Thursday, 2 October 2008
ogni giorno e' peggio, ho l'impressione che se non ci fosse tutta questa pregressa esperienza di crisi economiche, saremmo molto peggio che nel '29.
io non sono un economista, non ci capisco proprio niente, pero' a me pare follia quello che tutti stanno facendo.
in pratica c'e' un incendio e mi sembra che vogliano buttare benzina (quella poca rimasta) sul fuoco.
la crisi secondo me e' strutturale, e' che il modello di capitalismo selvaggio con aspettative di sviluppo e crescita e consumo infinite era insostenibile e siamo arrivati alla fine... per cui cercare di stimolare l'economia per riprendere quella direzione e' assurdo, e' suicidio.
io penso che bisognerebbe lasciare che il sistemi rallenti, usando i soldi non per salvare le banche ma per aiutare i bisognosi e i disoccupati.
introdurre part time, e settimana corta, anzi cortissima.
dire alla gente: nel tempo libero invece di andare a fare shopping, occupatevi dei figli, che non diventino dei deliquenti barbari; aiutate gli altri, andate in campagna, fate sport, leggete libri presi in prestito alla biblioteca; imparate a fare lavori in casa; risparmiate energia.
i soldi che stanno per essere infilati dentro le banche in crisi e che, se da un lato salveranno i nostri risparmi (compresi i miei), dall'altro finiranno fagocitati nella macchina burocratica elitista delle banche.
se invece i soldi li dessere agli individui che so per mettere i pannelli solari, o come incentivi al trasporto pubblico, allora si che tornerebbero nel giro. con i soldi di un giorno di guerra in iraq, uk e usa potrebbero fare tante cose, finanziare tante ragazze madri afro-americane.
e poi anche tutti questi soldi anziche' prenderli dalle classi medie, ormai quasi all'asciutto, dovrebbero iniziare a prenderli da quelli che ne hanno tanti tanti di soldi..
ma questo al solito un'idea che non gliene frega un cazzo a nessuno.
Monday, 15 September 2008
c'e' un verbo in inglese di uso non comune:
alcuni di voi non mi crederenno..
vuol dire: sorpreso, scioccato. upset (che non vuol dire solo e tanto arrabbiato, ma vuol anche dire che c'e' un travaglio psichico, uno status mentale agitato da qualche evento esterno - per esempio uno potrebbe essere upset per la morte di un familiare o di un amico).
le origini dice il dizionario sonn nei primi del '900 e sembra sia una alterazione del verbo "discompose".
sfogo del giorno
ecco e' cosi' che mi sento, discombobulated, a leggere questa news sulla repubblica:
dice repubblica che il papa, con "grande umilta'" (chiaramente un fatto eccezionale per il papa essere umile), a lourdes si e' rivolto ai "malati" disperati di lourdes e gli ha detto di non "volgere le spalle alla vita", di non cercare l'eutanasia.
e' follia pura? e' cinismo assoluto?
uno ci mette tutto il razionalismo pre e post marxista possibile, religione come controllo, chiesa / stato, ecc.. ecc. storia criminale del cristianesimo, ecc.. ma questo appello e' veramente troppo.
uno arriva il lunedi mattina 15 settembre 2008, lunedi, una nuova settimana davanti, legge questa roba e non so voi, ma io sono rimasto .. in stato di shock. non lo capisco. sembra cosi' volgare e crudele.
i malati sono gente a cui la vita ha voltato le spalle... perche' si dovrebbero privare del diritto di sottrarsi al dolore, allo scempio psico fisico? a dio quindi non basta essersi preso la loro salute, vuole anche che soffrano fino alla fine, semi cadaveri su cui la scienza primitiva dell'uomo si accanisce senza pieta' al punto di concepire cure che sono peggio del male.
io non mi occupo o preoccupo di quello che dice il papa, non me ne frega una sega, ma e' come se stamattina veramente si fosse superata una soglia entrando quasi in un'ampia zona di disumanita'. non che sia una novita' per la santa madre chiesa romana.
Friday, 15 August 2008
ecco un esempio di "public media aided censorship":
c'e' uno che si pubblica il suo blog sulle sfighe di essere un assistente di volo alitalia.. link non ce ne ho perche' il blog non esiste piu'... divertente, corredato di foto, personale, vola under the radar..
arriva un enorme giornale e gruppo mediatico che gli fa un bell'articolone, nel contesto di una delle vicende + sensazionali e seguite di italia, dove tutti gli schifosi politici di quest'epoca disgraziata hanno un (dis)interesse alla vera informazione.
risultato? il blogger, ci dice la repubblica di oggi, ha "chiuso" il suo blog.
secondo me e' stato censurato!
in compenso l'articolo di repubblica punta ad un nuovo blog, il cui rapporto con il precedente non e' chiaro, ma in cui c'e' finalmente una di quelle belle frasi qualunquiste che tanto piacciono ai politicanti italiani ladri squallidi:
"no ma noi italiani stufi di Alitalia e delle sue politiche del catso.".
ecco che si sposta l'attenzione dalla verita' (alitalia come serbatoio di opportunita' per comprare consenso e voti a spese dei contribuenti) al falso ideologico (alitalia come azienda colpevole del suo tracollo).
e la repubblica e' il medium per portare a termine questo delitto mascherato da informazione!
Thursday, 14 August 2008
last saturday i saw Jonty Hearnden and his crew filming one of his TV shows at Portobello road. They were filming one of those Cash in the attic type of shows.
Not bad, I spoke with him, at first I thought he was part of the crew, but when I was close enough I recognized him as one of the experts, actually my favorite.
He's also on My Face
Friday, 8 August 2008
Monday, 21 July 2008
V. comes from Ukraine. He has 2 sons in their late 20s and 1 daughter in her 20s.
V and his wife M work in Italy as keepers at the villa of a wealthy italian professional. They look after the villa, the park, the swimming pool, they cook food when someone is in, clean, do shopping, pick up the owners at the station, drive them back, etc.
V is taking us to the nearby station. He is wearing what looks like his "driver" uniform: freshly ironed trousers and shirt in blue. He is silent and so are we. I have never had someone's driver drive me somewhere.
Then I ask him casually about Ukraine and little by little the picture start shaping up.
He was a worker in a farm, he managed to send his children to school and University.
Then they lost everything, all their savings. And now they are in Italy, one of the sons too is in Italy, probably doing some kind of dead end job like his father, despite the degree; the daughter is in Russia doing god knows what and one son is back in Ukraine.
They share dreams of making enough money between all of them to go back and start some sort of business.
The sadness of a man who is a grandfather but can rarely see his grandchildren.
And then I ask him without any regard, the question that has been burning inside me all this time: Was it better before, when you were in the USSR?
Without any hesitation V replies: "yes", vigorously, and he repeats it 3 or 4 times, like a mantra, yes our lives were much better, we had work, money in the bank, a place to live.
"I would have never thought that we would end up like this, having to emigrate abroad to survive".
Saturday, 19 July 2008
I am lost somewhere in italy, under scorching heat and hot jazz music.
Highlights of the week
Gerard Clayton Trio
Three improbable afro-american youngsters with dreadlocks playing top quality jazz..
Improbable just because they are so young.. and yet so good.. music flows in their veins.. I hope to see a lot of them.
Joe Sanders on double bass and Justine Brown on drums.
Awesome vibraphone player with terrific quartet and unplanned jam session with Flavio Boltro and others..
Found in cyberspace:
Geoffrey Keezer Jazz musician
Artist share website
Sunday, 8 June 2008
in questi ultimi anni ho perso la ragione del tutto, ma ancora non sono al livello di quel tipo che all'ultima conferenza di iain sinclair si e' presentato con 2 buste di plastica piene della sua bibliografia completa per farseli firmare (tutti) - creando un certo imbarazzo nello stesso Iain Sinclair, che mentre firmava il primo ossevava sconcertato il tipo estrarre libri a due a due, e metterli in fila - gli e' uscito di bocca un suono inarticolato, imbarazzato.
io dietro, mi ero portato solo un libro, il + bello che conosca, e quello che sto leggendo, e poi, per non sembrare tirchio, me ne sono comprato uno di quelli nuovi presentati in serata (in realta' non un libro di Iain Sinclair ma uno che lui ha curato), e Iain mi ha detto che stavano per pubblicare il suo primo libro tradotto in italiano, mi chiedo se a parte me e wuming - in debito con iain sinclair nonostante cio' che sostengono nel corpus di email incazzate che ci siamo scambiati - altri troveranno interesse nel leggere della M25, il london orbital, l'autostrada voluta dai tatcheriti intorno a londra diversi anni fa e ormai diventata parte integrante della citta'.
no sto bene, ragiono ogni tanto, anche se a volte piango quando william gibson racconta di come apprese della morte di W. Burroughs e di come , al contrario di cio' che si aspettava, non gli fece effetto per niente, 2 agosto 1997, piango perche' penso che ho gia' letto tutti i libri di gibson tante volte, li rileggero' tante altre volte, ma cosa faro' nel buco che va dall'ultimo (spook country, 2 agosto 2007, pre ordinato per 6 mesi su amazon uk, ricevuto
Saturday, 7 June 2008
Wednesday, 14 May 2008
16.37 barbican station, wed 14 may ad 2008.
At 16.37 today they turned on the lights. Yes the lights on the platforms are turned on and it's just 16.37 on my mobile (time synced automatically with operator). What the fuck? But it's still day, the sun is still shining high above us, actually the sun is shining even too fucking much if you asked me.
the sun is still shining and yet they have turned on the fucking lights.
So why do they torture us with BST, Bullshit Summer Time or CEST?
Where is the saving if they turn on the lights at, like, 16.37?
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
finalmente! e' un momento storico.
fausto bertinotti si e' finalmente tolto di culo. ERA ORA FAUSTO!
certo, prima di leversi dal cazzo l'imbecille ha cancellato la sinistra dal panorama politico italiano. Ora che fausto ha portato a termine il suo compito, spero si goda la pensione e il bonus che gli aveva promesso Berlusconi alcuni anni fa, quando, armato di martello pneumatico, casco e protezioni, fausto si avvio' a distruggere prima l'ex partito comunista e poi l'ultimo rifugio di sinistra in italia.
di una cosa siamo certi: non ci manchera' questo ometto del cazzo e la sua costante presenza sulla tv spazzatura di stato e non.
Saturday, 15 March 2008
A bitter laugh.
My last day in the army, i remember everybody was trying to steal the cloths or any equipment really, I started cutting all my military clothes in tiny stripes and I went on like a madman, unaware of anything else, I was in fact the last of my group to leave the barrack, i returned , compared to the other , a heavy baggage, they were surprised, they were thinking: we'll steal this loser's stuff, they were up for a surprise.
As I left the barrack, i fell on the ground outside and i kissed.
I had been to no war, in no way my life had been in danger, but i had just lost one fucking year of my life. I had learned nothing but i had nearly lost my mind; i saw people jumping out windows, i actually did; i saw someone who had cut their veins; someone in my own room broke one of his fingers to get xmas holidays. he actually did.
i discovered that inside the military, it's like mussolini had never died. in those days i think there was no officer who wasn't fascist, nostalgic, and admirer of mussolini, a collector of memorabilia.
i still remember that night, up on my tower, alone, cold, tired, nearly asleep, when i heard someone moving in the grass nearby, i knew it was the lieutenant, but i had had enough, so i still remember i started shouting: "so you wanna fuck with me , you bastard loser? I am gonna fuck you instead". I loaded the shotgun, and in the silence of the forest the noise of the magazine being loaded, 6 shots, echoed through trees and bushes. I loaded the first bullet, that was when the stupid fuck
Friday, 14 March 2008
a long silence marked the death of christ, at the end of the Aria Dein Jesus ist tot. a sign of respect of the director to those of christian's fate? hard to say. it's kind of eerie when the entire barbican auditorium, nearly at full capacity, remains silent for 30 seconds or perhaps even 60.
a second eerie silence marked the end of the concert: silence of people, of music but also frozen musicians, with their instruments as they were when they played the last note.
until, 60 long seconds later, the first violin (who later would travel on our same circle line train to farringdon) finally moved to a rest position.
then a flood of applause exploded and lasted for a very long time, the longest i have ever witnessed at the barbican (why? because of the britishness of the cast?).
Anyway it was a great performance, and it was great to be there.
after that i lost it completely and i started behaving erratically, and i am talking pre full metal jacket, and i wasn't obese.
so as i had just dismounted the truck from the week shift, i had time to get a clean change of clothes and i went back to the week shift.
that was prison dude, we had no phone, no way to communicate with the outside world for a fucking week. my parents freaked out. i freaked out too, i was in a state of semi unconsciousness, we were only allowed to sleep if our break from watch was in the night, 4 hours shifts followed by 2 hours break for a week.
then i was transferred to xxxxxx, this was because they had to let me go by law, a long story. the bastard commander tried all ways to stop me, they sent this lieutenant, member of the fascist groups, he had tattoos all over his body but one in particular on the back of his hand. his father would later make the news when he was caught in a coup attempt while chief of the military secret service, but this kid, he was an albino, he was nothing, so he attacked me and he threw at me a desk (no really, nonetheless than a office desk with all the stuff on top of it), and i dodged it but I couldn't touch him, cos that would mean prison, so I just kept telling him he was a dirty fascist bastard or stuff like that and that I was a communist and this stuff was enough because no one there would dare declare being a communist or even vaguely leftish; we had to sing fascist songs everyday even if it's against the goddam fucking law!
last thing I remember in xxxxxxx is my captain giving me a farewell speech and quoting his greatest hero, this african dictator whose name i can't remember, who was allegedly found keeping human flesh in his cellars.
the quote was about all of us being equal regardless of colour, religion or political inclination, and as I was listening to this nonsense, i was wondering if the translator had gotten it wrong and the african dictator had actually meant that we all "taste" the same , regardless of religion and skin color.
Friday, 7 March 2008
my first time back in canary wharf since september, when we moved out of our luxurious flat on brother thames to the multicultural shores of bayswater, it's to attend iain sinclair's talk at the docklands museum. yes it takes at least Iain sinclair to snatch me from one of my 2 routines (home - work - home ; or home - home - home when I am working from home) on a work day and push me to the fringes of the metropolis. For the first time i have a chance to steal a visit of the docklands museum.
I am obviously early enough that they are barely opening.
there is an exhibition about gay culture but I am not sure i understand what it is exactly about, it's a little bit confusing.
the museum stuff is very interesting, but it's only at the third floor that I find something that make the visit and the ticket to this museum worth: there is a 2 sided reconstruction of the London bridge, THE one and only bridge in London for many centuries, which is fantastic, awesome, you have to come and not watch it, but admire it, worship it, drool over it!
it's fantastic, and on each side it represents the bridge in 2 different historical ages.
In the meantime the man himself, iain sinclair has arrived, probably with his wife, a elegant beautiful lady.
some time is wasted in arrangements, the museum staff is over excited, probably not used to the large crowd that is gathering outside the venue? orders are given to the public that they can't bring the drinks from the bar to the venue, then , after a short reconsideration, drinks are suddenly allowed.
a japanese bicycle deliver boy has made himself comfy by laying on the floor, he is out a gibson's novel. this london audiences are unreadable to me. if i were back home, I would know what sort of people are attending a certain type of event. like this case, minor author, very hard to read, very cryptic, very much everything is about london. here there is a mix, delivery boys, middle aged anonymous people, older people, couples, singles, girls, young girls, student age? the mix is unreadable, my social skills are lost in translation, i know no one, i can't even read.
i end up sitting near one of the delivery bike boys, he pulls out a big bloc notes from his bag to take notes.
eventually in fact we are admitted, some with drinks, some without , to the venue, a nice room with comfy chairs.
To introduce the evening is Sara Wajid, editor of Untold London, a website about immigration etc.
when sinclair starts talking , again as in the previous case (see this blog back in ???) , he immediately captures the audience. he has a charisma, a way of telling stories in a natural and magnetic way. he doesn't read from a script, yet his narrative is uninterrupted, a flow that takes you places, flash backs of his other lives and jobs, the truman brewery, with an open bar for truck drivers and the morning "brew" waiting on the desk;other endeavors, like the orbital, but also flash forwards into new ventures, like his new books , Hackney, the 2012 olympics.
At the end a book signing occasion, a guy has brought his 2 bags full of sinclair's books, he his piling them out of the bag to sinclair's surprise, he wants them all signed. I buy one of the many I am still missing but queue primarily with the one i am reading (the orbital).
an opportunity to speak to sinclair, i asked him, do you have many italian readers? he replies, as a matter of fact the orbital is being published in italy, with the dvd. i ask the name of the publisher, he can't remember , but he mention a luca something (surname lost in translation ) who will translate; i promise to advertise the book.
he sympathize with my cause (it will be easier to read in italian), his books are very hard to read for me.
Saturday, 9 February 2008
Friday, 1 February 2008
i have a brand new mac book pro that was delivered on tue evening, it's a 15.4", top cpu, top ram, top HD, and I can't decide if I should open it or send it back since the cyberspace is full of all this "noise" about a possible update coming any day, although some other people say it's going to be mid march, april, before the summer, after the summer ... AAARGH!
what should I do?
Thursday, 31 January 2008
i thought for the first time i would describe one of my rides in the cyberspace.
sometimes when I am about to go to bed i get dragged into the cyberspace by one reason or another.
for example, this time, i was cleaning the mailbox when i saw this email from Nic, a message from his last.fm account: it was a bunch of flamenco music. one of the song was by Paco Pena, one of the most famous flamenco guitarist still alive.
I got curious to see him playing live so I went to Youtube.com where I immediately found a lot of video with paco pena, and I choose one. it was a performance on tv probably from the early 80's.
While I was watching it,I became curious about the line up of this Santana band in 1969, especially the drummer who looked familiar.
It turned up to be Michael Shrieve, and no, there was no reason for him to look familiar, never heard of him. Sorry.
I searched more Santana live on youtube, but didn't find much of interest, a concert in Santo domingo from the 80's with the public shouting so loud they were actually louder than the band.
Then I got thinking to my favorite Santana's song, and that must be Black Magic Woman, so i looked for a live version and I found a couple: this one and this one, which is my favorite.
One of the related videos was this one, with a title of "Peter Green & Santana - Black Magic Woman [Poddighe Version] ".
Now this was a real jigsaw. Who is Peter Green? and what has he got to do with Santana e with BMW (oops? Black Magic Woman!).
Well, I discovered that Peter Green created the Fleetwood mac and he actually wrote this song that I like so much. See Wikipedia.
Now the last mystery was the band playing in this video. They did sound not super pro, but they didn't sound like complete amateur either.
A search on "Poddighe" was to answer this last question: it's a band from italy, which explains the "Grazie" at the end.
Actually, if you read their website, it's more like a cluster of bands and musicians gravitating around a recording studio.
Poddighe is a band with 2 configurations: the power trio (seen on youtube) and the acoustic duo (unplugged?).
Anyway to cut to the chase, I have decided that if I get married, I will book Poddighe power trio as band for live music. Che storia!
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Monday, 7 January 2008
E8 4QJ London
Friends visiting from Perugia, Italy; they would like to go to one of the infamous grilled meat franchised restaurants, in Soho!
I need to get creative, find an alternative.
First of all I check the reviews for the requested restaurant, and in the last 2 months I read consistently of bad experiences, long waits, cold food, wrong orders; plus I remember that when I attended their branch in the City, they used brooms, regulars brooms, to clean the grills; I know those brooms are only used to clean the grill, but still, it felt wrong. And the food was nothing special and the prices very high.
So I dove into the cyberspace, deep down, from the core of the Internet to the edges, until I had a list of some very posh and expensive grilled-meat type of places. And then I found Buen Ayre in Hackney. The location is certainly unusual, and I am sure few people who don't live in Hackney would venture there for food. Yet, I found intriguing to venture in a new area, one of the "dark" areas of London, Hackney, which to me sounds like no tube, night stubbing, gangs, etc..
Once I sold the Buen Ayre to my crew, we hopped on a minicab and off we went crossing from the City into the dark edge of town.
I felt confident thanks to the many positive reviews found in various websites about this restaurant; and also encouraged by the fact that booking was required and the restaurant seemed well busy which is always a good sign.
Ok, enough with the literature and straight to the conclusions:
1) the location is not so bad, although you do see some dodgy characters around;
2) the restaurant is nice and small and cosy, and it does gets busy; I admire the policy of 2 seatings, which spares from having to wait , also because there isn't room in the restaurant (although there is a nice pub nearby);
3) the grill is very nice and the food is prepared and served nicely and the meat kept warm with a minigrill on the table;
4) nice selection of meats and also several vegetarian options; we had a de luxe mixed grill for 2 which was really nice, with sirloin, fillet, black pudding and sausage, all very nice and tasty
5) it looks like they don't put much salt on the meat, which is probably good both for health and taste; but you might want to sprinkle an extra bit of salt;
6) good selection of wines at market prices.
Overall a very positive experience, very good food, very good service and reasonable priced.