just a hard-baked frittata, but certainly it's easy to turn them over to art ... especially when there is half of the said status.

untouchable status of the image is in fact the collective that makes us look for a victim to the bitter end - we say - purpose-built by the skilled hands of men for the sole purpose of abusing. Shit, I had forgotten that fact, the hairdresser, waxing, gym, shopping, high heels were the most brilliant invention of men. In short, it seems that the woman has never been free to create and be itself. It is always the man who forces us this and we feel it on our skin. Day after day.

We women, you know, memories of a past which we were slaves not to make a cock while our husbands went to war, we began to stomp on the ground to get the "bad" removed. Feminism today is not so much the same places as the actual passing of man. A sort of "super man" - or rather a super woman - who can do anything ... provided that you leave time to do nothing. The important - the crux - for us not to process the claim all claimed. Yes, we want everything. We want work - for example - but at the same time we want to go shopping. We also want to be mothers (our sacred right physiological), but at the same time we would like to work (ie shopping). We want to rule the world, but if it requires too much energy and too much time when we go to the hairdresser, beautician's or shopping? We want to be emancipated, but it pissed off when a man leaves us to pay the restaurant (well, what happened to the men of the past?) Or does not take us shopping with her credit card. We want to be super, but when someone says "Go!" We reply "yeah, but mica is a robot?"

The point is that we are always on the side of right, as a matter of principle ... In relation to this dogma, everything said is a lack of respect for women. These are exactly the words used by Pollastrini, to which I would ask: "but in what condition a woman can be said to be respected?" I think I've got the only answer that came was: a woman is said to be satisfied if the grants to do what the fuck they like, and when he feels like.
Not so, in fact, that a woman will make you notice that "case" has moved away from the workplace to do the shopping. Very serious trouble, dear friends! In short, a woman has the right to shop ... if not children and husband will eat what? Another galactic

bullshit is that of parental leave. The men of this dry matter certainly do not know that from 2000 (Act 53), there are those blessed "Parental leave", which, however - and I repeat "but" - can be obtained by men only if the woman is willing to grant the husband. The point is that the woman does not want: motherhood in fact - that we say, in relation to the advantage of enjoying the baby - it's a privilege that no one wants to quit, but then what the fuck were invented for?

Then there is a question which I would that some readers / ice answer, but because when the equality between the sexes is supported by a woman emancipation and when, instead, is supported by a macho man? Why equal retirement age is seen as "a language old male" (in the words of Bindi ... certainly more of The Russian male)?

To crown the face of protests females Montecitorio (hopefully endangered ... especially if they are equal to Carfagna, but alas, that have both trimmed even matter!) There have been those of Lussier Carolina League, which is supporter of the "mal comune mezzo gaudio” con frasi del tipo : “ prendere un caffè o leggere il giornale sportivo non è un modo di assentarsi dal lavoro?” Certo cara la mia mentecatta, lo è… eccome, esattamente come leggersi Marie Claire e fare gossip al bagno delle ragazze. La stessa poi conclude con: “se pure fosse vero… fare la spesa non è assenteismo ozioso, come quello degli uomini.”

Dopo una battuta del genere a “questa” mi verrebbe voglia di seppellirla viva. Cazzo, come non averci pensato io stessa?! È un’argomentazione che non fa una piega. Da oggi in poi, infatti, consiglio a tutti indistintamente time off work to make the gym, or anything else that does not lead to idleness. In short, the important thing is not to be lazy. Brilliant, is not it?!

After this triumph of women's bullshit, I hope that this outline of Brunetta not cool to do that one neuron "pink schedule Max" to Mara Carfagna century.

All other wonder that women have yet to learn to cook two eggs, stretch a towel and put on makeup as they should, launch a laconic: but go to hell!

Amanda