Time tangle
Yesterday I woke up being Friday. I’m sure it was Friday. I was happy when I took my dirty train to Milan because it was Friday.
And I resisted all day at work and boredom, by the strenght of Friday, since the time to go to station by Milan’s metro. Great heat, slimy sweat, but I had the Friday’s smile. But not only for me, not an illusion, I’m sure, all the faces were Friday’s faces, also on the train of the evening, more an oven than a train. When I arrived to Vigevano railway station, it was still Friday, I’m sure.
Suddenly it’s Thursday. Thursday? It’s not possible! Thursday! When all the day I had resisted only for the consciousness of Friday! I want to cry, Thursday.
I’m sure that someone stole me the Friday; I have no evidence, but must be the Berlüsca.
A good address to remember
Today no politics, italian or american. In poor Italy and confused, it is somewhat cold, but sun is shinning and life is still beatiful, also with problems.
This is the reason of invitation, if you pass from Rome, to have a look to the restaurant of my friend, Al Piccolo in Via Santamaura 65, Prati Rome. You may see a preview here Al Piccolo, or here Al Piccolo.
He and his little staff are working with passion and art to accommodate all in a beautiful and relaxing place, giving you all the best of italian kitchen. Think his care arrives to cook your bread personally - this is true class - you may imagine the rest.
What can I add? Oh yes, let you try and if you’ll have anything to complain, ask me satisfaction.
Travels do-yourself
I perfectly remember as now when I was in Polska. There were so many peoples in the camping, ready to pass the Vistula.
«I’m too old to come with you, but take care with these travels do-yourself. Russia is biggest, Napoleon. Better a good agency.»
Poor Napolean! That winter was so cold.
Why I hate opera
Today at noon in Italian television there is the traditional New Year concert. In the past it was from Vien, with musics by Strauss family, but since some years it’s from La Fenice of Venice, obviously with Verdi’s musics. My wife likes very much this stuff, but for me it’s a great pain, even with stomach cramps, ugly affair during New Year lunch.
I perfectly remember why I hate opera. I was five years when my parents sent me to municipal colony, as we called that institution, the only way in those years for workers families to get children at mountain or sea, together, supervised by staff. In Italy those were the first years of television, and nobody would scroll people from magic box, even with a bulldozer.
That evening, I perfectly remember as now, after the meal in refectory we had on TV an opera, now I think it may be the Cavalleria rusticana, by Mascagni. There was a woman, on her knees, forwarding a little chapel on a side of country street. She was singing, singing and still singing.
I was tired, after a day playing in the big courtyard. I had a great sleep and she was singing, singing and still singing. I was sitting on a bench, with the big table on shoulders. I was envying the buddies on the other side, who could support the head to table, while mine was lolling. I asked the miss, as we named the girl who supervised us, to accompany me.
«You know the way, go to bed.» – she said and none had scrolled her from magic box.
I was five years, remember please. I had fear of the big courtyard, full of shadows in the night, after the day sun, and of long unknown corridors. But the woman was singing, singing, still singing, also there, forward the chapel. At last, not resisting, I dealt the threatening darkness, the mysterious places of big building, all bigger in my eyes of child. I took a door and was in bed.
Next morning, waking up, I saw another miss and other buddies.
Alright, since then, I’m almost in my sixties, I hate opera. Better Tokio Hotel.
Some problems with Windows
I’ll try to explain with most of my courtesy to Bill Gates what’s the problem with his Windows, XP home for preciseness. Through my blog because his assistence service is blind and deaf.
I’m using a laptop, whose touchpad, as all touchpad, is so intelligent to fancy what I’ll want to do, and make it before I click. Then it’s not what I want, and I must restore its action. All right, it’s what all touchpads do. I learned to silence it with a traditional mouse on USB 2 port, and I was living very well.
After installing Windows Life messenger, suddenly microsoft decided to give intelligence also to my stupid mouse. Who asked? Also disintalling the feature remain. From a month, when I move my intelligent mouse, it opens links over whom I pass, selects text and open Document to favour my inexistent wish to save the text. I like instead a stupid software that not supposes anything, but stays quiet wainting I decide, and when decide, it does rapidly.
I just tried to stop this stupid-intelligent feature closing the Human Interface Devices service, but nothing to do.
I want again my stupid mouse! I’m sure that if Bill Gates would live in this nightmare with his laptop, he would dismiss already half of microsoft peoples. When they make so arrogant intelligent softwares, they must put a checkbox saying not use this intelligence, for people that dislikes it.
If it’s no solutions to go out of this nightmare, all right Bill, fuck youself!
A new cake for next Sunday
Let me give to english speaking women the only recipe I know for a different cake. They may have a great success in family next Sunday. It’s an ancient recipe from Gonzaga court, the dukes of Mantua: the “sbrisolona”.
Take:
- 2 hg of wheat flour;
- 2 hg of maize flour;
- 2 hg of sugar;
- 2 hg of minced almonds, not too much thinly;
- 2 hg of butter:
- 2 two egg yolks;
- 1 grated peel of lemon;
- 1 vanillin phial if you like this flavour;
The classic recipe has 1 hg of butter and 1 hg of lard but 2 hg of butter are lighter. There is no ferment: it’s not an error, sbrisolona is not a soft cake.
You must mix well all ingredients in a big bowl; don’t worry if you don’t get a dough as pain, it’s right, all will arrange in oven. It’s important you mix very well, above all the butter.
Distribute the farinose mix in a broad and low cake tin, useful a sheet of oven paper. Get it in oven for an hour at 180° Celsius, that it 356° Fahrenheit, faraway from heating element. Useful to cover with an aluminium sheet.
The cake will be served cold, it keeps for many days. Don’t try to cut the cake in slices, you must break it in bits with a parmisan knife. It produces many crumbs, that is the meaning of “sbrisolona”.
It’s good alone, but also with “vin santo”, a white wine “passito”, that is wine made from dried grapes.
true or false
From an environmental interception at Oval Room, a voice is surely of President Bush, the other, from contents, maybe of Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, gen. Michael V. Hayden, USAF. Probably a report.
| Hayden | … (omitted)… then we lost three agents at Soweto. – a pause, then a specification, maybe to avoid the usual presidential blunder – near Johannesburg, South Africa. |
| Bush | All right, I know. Discretion, I recommend great discretion, so near our Saudi allies! |
A trip to San Giminiano, Toscana
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Middle August, my wife, I and Cleò, my little female dog, we are based at Rest House of Red Cross Voluntary Nurses at Fiesole, Toscana - my wife is one of them – for our motorbike trip, 1400Km in a week. The day choise is for San Giminiano, an ancient medieval little city.
At breakfast, the house master, the kindest master sergeant x x, says us to go also to San Galgano abbey, with his sword in the rock, finds and prints on Google map the trip from San Giminiano. At his courtesy, I don’t tell that this King Arthur myth transplanted in Toscana leaves me cold.
We load the burgman Suzuki, put Cleò on his bag, that I take on my sholders, and are on the road, down to Florence. Crossing the city is easy, right signed Siena direction. We take highway. The speed limit is 90Km/h; I’m the only to honour, but Cleò don’t like speed, she stays inside the children bag. On the highway no fuel human distributing - it’s a week holiday in addition – I hate those damn automatic machine, robbing your euro and leaving without fuel! The only burgman defect is a fuel tank so little, 12l.
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At Poggibonsi we leave highway for secondary routes. At low speed, Cleò leans out from bag, to see and smell the flat country. The sun is shining, as only in Toscana can. At zona Cesarini, as we say in Italy, when fuel tank is almost a Sahara, there is a dispenser, automated no doubt, but with other clients who promise help. It’s a favourable day, for 10€ machine decides to supply fuel for 15€. We leave under wonders looks, for dog and ass. In Italy they say: Che culo!
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At San Giminiano, parking is a great affair, also with a bike. The city is walled, as ready for a siege. Friends, what to say? Inside there is all you want, except ugly modern things. we must thank our ancestors to build so beautiful houses, towers, walls, and to preserve for us. What will we leave to our descendants? Besides there are so nice little shops, selling useless nicest things, joy of Emy, my wife. A day well spent. Only a curious mark, to poor house of St. Fina (Iosefina), a girl of fiveteen years so venerated at San Giminiano. Her live at http://www.santiebeati.it/dettaglio/44650.
At late afternoon, we decide to find San Galgano. The Google instructions start with “Exit from San Giminiano and go west”. Well, mr. Google, Italy and Toscana are not Sahara, one doesn’t go west, we have roads. No road going to west outside San Giminiano, we returned to Fiesole.
Hello from Italy
After what I’ve written, I’m fear you may think Italy is not a good place to live. No, wrong. This autumn days are a little cold but sun is shining and life is nice. Well, it would be nicer without Berlüsca and Calisto Tanzi with his parmabonds, that gave damages also in US, but if mankind was perfect, as said Mark Twain, we would be all in the Eden, whistling on fifes and eating bananas. Also if I don’t like fifes, I prefer All Saints.
All right, life if nice, and more nice at home, faraway from work, in convalescence after a little surgical intervention, going around with my little female dog Cleò. She is very fond for walk and motorbike. I say she because part of my family. Yes, you read well, motorbike. I take her in a bag for children on sholders and we go, bikers on the roads. If I go without her by car, saying she may not come, she accepts, but by motorbike she protests steadily. And she have fallen with me last summer in Toscana, but we bikers are crazy.
All right, life is nice, but you, american people, don’t buy other italian bonds, any thing say you S&P. It’s against my national interest, but I like friendship and clear conscience more than national benefit.
Bye bye
Cars and motorbikes
I will start trifles with an analysis of motorized people.
There are two kinds of them: the car type and the motorbike type.
The car type does many trips in outward space. His journey have a departure and an arrival, the time betwenn them is wasted. Because this, he occupies it with radio, CD, mp3.
The motorbike type does trip in inner space of his mind. What matter isn’t arrival, but the trip itself, the time and journey between departure and arrival. Often his trip is circular, with no arrival. Biker don’t need radio or CD, he have his thoughts. Biker does only one trip in his life, all new departure is keeping on the same interior journey in his soul. Biker trip is knowledge of himself, not of places.
