Shiny Gold Final Version

NUMBER THIRTEEN FOURTEEN

ALIENS ARE THREATS OR RESOURCES?

train stopped at the station, you're sitting together with the your woman, alone in a compartment. All of a sudden she goes, foreign, well-dressed. "Can I take a seat here?" She asks, "Sure," replied smiling. Chat quiet, until you, your her, she begins to trim a series of dirty looks and jabs, which silence the stranger, who retires in his corner. Clear situation, no?

Good, 'cause here comes the difficult. You, Italian boy, step into the role of well-dressed and well-dressed foreign becomes the girlfriend of a Croat to be dressed in red and white basketball shoes, suits wide and flared fleece, red Adidas sweatshirt with a hood and white stripes. Unshaven, hair neglected.
Considering the standard
Balkans, the Croatian nice dress too well because the suit here is an appropriate end to the most varied circumstances except for marriage, but only if you are the groom or witnesses, the suit is fine as well as for sports, even to go to university, to play with snowballs, walking the streets of downtown, to go out and, because 'no, even for a date. Of course the suit is not 'necessarily make, and not necessarily acetate.

Up to thirty years, the shirt does not even know what it is ... a tie? "Stuff for the rich."

What are you doing in Belgrade, I like the city, and where you were going? The conversation is banal, the ogre apparently reading a newspaper sports except looking up and across, to get each time you say something controversial for the countries and peoples of Yugoslavia, team with enough when you criticize the logistics Belgrade ("in front all'Istututo there is a slow traffic light: generally across the road four times a day and even calculating losing five minutes on average, in a month means two hours in a year a day ") and teach saccenza that" you know, Once we were a country, "they note that women like her, born in Bosnia but raised in Croatia, which is a bit 'all the Balkan nations are stir. The train leaves, the conversation stops. If

with her, from time to time, there is some exchange of pleasantries ("I'm sorry, I could go? Thank You" or "stay here?" We can leave the laptop? ") While he baccaglia in Croatian that is not the case to speak English with this Italian side: she laughs, kisses him to shut up every now and then. After a while, 'while I was in the bathroom, he did move sedendola in front of him near the window: with a leg here and one of the, creates a fence around his private property, from deep blue eyes and light hair.

The apotheosis comes just a few kilometers from Zagreb: thanks to wireless, the sympathetic Croatian connects to the Internet, pull up your speaker volume and show her, so that you can peek, the curve of the Dynamo - probably not the most cosmopolitan of the region - singing songs in which a word about two and '" Hrvatska. Zagreb, however, is closer than expected, so he puts the PC in a hurry as she wrapped in his green coat, smiling good luck and enjoy the rest of the trip, coming out of the compartment. He rolls down the suitcase with a snap, throwing cans of Coca Cola which has drained her together with her: of course not collect, of course, goes without saying. It 's a real tough guy, him.

Once off, she stops to light a cigarette, inadvertently right under your window. You can not miss the opportunity of looking around his eyes, before you stare at her. Reaction: embrace it and take her away. More smoke comes out from the head of him from her cigarette.

ability to match a pair of jeans, a sweater and a shirt, smile and willingness to dialogue, initiative in interpersonal relationships, desire to stay with friends, have fun and party. All seasoned with a healthy dose of intelligence, cunning and malice.

fear foreigners, fear of foreigners, the foreigners admire, admire foreigners returned to the territory ... While Slovenia Union street, I realize why we Italians (especially the little men) are so intensely loved and hated at the same time: that is, in either case, "obvious superiority?

Shiny Gold Final Version

NUMBER THIRTEEN FOURTEEN

ALIENS ARE THREATS OR RESOURCES?

train stopped at the station, you're sitting together with the your woman, alone in a compartment. All of a sudden she goes, foreign, well-dressed. "Can I take a seat here?" She asks, "Sure," replied smiling. Chat quiet, until you, your her, she begins to trim a series of dirty looks and jabs, which silence the stranger, who retires in his corner. Clear situation, no?

Good, 'cause here comes the difficult. You, Italian boy, step into the role of well-dressed and well-dressed foreign becomes the girlfriend of a Croat to be dressed in red and white basketball shoes, suits wide and flared fleece, red Adidas sweatshirt with a hood and white stripes. Unshaven, hair neglected.
Considering the standard
Balkans, the Croatian nice dress too well because the suit here is an appropriate end to the most varied circumstances except for marriage, but only if you are the groom or witnesses, the suit is fine as well as for sports, even to go to university, to play with snowballs, walking the streets of downtown, to go out and, because 'no, even for a date. Of course the suit is not 'necessarily make, and not necessarily acetate.

Up to thirty years, the shirt does not even know what it is ... a tie? "Stuff for the rich."

What are you doing in Belgrade, I like the city, and where you were going? The conversation is banal, the ogre apparently reading a newspaper sports except looking up and across, to get each time you say something controversial for the countries and peoples of Yugoslavia, team with enough when you criticize the logistics Belgrade ("in front all'Istututo there is a slow traffic light: generally across the road four times a day and even calculating losing five minutes on average, in a month means two hours in a year a day ") and teach saccenza that" you know, Once we were a country, "they note that women like her, born in Bosnia but raised in Croatia, which is a bit 'all the Balkan nations are stir. The train leaves, the conversation stops. If

with her, from time to time, there is some exchange of pleasantries ("I'm sorry, I could go? Thank You" or "stay here?" We can leave the laptop? ") While he baccaglia in Croatian that is not the case to speak English with this Italian side: she laughs, kisses him to shut up every now and then. After a while, 'while I was in the bathroom, he did move sedendola in front of him near the window: with a leg here and one of the, creates a fence around his private property, from deep blue eyes and light hair.

The apotheosis comes just a few kilometers from Zagreb: thanks to wireless, the sympathetic Croatian connects to the Internet, pull up your speaker volume and show her, so that you can peek, the curve of the Dynamo - probably not the most cosmopolitan of the region - singing songs in which a word about two and '" Hrvatska. Zagreb, however, is closer than expected, so he puts the PC in a hurry as she wrapped in his green coat, smiling good luck and enjoy the rest of the trip, coming out of the compartment. He rolls down the suitcase with a snap, throwing cans of Coca Cola which has drained her together with her: of course not collect, of course, goes without saying. It 's a real tough guy, him.

Once off, she stops to light a cigarette, inadvertently right under your window. You can not miss the opportunity of looking around his eyes, before you stare at her. Reaction: embrace it and take her away. More smoke comes out from the head of him from her cigarette.

ability to match a pair of jeans, a sweater and a shirt, smile and willingness to dialogue, initiative in interpersonal relationships, desire to stay with friends, have fun and party. All seasoned with a healthy dose of intelligence, cunning and malice.

fear foreigners, fear of foreigners, the foreigners admire, admire foreigners returned to the territory ... While Slovenia Union street, I realize why we Italians (especially the little men) are so intensely loved and hated at the same time: that is, in either case, "obvious superiority?

Sure Fire Sign Of Hiv

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY. AND Draughts

Phone call. - But, you know that tomorrow night I go to a concert by Ennio Morricone? - Why is it still alive? - We hope so - Why? - Because if not, who is playing tomorrow? - Come on, I thought he was dead ...

think of it, a concert Morricone is a child to church is like caviar to a Somali child: Pieve Emanuele, on the other is a country where if you already know the multiplication table of the seven shows a certain level cultural, let alone Morricone. Even if everyone at least once in life, we hummed or whistled "tanaaaanananananananananananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatanananananananananananananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" ... And they all recognize it on the fly. Even at church.

The city was plastered with posters, so that the eight thousand (maybe more) tickets sold (with average prices around 30 Euro, not so cheap) were perhaps predictable and represent a substantial prize for the organizers. The stands are full, what stadium is the "lawn" of course: a few small group crowding the second (and last) ring, probably the most economy. It was perhaps too predictable, considering that the public goes to hear Morricone is generally educated, wealthy and fond of music, so interested in enjoying the performance from the best position possible without some spare a few dinar to find themselves in pigeon. Between the first and second ring is a series of boxes, the kind of boxes, which takes place on the elite of the "Belgrade good": there are those who smoke, those who drink and those who watch television. Television, but are you sure? Maybe there will be a monitor to enjoy the concert at best, with shots that capture the details ... No, I meant to say that television and television, complete with cartoons and football matches.

The applause starts more or less at random, especially at the beginning, when the guitar solo that serves as an icebreaker receives in each "turn the page". And even the technicians, which rose to prepare the instruments for the orchestra - after the opening - or cure for one, has become fairly noisy once you get the error.

hundred and fifty singers - Serbs, men and women - are the setting of more than a hundred musicians coming from Italy, including the talented singer. Perfect acoustics and first-rate musicians: Even the untrained ear is carried away by the music, because the melody often sounds familiar. Closing your eyes you can see horses, and Clint Eastwood cowboy entering a saloon after a shoot: when does the "tanaaaanananananananananananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatanananananananananananananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" is pure goose bumps, with memories of child soldiers, coming back strongly to the fore, with background in the desert, hot sun in a fiery noon, with shot guns in the barrel, boots complete with spurs.

If the Danes, the worst punishment is to force them to speak (I still remember the wise end of year school dance with a surreal and probably out of place, the silence that reverberated in the gym between a performance another), the worst punishment for the Serbs to make them shut up, even if you are playing someone who has an Oscar on the night: missed the typical "coffee break" in mid-concert and the typical Serbian draft, "which blows along the steps. What is the Serbian draft? People who lived in Serbia knows exactly what I'm talking about.

When you arrive in Belgrade had "head" of the bed on the corner between two windows when the summer began to give way to autumn, the bora wind began to blow on my little head, so I moved the read more " south. " I thought that the "draft" was typical of Rifat Burgevic (The student residence where I live), Fred told me that in reality, just arrived in the new house, had also the problem of the draft, so called technicians to fix it. Well, the interesting smell two thugs entered the house pointing directly to the couch the unhappy idea of \u200b\u200boffering a coffee prolonging the session more than two hours. After twelve hours of work, the window was opened over from right to left, but from left to right. Frederick, delighted, went to sleep, waking up the next day with the happy discovery that the draft, following the Darwinian theory has been adapted so that, instead of blowing from left to right, blowing from right to left. His but woman has installed double windows to solve the problem: every now and then but it still feels the draft.

Never underestimate the potential of the Serbian draft: This week has even managed to move to Monday's national holiday (curiously the same day the Lithuanian!) As the fifteenth day was Sunday. And perhaps it was just the draft Serbian to deflect the trajectory of the ball on the arm of Adrian, allowing the piper Rosetti, perhaps the first human being hypnotized by a snake, to endorse a goal that I miss Juve in its heyday: the ' ovation sport café welcomes the doubling of Stankovic, "but also" (as would Crozza) and goals Pato, though with less intensity. And who knows who is flying the flag that moves the draft Pippo offside, specifically sanctioned impeccable and very good piper Rosetti: the goal, although uneven, is more beautiful than that of Hadrian. And if he did not draft a stupid move on the diagonal spinster of Julio Cesar at the end of Pippo ...

Damn draft.

Sure Fire Sign Of Hiv

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY. AND Draughts

Phone call. - But, you know that tomorrow night I go to a concert by Ennio Morricone? - Why is it still alive? - We hope so - Why? - Because if not, who is playing tomorrow? - Come on, I thought he was dead ...

think of it, a concert Morricone is a child to church is like caviar to a Somali child: Pieve Emanuele, on the other is a country where if you already know the multiplication table of the seven shows a certain level cultural, let alone Morricone. Even if everyone at least once in life, we hummed or whistled "tanaaaanananananananananananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatanananananananananananananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" ... And they all recognize it on the fly. Even at church.

The city was plastered with posters, so that the eight thousand (maybe more) tickets sold (with average prices around 30 Euro, not so cheap) were perhaps predictable and represent a substantial prize for the organizers. The stands are full, what stadium is the "lawn" of course: a few small group crowding the second (and last) ring, probably the most economy. It was perhaps too predictable, considering that the public goes to hear Morricone is generally educated, wealthy and fond of music, so interested in enjoying the performance from the best position possible without some spare a few dinar to find themselves in pigeon. Between the first and second ring is a series of boxes, the kind of boxes, which takes place on the elite of the "Belgrade good": there are those who smoke, those who drink and those who watch television. Television, but are you sure? Maybe there will be a monitor to enjoy the concert at best, with shots that capture the details ... No, I meant to say that television and television, complete with cartoons and football matches.

The applause starts more or less at random, especially at the beginning, when the guitar solo that serves as an icebreaker receives in each "turn the page". And even the technicians, which rose to prepare the instruments for the orchestra - after the opening - or cure for one, has become fairly noisy once you get the error.

hundred and fifty singers - Serbs, men and women - are the setting of more than a hundred musicians coming from Italy, including the talented singer. Perfect acoustics and first-rate musicians: Even the untrained ear is carried away by the music, because the melody often sounds familiar. Closing your eyes you can see horses, and Clint Eastwood cowboy entering a saloon after a shoot: when does the "tanaaaanananananananananananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatanananananananananananananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" is pure goose bumps, with memories of child soldiers, coming back strongly to the fore, with background in the desert, hot sun in a fiery noon, with shot guns in the barrel, boots complete with spurs.

If the Danes, the worst punishment is to force them to speak (I still remember the wise end of year school dance with a surreal and probably out of place, the silence that reverberated in the gym between a performance another), the worst punishment for the Serbs to make them shut up, even if you are playing someone who has an Oscar on the night: missed the typical "coffee break" in mid-concert and the typical Serbian draft, "which blows along the steps. What is the Serbian draft? People who lived in Serbia knows exactly what I'm talking about.

When you arrive in Belgrade had "head" of the bed on the corner between two windows when the summer began to give way to autumn, the bora wind began to blow on my little head, so I moved the read more " south. " I thought that the "draft" was typical of Rifat Burgevic (The student residence where I live), Fred told me that in reality, just arrived in the new house, had also the problem of the draft, so called technicians to fix it. Well, the interesting smell two thugs entered the house pointing directly to the couch the unhappy idea of \u200b\u200boffering a coffee prolonging the session more than two hours. After twelve hours of work, the window was opened over from right to left, but from left to right. Frederick, delighted, went to sleep, waking up the next day with the happy discovery that the draft, following the Darwinian theory has been adapted so that, instead of blowing from left to right, blowing from right to left. His but woman has installed double windows to solve the problem: every now and then but it still feels the draft.

Never underestimate the potential of the Serbian draft: This week has even managed to move to Monday's national holiday (curiously the same day the Lithuanian!) As the fifteenth day was Sunday. And perhaps it was just the draft Serbian to deflect the trajectory of the ball on the arm of Adrian, allowing the piper Rosetti, perhaps the first human being hypnotized by a snake, to endorse a goal that I miss Juve in its heyday: the ' ovation sport café welcomes the doubling of Stankovic, "but also" (as would Crozza) and goals Pato, though with less intensity. And who knows who is flying the flag that moves the draft Pippo offside, specifically sanctioned impeccable and very good piper Rosetti: the goal, although uneven, is more beautiful than that of Hadrian. And if he did not draft a stupid move on the diagonal spinster of Julio Cesar at the end of Pippo ...

Damn draft.

Instructions For Music Note Bracelet

NUMBER NUMBER NUMBER ELEVEN TWELVE

slice of life BELGRADE

Tru ... tru tru tru tru ... plin plin plin tru ... "Ok, I heard you, I'm ready!" ... I am roughly the 9:10 / 9:15 when the alarm sounds the phone: the average day Fellow of the typical Italian begins in Belgrade. I open my eyes (Sometimes in the hope of not waking up where I wake up), I get up, go to the bathroom: I do not have much time, so that a forklift pockets jeans and a sweater in case and sling me down, badges and "jeton" in hand, for breakfast (no time till 9.30).

A flight of stairs, walk twenty yards in the courtyard (the fresh air helps in the wake) and straight to the canteen, in the hope that there is a mythical Eurocreme: Alternatively, honey or jam. If you own the dish cries, you go "to the Serbian", so homelette or fried egg or sausage. If Plan B fails, down and sliced \u200b\u200bcheese. Basically, with my "cartiza" (student card, which among other things to be entitled to a range of discounts) you can take one of the dishes listed so far, which can accompany two cups (tea or milk) and a yogurt or a cup, no bread at all times. Generally, the waiters smile, tipping the scales in unlikely conversations that most of the time stop at "Good morning" (good morning). At the end of the corridor, there un'inserviente who takes the card, "a scale breakfast, receive the" jeton "in exchange for making the cutlery and the card itself. Time to sit, eat and return everything in the kitchen, receiving in exchange for the courtesy, the "jeton" above (obtained in exchange a deposit of 200 dinars, paid to "blagaina", in which case the work Zorana, renamed by my former roommate, Jan "The Cow" for his willingness and openness).

It 's time to get back in the room, take a shower, and talk to the maid: - Good morning, kako you? - Dobro, Hvala. Do you? - Dobro "(do not translate, I think you can do it by myself). There is only one guy who chews a bit of security 'of English: with a teasing him never fails, even when it is held up from sleep (something that happens often, as to all the Serbs).

collected weapons in luggage within half an hour (after waiting variable) the trolley bus number 40 takes me straight at the Italian culture: within in media center, greets Ivan, Marina and Branco and I sit at the computer. Email, Facebook and Courier, just to see who pulls air around, then the various newsletters for information on the Balkans, finally, "any other business" until lunch.

Normally I get home (at the table above), or reach one of the other university canteens: a soup, a hot dish, a vegetable dish (cold), a sweet (or alternatively a fruit juice) and bread will: the procedure is the same in the morning, with the difference that the line to enter the food ranges from zero to forty minutes. Returned the plates and regained the chip, it returned to the Institute, as usual in computer media: If you do not need a hand at the Institute, if not browsing until late afternoon, when I go to a gym to perform the test (from a good researcher) to Belgrade volleyball, and junior categories juniorke.

Before or after the gym (it depends on) is the dinner that follows the lunch, but without the soup. Once home, normally "loaded" test results, I do "two things" to the pc (I know, the blog?), Two wash clothes by hand and maybe slowly I'm preparing to go to sleep.

basically three times months reloading the card with ten breakfasts, ten lunches and ten dinners (cost me 1090 dinars, or about 11 Euro), to recharge the card you go to the "cow" above. The quality of food, although different by day and restaurant, is certainly not excellent, but on average is reasonable, usually I always eat everything, I realize - sometimes - to eat the food that the Serbs leave squeamish in the pot (" the war is over "... I think tragicomically).

have a big honor students Serbs: they eat quickly. So even when the files are easily mileage is always a seat, even in small and crowded tables. However, they have a flaw: when the lines are long, the student "smart" takes off his coat "occupying" a place. So when you finally have the last full tray - maybe half an hour after the tail - in your hands, you're there that turns the table like an idiot, including chairs occupied by the coats of those who have just arrived in the dining room and eat in half an hour, if all goes well, because the row in the meantime has lengthened dramatically. Normally, a good Italian, "I slam" and I sit, ready to smile, in the case, apologizing playing the card of "foreigner."

The alternatives to the procedure we I am, and range from lessons (once a week in the faculty of political science: I follow a course in public administration and policy, held by an American professor) to the incursions of Frederick, my Italian friend with whom I often grant of breaks with coffee and conversation at its purest: whatever people may say, the Italians need other Italians, at times, to speak "in Italian" and "Italian". Fred is usually my partner of battles during the weekend when, with mixed success, we look for entertainment in the Belgrade nightlife. Last weekend I also tried to put back in my routine workouts: I went to run for two days in a row at a track in front of the student residence where I live. Two one-hour sessions each, which made me walk "like an Egyptian" until Wednesday.

Today is Friday, Fred is still in Italy so the outlook for the weekend certainly did not seem exciting, despite the derby on Sunday: the three days off will be even as the national holiday is somehow moved to Monday because of falling Sunday. Moreover it snows, so no training. And the Italian Cultural Institute is closed, so no internet. At home I have not even television. I feel half way between the senior and the Scandinavian something tells me that tomorrow will miss the tru tru tru ...

Instructions For Music Note Bracelet

NUMBER NUMBER NUMBER ELEVEN TWELVE

slice of life BELGRADE

Tru ... tru tru tru tru ... plin plin plin tru ... "Ok, I heard you, I'm ready!" ... I am roughly the 9:10 / 9:15 when the alarm sounds the phone: the average day Fellow of the typical Italian begins in Belgrade. I open my eyes (Sometimes in the hope of not waking up where I wake up), I get up, go to the bathroom: I do not have much time, so that a forklift pockets jeans and a sweater in case and sling me down, badges and "jeton" in hand, for breakfast (no time till 9.30).

A flight of stairs, walk twenty yards in the courtyard (the fresh air helps in the wake) and straight to the canteen, in the hope that there is a mythical Eurocreme: Alternatively, honey or jam. If you own the dish cries, you go "to the Serbian", so homelette or fried egg or sausage. If Plan B fails, down and sliced \u200b\u200bcheese. Basically, with my "cartiza" (student card, which among other things to be entitled to a range of discounts) you can take one of the dishes listed so far, which can accompany two cups (tea or milk) and a yogurt or a cup, no bread at all times. Generally, the waiters smile, tipping the scales in unlikely conversations that most of the time stop at "Good morning" (good morning). At the end of the corridor, there un'inserviente who takes the card, "a scale breakfast, receive the" jeton "in exchange for making the cutlery and the card itself. Time to sit, eat and return everything in the kitchen, receiving in exchange for the courtesy, the "jeton" above (obtained in exchange a deposit of 200 dinars, paid to "blagaina", in which case the work Zorana, renamed by my former roommate, Jan "The Cow" for his willingness and openness).

It 's time to get back in the room, take a shower, and talk to the maid: - Good morning, kako you? - Dobro, Hvala. Do you? - Dobro "(do not translate, I think you can do it by myself). There is only one guy who chews a bit of security 'of English: with a teasing him never fails, even when it is held up from sleep (something that happens often, as to all the Serbs).

collected weapons in luggage within half an hour (after waiting variable) the trolley bus number 40 takes me straight at the Italian culture: within in media center, greets Ivan, Marina and Branco and I sit at the computer. Email, Facebook and Courier, just to see who pulls air around, then the various newsletters for information on the Balkans, finally, "any other business" until lunch.

Normally I get home (at the table above), or reach one of the other university canteens: a soup, a hot dish, a vegetable dish (cold), a sweet (or alternatively a fruit juice) and bread will: the procedure is the same in the morning, with the difference that the line to enter the food ranges from zero to forty minutes. Returned the plates and regained the chip, it returned to the Institute, as usual in computer media: If you do not need a hand at the Institute, if not browsing until late afternoon, when I go to a gym to perform the test (from a good researcher) to Belgrade volleyball, and junior categories juniorke.

Before or after the gym (it depends on) is the dinner that follows the lunch, but without the soup. Once home, normally "loaded" test results, I do "two things" to the pc (I know, the blog?), Two wash clothes by hand and maybe slowly I'm preparing to go to sleep.

basically three times months reloading the card with ten breakfasts, ten lunches and ten dinners (cost me 1090 dinars, or about 11 Euro), to recharge the card you go to the "cow" above. The quality of food, although different by day and restaurant, is certainly not excellent, but on average is reasonable, usually I always eat everything, I realize - sometimes - to eat the food that the Serbs leave squeamish in the pot (" the war is over "... I think tragicomically).

have a big honor students Serbs: they eat quickly. So even when the files are easily mileage is always a seat, even in small and crowded tables. However, they have a flaw: when the lines are long, the student "smart" takes off his coat "occupying" a place. So when you finally have the last full tray - maybe half an hour after the tail - in your hands, you're there that turns the table like an idiot, including chairs occupied by the coats of those who have just arrived in the dining room and eat in half an hour, if all goes well, because the row in the meantime has lengthened dramatically. Normally, a good Italian, "I slam" and I sit, ready to smile, in the case, apologizing playing the card of "foreigner."

The alternatives to the procedure we I am, and range from lessons (once a week in the faculty of political science: I follow a course in public administration and policy, held by an American professor) to the incursions of Frederick, my Italian friend with whom I often grant of breaks with coffee and conversation at its purest: whatever people may say, the Italians need other Italians, at times, to speak "in Italian" and "Italian". Fred is usually my partner of battles during the weekend when, with mixed success, we look for entertainment in the Belgrade nightlife. Last weekend I also tried to put back in my routine workouts: I went to run for two days in a row at a track in front of the student residence where I live. Two one-hour sessions each, which made me walk "like an Egyptian" until Wednesday.

Today is Friday, Fred is still in Italy so the outlook for the weekend certainly did not seem exciting, despite the derby on Sunday: the three days off will be even as the national holiday is somehow moved to Monday because of falling Sunday. Moreover it snows, so no training. And the Italian Cultural Institute is closed, so no internet. At home I have not even television. I feel half way between the senior and the Scandinavian something tells me that tomorrow will miss the tru tru tru ...

Seagrams Pipers 100 Scotch

FRIDAY 'Tosca: AMSTERDAM, Dostoyevsky and the vibrator

Gabriel and' a nice-looking and good-natured Leghorn dall'approccio cosmopolitan: it is the president of Italy, an Italian language school for foreigners with thirty locations in Italy and abroad. It is located en route to Belgrade, to Ukraine and Romania: its aim is to enable students to Belgrade to study in its schools by offering affordable rates and some scholarships. E 'Belgrade on Friday afternoon and the sun shines: the Institute is not much to do, so we meet for a coffee waiting for the reader, with which and he 'failed to remedy an appointment to present its activities'. A nice long chat ended with the exchange of numbers: "Call me tonight that maybe you go out." Finally she left, the famous destination SPLAV Amsterdam.

SPLAV. For this word does not suggest anything more, and most obviously they are right, but this is a word that can put the chills. SPLAV especially to those who have tried them. Why? What the fuck are SPLAV? Apart from that we could also express a bit 'of grace, however, are the SPLAV of barges on the Danube that serve as bars and restaurants during the day to become dance halls during the night. Out the window you see the city reflected on the river, but inside there is live music and even the setting seems fairly treated. Drinking, dancing, singing, laughing and joking, all at reasonable prices. Everywhere there are mind-boggling necklines and huge tits: true or false? But who cares!

looks like a "perfect world" especially for us Italians, who are unlikely to set up a rudimentary reasoning just imagining forms of Cristina Del Basso. The fact is that if you are neither deaf nor Yugoslavia, the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant evening falls, on the other hand the risk of shattering the balls (sorry for the profanity) is really high. Why? Why of course the live music ranging from rock to pop-Serbian Yugoslav Serb-Yugoslav, Serbian-Yugoslavian music dance to the songs of the folk tradition Serbian-Yugoslav, Serbian ska-pop to the Yugoslav-Serbian Yugoslav. The result is that all these songs Serb-Yugoslav damn soon become all the same: The people, on the other hand, knows them all by heart, he sings, whether dancing, laughs, has fun and if it enjoys. After half an hour, you do not have eyes for the cubist Ass marble, obviously provocative disproportionately on the windowsill.

Just to be clear: the Italian counterpart of SPLAV could ideally located in Rome (capital, as Belgrafo) on the Tiber (the river of capital). The advantage would be to have the background instead of Castel Sant'Angelo Saint Sava (with all due respect, you would like to?). The downside? Having to cope with the live orchestra that fires one after another, "the great classics of Italian music, with songs taken from different eras, different regions and different genres, a bit 'as it happens in marriages, but with the addition of something relatively modern, something relatively older. Rich and Poor, Peppino di Capri, the choirs of Alpine, Ligabue, Celentano, Gigi d'Agostino, Raoul Casadei, Nino D'Angelo, the Tazenda, Toby Lightman, 'Nduccio, Negramaro, Raffaella Carra, Tiziano Ferro, Nilla Pizzi, a bit 'like the soundtrack of "Dancing with the Stars" but only with Italian pieces. Behold the most fun parties of Serbia is in our country. If

Alexander, faithful "squire" in the "mission" of Gabriel, has left the eyes on a brunette boobs not bad, Gabriel is smoking a cigarette before getting back into the car, we are in the alley for access to a parking lot, just to few steps from the river. Accelerated

, nailed, bang: the motion to strip the land for more than twenty yards, leaving the classic strip of oil, ruin the rider to the ground, of course without a helmet, avoiding little impact with parked cars. A bunch of people, including us, is close to the boy who remains conscious, despite the bleeding head, the height of the forehead. Some girls, visibly shocked and worried, they evacuate, lift him off the ground by putting it in some way sitting: they have a cell phone, make some calls, but it's not clear who they are calling. An ambulance? Ratko, a sort of "Virgil Serbian" Gabriel, says no: the kids are medical students, and everyone knows everyone. "How do you know?" Alex asks, "What might understand the conversations?" Gabriel replies, smiling. In a minute the boy stands up and, with a pace caracollante but not too bad considering the bang, goes to satisfy the conditions of the bike.

The Idiot - Dostojevskj would say - had not seen the bar lowered output of the car, he accelerated and then braked suddenly and lost control of the bike. Unleashing a dubious sensitivity to the situation, we will run "as sunflowers" to greet the passage of three other girls who fall for home. While we wonder whether he banged his head to the bar (my answer is no, the bar is clean: it would also be dead!), The idiot in the car with the aspiring doctors (including "very bone" observed since our point of view, but perhaps put behind a star to this lily so stupid) leaving the parking lot and take him away. And we are in the car, without aspiring to be doctors, ready to return home.

Two curves and there was a police patrol. "I think they stop us": the fact that the vibrator that the policeman's hand glows red. Gabriel is not flustered and immediately show your passport: "I am Italian." Ratko whether it should translate, Gabriel says no "It 's good that you think we're foreigners." Here also shows that license and registration certificate. "Did you drink something?" asks the policeman, "no" replies dry Gabriel. The policeman makes documents and salutes.

Seagrams Pipers 100 Scotch

FRIDAY 'Tosca: AMSTERDAM, Dostoyevsky and the vibrator

Gabriel and' a nice-looking and good-natured Leghorn dall'approccio cosmopolitan: it is the president of Italy, an Italian language school for foreigners with thirty locations in Italy and abroad. It is located en route to Belgrade, to Ukraine and Romania: its aim is to enable students to Belgrade to study in its schools by offering affordable rates and some scholarships. E 'Belgrade on Friday afternoon and the sun shines: the Institute is not much to do, so we meet for a coffee waiting for the reader, with which and he 'failed to remedy an appointment to present its activities'. A nice long chat ended with the exchange of numbers: "Call me tonight that maybe you go out." Finally she left, the famous destination SPLAV Amsterdam.

SPLAV. For this word does not suggest anything more, and most obviously they are right, but this is a word that can put the chills. SPLAV especially to those who have tried them. Why? What the fuck are SPLAV? Apart from that we could also express a bit 'of grace, however, are the SPLAV of barges on the Danube that serve as bars and restaurants during the day to become dance halls during the night. Out the window you see the city reflected on the river, but inside there is live music and even the setting seems fairly treated. Drinking, dancing, singing, laughing and joking, all at reasonable prices. Everywhere there are mind-boggling necklines and huge tits: true or false? But who cares!

looks like a "perfect world" especially for us Italians, who are unlikely to set up a rudimentary reasoning just imagining forms of Cristina Del Basso. The fact is that if you are neither deaf nor Yugoslavia, the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant evening falls, on the other hand the risk of shattering the balls (sorry for the profanity) is really high. Why? Why of course the live music ranging from rock to pop-Serbian Yugoslav Serb-Yugoslav, Serbian-Yugoslavian music dance to the songs of the folk tradition Serbian-Yugoslav, Serbian ska-pop to the Yugoslav-Serbian Yugoslav. The result is that all these songs Serb-Yugoslav damn soon become all the same: The people, on the other hand, knows them all by heart, he sings, whether dancing, laughs, has fun and if it enjoys. After half an hour, you do not have eyes for the cubist Ass marble, obviously provocative disproportionately on the windowsill.

Just to be clear: the Italian counterpart of SPLAV could ideally located in Rome (capital, as Belgrafo) on the Tiber (the river of capital). The advantage would be to have the background instead of Castel Sant'Angelo Saint Sava (with all due respect, you would like to?). The downside? Having to cope with the live orchestra that fires one after another, "the great classics of Italian music, with songs taken from different eras, different regions and different genres, a bit 'as it happens in marriages, but with the addition of something relatively modern, something relatively older. Rich and Poor, Peppino di Capri, the choirs of Alpine, Ligabue, Celentano, Gigi d'Agostino, Raoul Casadei, Nino D'Angelo, the Tazenda, Toby Lightman, 'Nduccio, Negramaro, Raffaella Carra, Tiziano Ferro, Nilla Pizzi, a bit 'like the soundtrack of "Dancing with the Stars" but only with Italian pieces. Behold the most fun parties of Serbia is in our country. If

Alexander, faithful "squire" in the "mission" of Gabriel, has left the eyes on a brunette boobs not bad, Gabriel is smoking a cigarette before getting back into the car, we are in the alley for access to a parking lot, just to few steps from the river. Accelerated

, nailed, bang: the motion to strip the land for more than twenty yards, leaving the classic strip of oil, ruin the rider to the ground, of course without a helmet, avoiding little impact with parked cars. A bunch of people, including us, is close to the boy who remains conscious, despite the bleeding head, the height of the forehead. Some girls, visibly shocked and worried, they evacuate, lift him off the ground by putting it in some way sitting: they have a cell phone, make some calls, but it's not clear who they are calling. An ambulance? Ratko, a sort of "Virgil Serbian" Gabriel, says no: the kids are medical students, and everyone knows everyone. "How do you know?" Alex asks, "What might understand the conversations?" Gabriel replies, smiling. In a minute the boy stands up and, with a pace caracollante but not too bad considering the bang, goes to satisfy the conditions of the bike.

The Idiot - Dostojevskj would say - had not seen the bar lowered output of the car, he accelerated and then braked suddenly and lost control of the bike. Unleashing a dubious sensitivity to the situation, we will run "as sunflowers" to greet the passage of three other girls who fall for home. While we wonder whether he banged his head to the bar (my answer is no, the bar is clean: it would also be dead!), The idiot in the car with the aspiring doctors (including "very bone" observed since our point of view, but perhaps put behind a star to this lily so stupid) leaving the parking lot and take him away. And we are in the car, without aspiring to be doctors, ready to return home.

Two curves and there was a police patrol. "I think they stop us": the fact that the vibrator that the policeman's hand glows red. Gabriel is not flustered and immediately show your passport: "I am Italian." Ratko whether it should translate, Gabriel says no "It 's good that you think we're foreigners." Here also shows that license and registration certificate. "Did you drink something?" asks the policeman, "no" replies dry Gabriel. The policeman makes documents and salutes.

Mounting Large Mirrors On Mantles

and receive e-GREETINGS IN ALMOST ALL THE LANGUAGES OF THE WORLD ...

seventy-seven I never thought of receiving messages from 20 countries in ten different languages \u200b\u200bobviously with the complicity 'on Facebook.

Yes, the wonderful world of Facebook, halfway between the real and virtual, makes even the simple odd birthdays. The most sincere messages of longtime friends mingle with the mere "wishes" that costs little to instill those who have simply found yourself in a corner of the monitor a nice reminder. The "hope you are doing well" of who you met briefly at a seminar in Germany are alternated with the understandable "in any part of the world you are "by those who rightly struggling to track movements. Some prefer to use the mother-language (Azeri Macedonian or whatever), others fall back on internationalism English: former colleagues, lovers lacking, acquaintances, classmates, gym, drinking. The returnees' like old times "there have been countless more, so that even the companions of the middle and elementary - sudden return to prominence - will launch in unlikely (certainly pleasant)" let us know when you get back in Italy so we organize a pizza and there tell all .... " Mom, who realistically has lost hope, laughs in his sleeve.

"Make birthday today? Vlade Divac as "Sasha smiles (for the record, the giant Serb takes them a day later): Spomenka smiles, looks at you and asks you how many years, while you grab the ears by pulling them upward, gradually but in one fell swoop . "What have I done wrong? - You ask yourself remembering the days when the ears are pulled to the "children's kids" - "who do not like Ferrero Rocher?" But also in the adjacent room when Ivan brings you the same way, you realize that in Serbia used like this: the Institute's unexpected chocolates seem to have been unanimously appreciated. The story of a traveling birthday two years ago was Romania, Denmark a year ago, this year it is up to Serbia. Who knows next year: of course I dare not imagine. And even Mama.

Let's just say that celebrate the approaching death has never been my priority. Indeed, the thought of growing old traditionally cast a veil of sadness In my own personal celebration for the new year, with the thought that flew upcoming birthday in a month plentiful. Make twenty-seven years without hearing about him, be proud of what has been done even if in reality it is still at zero, such as flour. " Zero certainties, so many ideas: will and energy "a thousand" prospects minimum tangible. While the international crisis scenarios painted unpredictable, time passes inexorably on my poor little head, which slowly becomes more and more bald: some weeks I have a shadow in the white beard, chin height. Adulthood that you are a hold of me? It's about time, Mom would say.

I beat a good-natured laugh when I remember the discomfort I felt the day after the graduation party, when the station riaccompagnai my cousin Stephen, who came specially to Milan, leaving for Rome: returning by car to the house, completely lost in thought, a Piazzai 'nailed in front of a red light completely escaped my attention. Loss postgraduate conclusion in one phase of life, beginning the transition to adulthood. This time the station was not the central, as it was not my cousin Stephen, the destination was Rome and the celebrations did not relate to graduation. Moreover in the background Mariah Carey singing "Cheeeenliiiiiiiiiiii. A strange feeling ran through my head. How to ask ourselves who they shoot a twelve-hour train to come and see you and celebrate your birthday in a foreign city, crossing two borders, "not leave you alone? Maybe you should get on that train? Mom nodded with conviction.

honestly do not know. What I know is that in Belgrade the list of "I never thought of ..." has lengthened. For example Hala Sportova (sports arena) in Novi Beograd which, more or less randomly, I found myself sitting at the table scoring in a friendly match between two women's volleyball teams in Serie A (which means a category under the Super Liga Serbian). Or when, along with Frederick, we came in asking to see the Sports Café Milan-Bologna: the waiter, as was the most 'normal world, two televisions tuned specifically for us - in the midst of a bunch of screens - at of our table on the game chosen. And while we're at, I add that I never thought of rejoicing for a goal by Beckham (Rossoneri in the bargain). And I never thought of losing two pounds in half an hour, what it 'happened today in an incredibly hot morning in Belgrade: trolleybus number forty became fact because of the sauna heating "pad". With at least fifteen degrees outside in a sunny February morning. In the Canaries? No, in Belgrade. These things happen. Who would have thought?

Mounting Large Mirrors On Mantles

and receive e-GREETINGS IN ALMOST ALL THE LANGUAGES OF THE WORLD ...

seventy-seven I never thought of receiving messages from 20 countries in ten different languages \u200b\u200bobviously with the complicity 'on Facebook.

Yes, the wonderful world of Facebook, halfway between the real and virtual, makes even the simple odd birthdays. The most sincere messages of longtime friends mingle with the mere "wishes" that costs little to instill those who have simply found yourself in a corner of the monitor a nice reminder. The "hope you are doing well" of who you met briefly at a seminar in Germany are alternated with the understandable "in any part of the world you are "by those who rightly struggling to track movements. Some prefer to use the mother-language (Azeri Macedonian or whatever), others fall back on internationalism English: former colleagues, lovers lacking, acquaintances, classmates, gym, drinking. The returnees' like old times "there have been countless more, so that even the companions of the middle and elementary - sudden return to prominence - will launch in unlikely (certainly pleasant)" let us know when you get back in Italy so we organize a pizza and there tell all .... " Mom, who realistically has lost hope, laughs in his sleeve.

"Make birthday today? Vlade Divac as "Sasha smiles (for the record, the giant Serb takes them a day later): Spomenka smiles, looks at you and asks you how many years, while you grab the ears by pulling them upward, gradually but in one fell swoop . "What have I done wrong? - You ask yourself remembering the days when the ears are pulled to the "children's kids" - "who do not like Ferrero Rocher?" But also in the adjacent room when Ivan brings you the same way, you realize that in Serbia used like this: the Institute's unexpected chocolates seem to have been unanimously appreciated. The story of a traveling birthday two years ago was Romania, Denmark a year ago, this year it is up to Serbia. Who knows next year: of course I dare not imagine. And even Mama.

Let's just say that celebrate the approaching death has never been my priority. Indeed, the thought of growing old traditionally cast a veil of sadness In my own personal celebration for the new year, with the thought that flew upcoming birthday in a month plentiful. Make twenty-seven years without hearing about him, be proud of what has been done even if in reality it is still at zero, such as flour. " Zero certainties, so many ideas: will and energy "a thousand" prospects minimum tangible. While the international crisis scenarios painted unpredictable, time passes inexorably on my poor little head, which slowly becomes more and more bald: some weeks I have a shadow in the white beard, chin height. Adulthood that you are a hold of me? It's about time, Mom would say.

I beat a good-natured laugh when I remember the discomfort I felt the day after the graduation party, when the station riaccompagnai my cousin Stephen, who came specially to Milan, leaving for Rome: returning by car to the house, completely lost in thought, a Piazzai 'nailed in front of a red light completely escaped my attention. Loss postgraduate conclusion in one phase of life, beginning the transition to adulthood. This time the station was not the central, as it was not my cousin Stephen, the destination was Rome and the celebrations did not relate to graduation. Moreover in the background Mariah Carey singing "Cheeeenliiiiiiiiiiii. A strange feeling ran through my head. How to ask ourselves who they shoot a twelve-hour train to come and see you and celebrate your birthday in a foreign city, crossing two borders, "not leave you alone? Maybe you should get on that train? Mom nodded with conviction.

honestly do not know. What I know is that in Belgrade the list of "I never thought of ..." has lengthened. For example Hala Sportova (sports arena) in Novi Beograd which, more or less randomly, I found myself sitting at the table scoring in a friendly match between two women's volleyball teams in Serie A (which means a category under the Super Liga Serbian). Or when, along with Frederick, we came in asking to see the Sports Café Milan-Bologna: the waiter, as was the most 'normal world, two televisions tuned specifically for us - in the midst of a bunch of screens - at of our table on the game chosen. And while we're at, I add that I never thought of rejoicing for a goal by Beckham (Rossoneri in the bargain). And I never thought of losing two pounds in half an hour, what it 'happened today in an incredibly hot morning in Belgrade: trolleybus number forty became fact because of the sauna heating "pad". With at least fifteen degrees outside in a sunny February morning. In the Canaries? No, in Belgrade. These things happen. Who would have thought?