Stereo Foutmelding F61

Sometimes They Come Back ...

Mary. The last memory I had of her was a girl of three, four, shorty, plump and blonde, who ran after me down the porch with boogers on the finger. I escaped disgusted: I have always had weak stomach for these things, and that was really huge boogers. At the end of the porch I hid behind a door ajar to try to escape. She saw me, stopped and stood there in front of your finger - and boogers - in the mouth. Then he ran away, leaving me to challenge the property retching. I
magazine Friday, after fifteen years. The first image that came to mind again in recognition was that girl who ran after me with the boogers on the finger. Then, the flow of thought has gone where it was right to go: straight to Pamela Anderson in Baywatch.

As personnel change in fifteen years ...

And you, what were the meetings in style Carrà that there were more impressed?

ps Flesh news items: We are working for you at the new blog (or perhaps the new blog?) signed inparallel ... For the moment the nature of these creatures of the night remains a state secret!

rb

Cubefield With Glitch

New Year New Life

Say what you want, but for me the real beginning of the year falls on Oct. 1, with the beginning of the academic year. Mica January 1, what kind of date is January 1? He's standing in the middle of the festivities, and were it not that you turn your head from the night before, I miss you realize that there is. Indeed, most of the time January 1 to read the steps to regain strength, then the year the beginning the two. It's a little 'how to say that the day begins at midnight, so it will be for the calendar and clock, but come on, at the end of the day starts when you wake up, do not say stupid things.
Tomorrow is October 1st, and this for me and for many means new year, new life.

New year, new life, new head. Today I cut my hair. Some will say "finally!" (My grandmother), others burst into tears (the crocodile near ... by the way, someone has seen her lately?), Still others will say "well so what?". Exactly. What really matters is that in the end who cares if I cut my hair: beard remains.

New year, new life, old blog. But not for long ... yes, I close my cabin and puppets. I found other things to do. Big stuff, very big. I took down in the city, the circus, to clean the droppings of elephants ...
Ok. Circus aside, I wish to extend my blog from head to foot. Address new, ultra-catchy look, maybe change the title, who knows (actually from the second post months ago that he lost what little sense he had, but I instill it I was already familiar ...).
Why all the fuss? Bah. They are fickle, it's my nature. I get bored easily, every time I need to stimuli Again, this is also just change the color of a wall. (That's why my room is getting smaller, by dint of paint I have partitions of 70 cm.)

New year, new life, they said. New stimuli? Let's hope ...

the next

ps The reason for the botched omelette I wrote above? Bah, I did not want to leave post in September to dry. That's it.

pps For Fedelissimi you do get the mail with my precious post: Due to display problems (but maybe some of you thought that actually write in turkish) I'll see how I can fix it. Or take the whole service and will force unnecessarily to visit the blog to find new posts, so as to raise the visits ...

Selling Human Organs Pro And Cons

The deal Rubik

one month now I became a teacher - so to speak - in solving the Rubik's cube. Everything has gone from having reviewed The Pursuit of Happyness Muccino of two weeks ago. There's a scene where Will Smith with a taxicab company in which the director would like to work. The guy is holding a Rubik's cube and can not solve it and, strangely enough, Will seems to be a little genius in mathematics and logic. He claims to know the answer and Director, doubtful, the challenge for the whole trip by taxi Smith sees moving your hands around the cube with an expression on his face weary and aching, panting and sweating, as such a constipated in the bathroom. The manager, sitting there at your side, cheering him and puffing and sweating in turn. Seeing this scene I immediately thought to buy one: if he really was sweating so much I could use instead of the bike.

Then, opening the case for the bottom drawer of the desk to find a cd, I found out I had a Rubik's Cube ready-there waiting for me ...

was my father, back in the late '80s, just think '. The cube was published a few years in business, and my father liked these strange things. I remember as a small I lost whole days to complete a hand, undo it and complete it again. Then one day I was home alone (my left me alone without fear: I was quiet and easy-going like a little Buddha. The only thing you have to worry about was that empty the pantry of sweets ...) one day, I said, during one of my inspections in the kitchen, seeking happiness in a box of cookies, I discovered a hidden package skimpy on the bottom of a drawer. A sheet into rectangles, folded in four, with the corners rubbed. I opened it, curious but not too much (I still thought the cookies) and without even realizing I was in the hands of the solutions to the Rubik's cube.
handed down by a fellow colleague in the megaufficio My father, handwritten by a mysterious, primordial solver, perhaps the Hungarian Rubik himself, had come up to me as a divine gift. Sketches, drawings, symbols, this package had the same fascination for me that may now have a code of Leonardo. I tried to figure it out, but it was written in a kind of coded language. I thought it was to prevent it from falling into enemy hands, or something like that. In the evening I asked questions to my father told me that these were mysteriously "Solutions." He said that the package had been given in secret by a colleague who had received via carrier pigeon from a foreign cousin, who had secretly copied by the sample that a revolutionary French had secretly stolen by someone else. Turned secret copies of the leaflet, and anyone who was in possession had a moral obligation to at least make a copy and pass it to someone you trust. I gasped, I felt part of an international conspiracy. Probably had something to do with Russia: it was spoken so much in that time, and was always seen on television with the gentleman that spot ridiculous in my head ...
fact is that the day after the package was gone. I looked everywhere, I gave a detailed search in the drawers of the kitchen, the shelves in the room, I climbed to the highest chairs, I put in the most inaccessible spaces of home, risked the life more than once in what had become my personal treasure hunt. No way, the package was gone. I immediately thought of the Russians, I thought the man with the stain on his head. Yes, a spot on the head with a grim look and what can not but side with the bad. Rispolverai the nearly forgotten Condor air pistol and began a program of training hard, difficult, necessary, interrupted only by an equally needed break for a snack. In the evening I asked my father if he knew what had become of the paper, and I was astonished when he accused me of losing it. He said that I had to stop to browse in its drawers. I was accused of a crime he did not commit, I was unjustly tortured, left without food, locked in an isolation chamber. Were useless words, the evidence of my innocence, no, no avail, for nothing ...

Nearly twenty years later, almost two months ago, meeting in the same cube tray, always the same, but the package in that time has come a long way, has been passed down, copied, translated, and the Internet has become the affordable. That puzzle at first glance seems insoluble, colored that object shrouded in mystery, here in a week has become a pastime of a few minutes, I do and undone at least three times a day. And here is the secret code that had fascinated me so much I now so familiar that I could rewrite it from memory. But it would be unnecessary to write another leaflet: it's all here on the Internet, available to anyone. No more slips of paper on which to create mysterious and fascinating stories, no more unsolvable puzzles, there is a ready recipe for everyone.

I was going to close this post with links to the solutions of the Cube, but it would be too easy. Cercatevelo your own Package.

soon
Robi

Female Beach Volley Camel Toe

Came Blunt

I do not write for ages. I have even forgotten how to tap the keys, I forgot the password to access the blog. The blog entries, among others, are entitled to free fall. Me bad, me bad. But fear not, will rise from the ashes as Arabia Felix. No, it was, the Phoenix, here, yes. However
. here are a couple of interesting news items for anything that happened in recent days.

It's called Blunt and will soon become the protagonist of a series of stories for idiots. It 's small and brown and looks slammed a teddy 60. It's like a small Winnie the Pooh, but without a shirt, poorer and less gay. It's also thinner, and does not have that nasty little voice. In short, with Winnie the Pooh has nothing to do. You see in the picture below (which does not do justice: Live looks much loser). I bought it yesterday at IKEA. Of course, being an IKEA product, to keep prices low I have sold in pieces in a box, and I had to sew it yourself ... Seriously, it's beautiful. I am not a lover of stuffed animals, but this is the end of the world. I do not know, maybe that was his air of discomfort to be orphan with an empty belly tenderness to me when I saw him in the chest, one in the midst of others like them. I thought this might be the bear that had my grandfather as a child. The price, then, helped to give him that air of shabby rags that I really like: one euro and ninety-nine, a little more than a slice of apple pie IKEA bar at the bottom of the department.

Even that, then, I was tenderness, there in the display case of cakes, one in the middle of his other similar, seemed to wait for me forever. Seeing her I thought this might be the cake that my grandfather has made in '74. I also got one and go. Of course, being an IKEA product, to keep prices low and they sold me yet to prepare ...

University Bulletin

classroom without air-conditioning, a dirty, sweaty dozen students, two former Soviet spies Tuesday I tried for the first time last year the writing of Russian. Three and a half hours of suffering in un'auletta overheated from tension, from sun and wind of my tobacco Soviet prof. It was a massacre. After only two hours, five of us were passed out, one of two prof (the non-smoker) has started at the stroke of the third hour, to see hallucinations and mystical style fantozzi: claimed to see a huge gelatone Parsley approach and speak in a persuasive asking her if she wanted to bite his biscuit. The other professor, one smoker, gave up his favorite brand of cigarettes (I smoke the MS ultraheavily strong filter absolutely-no-oxygen special edition superfast lungs destroyer ...) and started to smoke Package Air Action Vigorsol, hoping for a cooling effect. A massacre, in fact. On completion of eleven patients and a fellow student expert. Another comrade instead seems to be an accountant, and to tell the truth I do not know which is worse. Okay. The fact is that after three and a half hours my butt was now entered into symbiosis with the chair, and get up and hand over the task I had to give up the first layer of skin, damn, it began to seem almost tanned. But you will, are the sacrifices that are made. Then they say that in relation to employment the student life is all roses and flowers.

Well, maybe for students of Agriculture.

's enough for today, I have a couple of things to do before tonight.

A greeting and good weekend.
rb

What To Write In Agood Friends Wedding Card

This local 'copy strictly prohibited

I photocopied a book.
I know that you can not, but if the book is not for sale and is not around what can I do? I do not like to make photocopies, do not think. Especially since they are environmental, and between paper and toner fumes have taken maybe ten years of life on the planet. And then the photocopies are horrible once you've studied end up in a drawer, or used as bad, or even thrown into the waste paper. I've seen people throw photocopies just finished the exam, directly into the trash outside the classroom, almost as if to immediately free of all that knowledge that, once you have the vote on booklet deals only space in the head. (Do not look at me wrong, you know very well that there are those who think so.)

hate photocopies, in fact. A book instead ... ah, how nice! You put it there on the shelf, next to others, and always makes her look good. If you're the sort is a shelf of books just for the tests performed, grouped by subject. If you are a fetishist, then you can also sort them by date of the examination. And when to reopen a case book in which you studied years ago, find here that underscores the notes written on page edge, maybe a hello cool that your friend wrote you that time in study hall, and back for a moment back in time. Rethink everything you've been through, what has changed, and you realize you have grown, you realize that ultimately even the most stupid question you left something. We thought for a moment, and suddenly the back you want to study: preparing the books now for the next call, you organize, plan the study, we put you in thinking that commitment is not just a matter of passing an examination, no is a matter of learning something that you then stay forever, if only one third of all that studying, but in the end you will have learned something, by God. Yes, studying here, who want to study! ...
... Inevitably, two days after the desire to study you has passed, return to your normal quiet catatonic state. It's a little 'as the effect of coffee, is short, and we must take advantage of that time frame in which you are under caffeine to make as much as possible. But the opposite is also true: most studies, the more you know, the more you like it, the more you are stimulated. It works well for me, for you do not know ...
said, excuse me if I greet you in a hurry, but before I go to study the effect of steps a little bit.

ps I know I write a little, sorry. The bad thing is that having a blog if you want to hold on to write a post player at least once a week, and we sometimes end up writing just to presence, a bit 'as if should have a punch. But writing is not like working on the lathe. Quality and quantity are difficult to combine, and sometimes you have to focus on one of the two, you have to make choices. I made my choice I have, I hope I appreciate it. I prefer to just write and try to do it well. Then tell me, come on, if you choose badly salted white rice every day and a plate of delicious mushroom risotto once a week, what would you choose?
(I just compared with a delicious mushroom risotto? I will finish in the round of the arrogant for this? It is, as long as I take the place of the greedy at least two days a week: I have people waiting for me for breakfast.)

How Does Ocular Herpes Progress

Re: past

Some girl bunting - a Pavesini? - Wrote a comment to my last post. Going to snoop on his blog (because that is how you do) I found some beautiful photographs, and one in particular reminded me a shot I did in Poland when I was still struggling with the instruction book of my first digital camera. The photo is nothing that, but in some ways is nice.
The nice thing is that Poland faces the corner and you're in the 20s, just a few more feet back in the present, he turned his head and you find yourself in '50, you tie a shoe and you get up again when you're in a pub Drinking beer with a bunch of strangers ... Poland is a contradiction since the other, a jumble of eras, styles, thoughts, is a mixture of ideas that once came into his head are the roots, and you hold the thought as a climber.

But that's another story.

In response and as a tribute to photography past Ele, here's my experiment (I have it with black and white, sorry):

Sola (past)

Will Fogger Get Rid Of Mice'

The Good, the Bad and the Mediocre

As you may have noticed if you are avid fans of this blog, these days I have not anything particular to tell. I will just put down a sentence after the other, pretend to develop an argument rather than another, but actually sell hot air. What do you want, nothing ever happens here. I do not have an interesting life, I might say, but it's an excuse that holds little, and not because it is true, but why should not on balance be a limit. The difference between a good writer and the writer should be denied this right: one can tell a trivial like an extraordinary event, the second ... well, better read the shopping list of your wife ...

The good writer may be five pages to describe an old toothless sucking a soup of cabbage, spoon after spoon, and you read to the end without getting bored for a moment, indeed come to the end that you think of it almost tasted it, the cabbage soup, you feel the taste in your mouth, salty on the tongue, palate dolciamaro on ... If the writer is really talented, capable than half an hour after you are well a stomach ache.
Of these writers can find a few in the library, I figured the network. And if by chance you find one, half the time you're so lazy as to forget to write down the name, or save in your favorites, and ends two months after that when it comes to mind for when you find out that Mr. Bravo decided Writer not to write more for lack of players (read: rewarding).

The bad writer - which is not necessarily a bad writer - Has another kind of gift. Very long-winded writer, it is considered an expert in every literary style. Universal has a talent that allows him to range from sketch comedy to Bildungsroman without problems. Can write a horror story with the same ease with which verse of love, and without there ever been, can describe a landscape of the Trentino Alps with such realism it's like, reading, breathing fresh air and scent of musk.
Or so he thinks.
The bad writer is, in fact, a very self-confident to the point where it did not need any advice or opinion. Do not you ever exhibited, and with the excuse that "the depth of His work can not be understood by ordinary people "do not read anything to anyone. In fact, always afraid that someone out face the bitter truth: it is a process. Whatever you make in writing is more boring than a thirty-year mortgage. fails even with the greeting cards for the holidays. written by him, including the forms for the recommendations and check bank notes are especially tedious.
Stoicism of bad writers is commendable, however, they are the ones who never give up who continue to hope for success to the grave. For people like them there is much to learn.

between Bravo and the Ugly Mediocre Writer travels the party of which the undersigned State is more or less faithful and more or less satisfied. We know not to excel and strive to learn, each in his way. We support one another as to how good or bad to do, and this is definitely something we have to teach. Sometimes we have glimpses of great creativity, which we believe are able to one day get out of mediocrity: we feel a special moment, we feel we have something more, we are convinced that our moment has finally ... But soon we realize that this is also a common feeling, that happens to everyone every now and go back to being the usual mediocre, more or less faithful, more or less satisfied.

There is also need us, after all, because they can be such good writers.
And blessed them ...