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Babbi of Shit Christmas # 1

Andrea G. Pinketts divide gli uomini in due categorie:i babbi di minchia e gli uominiveri. I babbi di minchia sono quelli che tradiscono, sono quelli che si piegano alle regole che hanno ereditato. Gli uominiveri invece sono quelli che si creano le proprie regole e le rispettano anche quando costa caro o non è conveniente farlo. Sono quelli che lottano, che tengono duro, che hanno ampiamente superato l'idea del classismo e del razzismo in qualsiasi forma. Sono però even those who give a damn if it's politically correct. And so if you have a friend of the color may jokingly ask how long you do not shower or a gay friend with conguntivite if by chance recently got a bird's eye (an example is perhaps a bit 'colorful but I swear is real), the fact that they are ready to respond in the same way. Anyway, fight against everything and at any price to defend their rights. They are the ones who do not think that all women are whores except my mother and sister, who is not surprised about anything because they have an idea of \u200b\u200bwonder and amazement, those who have not foreclosed. The fathers of the fuck are the employees that you take a break for lunch the whole of the bar, come in and tell one another: a caffettino? But if an accountant can offer me. No look I do not allow, on me. Accountant on me. They feel great in offering three € coffee. Then maybe you stabbed in the back for 10 euro increase or to have covered parking in the parking business. They are the ones who live by television: it moved to tears to see the pandas would use the threat of extinction but lanciafamme against beggars at traffic lights.

Now a uomovero can dress up as Santa Claus to the delight of their children on Christmas Eve, but if a father to fuck you dressed as Father Christmas (Santa Claus is a dick for the note) then we can only expect the worst ....

# 1

It was a workday like any other. As were all those of the least since he had decided to take the field. And like all day that day started early, meeting up meetings with the closest co-workers all day but then came back a little 'home earlier than usual to get ready in time for Christmas dinner.

was the first Christmas without the wife who left him without regret. In general it was she who took care of everything. But even without her he wanted everything perfect even if it were still possible, even better. He had all his children as guests, and all her grandchildren and this year he would have taken amazing.

was a few days ago that the idea had become his obsession. Of course it was not easy to convince his bodyguards to leave him to do but what the heck was he who commanded at the end! And things were going as he had decided.

The idea was simple: he would dressed as Santa Claus, would go up on the roof of his house and illuminated by powerful lights would go down by a ladder with a bag of gifts over his shoulder, on the terrace overlooking the living room where immennso towered a mighty fine Christmas tree decorated and brightly lit. The grandchildren of glass glued to the doors of the hall would assistitoa entire hoax. After the descent, he made his grand entrance in front of his grandchildren appalled. Of course, this had cost him more than a few euro: the Santa costume made by his tailor to make custom of trust, alone had cost more than was humanly possible to imagine ... not to mention the pressures he had done on Bubble and host of his television, to convince him to sing some Christmas song live as he descended the ladder. But that ungrateful he had not wanted to know. Maybe it would be for next year. It was not one that he gave up easily!

And so over dinner had been away with the excuse of having to make important business calls (sorry he used often and it always seemed to work). It was changed, wore the red suit and fake beard in vicuna and the sack of gifts over his shoulder, accompanied by his inseparable bodyguard Johnny Tembo had gone in the attic. He had waited in control of Jhonny that there were no hazards on the roof of some sort and then when they had given the green light was hoisted on the roof of the villa through a convenient skylight located about half of the roof. Now he had only to reach the edge of the roof where the top of the waiting ladder bright as day and make his triumphant descent. Johnny Tembo had insisted until the last minute to accompany him on this trip but did not want to listen to reason. It was not an old man who needed the carer, and then if there was something that just could not stand was that someone would steal the scene.

soon climbed on the roof of the cold air Night had lashed his face numb from the warmth of the interior of the villa. That did not bother him at all, far from that served to awaken from its torpor and drowsiness more frequently caught him after dinner and beyond. Even during the dinner he had become aware of esersi dozed off but none of his guests if they had realized or at least he pretended not to see. But he had moved his first steps, a thick piogerellina began to get annoying. There and then it does not bother him that much but then the greasepaint calargli eyes began to have blurred vision. And before dinner because it had recorded a TV interview and had not had time in tissues. Although actually a little 'background color kept him always to cover the signs of age that not even all the cosmetic procedures that had undergone had been able to completely hide. And what's more even the surface of the roof had become slimy and slippery with the rain and walk with those shoes with the rise (the height of the breastplate was not exactly a complex that had never been able to take off) is not facilitated by sure. Perhaps the fact vrebbe megio to be accompanied by Johnny ... That's what he was thinking when a sudden electrical blackout precipitated the roof in the darkness. But then when the view gradually became accustomed to the darkness, the top of the scale, at the edge of the roof, appareve visible again the faint moonlight.

path had already more than halfway, another ten paces and would attain the scale. We could do the. Of course had to be careful not to slip ... Meanwhile Johnny Tembo concerned about the situation that had arisen was urging him to go back. But he was not the type to back down, never had done in his life and even this time was no exception. Move other two unsteady steps in the direction of the ladder and clinging to a chimney apresstava covering the last short distance that separated him from the ladder, when the moon was obscured by a thick cloud. And with the moon shots even that glimmer of light shone feebly in his footsteps.

But this would not be enough to stop him! A few more steps and it would come, the EC could do more as we had done in life. Although there was always someone in life who had helped him, maybe paid handsomely, but there was always someone. But now he felt terribly alone ... That asshole Johnny Tembo should have prevented him doing that ... mattana but now had to focus on: yet another three steps and there should have been the scale.

In reality, the steps that should have had only two: that's what she thought as she fell on deaf ears.

When he touched the floor of the terrace after a flight of about seven meters, the thing that struck him was the noise like branches that are broken. But it should not have done anything serious because he did not feel any pain. Now he would take a deep breath and then he would get up. Because he was one who always get up. Every time I took it for fall, he was always raised and it did so again this time.

But this time he felt strange, tired, drained. Where he was feeling well, so lying on the ground staring at the sky that had come to be stars. The voices of the people who now realize bustle around him he could hear distant, muffled.

The image of Santa Claus that move across the sky on his sleigh pulled by reindeer was the ul tima thing they saw before his eyes.

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SEPOACSANEPMV

(Sistema Elettorale Plurininominale Ostracizzante all’Ateniese ⁽¹⁾ con Sbarramento al NANO ⁽²⁾ e Premio di Maggioranza Variabile)

(1) del V secolo a.C.

(2) Non eletto in quanto Avente Numero Ostracizzante di voti.

In questi giorni si fa molto parlare di legge elettorale. L’attuale, la legge Calderoli (quella denominata porcellum per intenderci), sembra non piacere quasi più a nessuno: né a chi l’ha or written opposition or to the same coalition with the law won the 2008 election. The problem is that none or almost want to vote with this law, all they want change, but each has a different idea of \u200b\u200bhow the new law should be. Given that each of his opinion, even I, in my small, I give my personal contribution.

Speaking of the election law should be able to rise above those who have interests aside and look at what are the interests of the country. We should choose a formula that election rather than another, not so much by the benefits this can bring to the political faction membership but in terms of security which it can give in terms of voter representation and defense of democracy in the country. In the sentence you just read there are a number of concepts that are worth further before going forward in the description of my proposal for a magnificent electoral law.

Let's see: the fact that we are talking about voting, and here I add free, implies that relate to a democratic system (the totalitarian systems in general tend to avoid the elections and if they are not free but are still held only pro-forma). Now that democracy means government by the people etymologically speaking, is not it just that perfect form of government you normally do want to believe. Tyranny, for example, but only if I (and I say, just me and nobody else) I was a tyrant, would be a much better form of government! But I fear that would tend inevitably to conflict with the concept that each of us has to tyranny and would not be prosecuted so peacefully .... And then democracy is an inherently flawed concept that brings inherent in itself an awkward paradox. It is sufficient that the majority of people both in favor of a government anti-democratic because democracy would cease to exist by its very nature can not oppose the will of the majority without falling into a contradictory negation of itself. And here the emergence of other problems inherent in a form di governo democratico. Il primo che appare subito evidente nel paradosso di cui prima, è legato al fatto che tutti i voti hanno uguale peso e valore: pensare che il voto, che so io, di Umberto Eco valga quanto quello dell’ultimo dei tronisti della De Filippi fa oggettivamente accapponare la pelle. Ciò unito al fatto che la democrazia è pericolosamente in balia dell’emotività del popolo, per sua natura facilmente suggestionabile, porta a quegli eccessi di potere decisionale del popolo stesso che portano alle conseguenze antidemoicratiche del paradosso o per citare un esempio eclatante, alla crocifissione di Cristo e alla liberazione di Barabba.

Sul primo punto cioè sul fatto che tutti i voti hanno lo same value regardless of competence or incompetence of those who expressed them, you can not do anything, any attempt to give a different weight to the vote on the basis of culture, wealth or age easily pave the way for forms of discrimination not be tolerated in a modern and civilized country.

On the problem of the emotions of the people and the demagogic and populist tendencies that democracy can take much can be done, certainly much more than they do today. Let's say something more about it. Democracy is the power of the people but what people are talking about? Of the sovereign people or the people ox? And what are the differences?

I would say that is what the sovereign people informed and conscious choosing, if the electoral law so permits (but now not so), its representatives in parliament. But it is also what we choose not to vote because there is no political means of expression and not for this one should have fewer rights.

While the beef is what people are carried away by false promises and rhetoric of unscrupulous demagogues wisely leverage irrational feelings of fear and hatred of political opponents and minorities are often used in the role of scapegoat for problems that are unable to solve. The people ox is quello che cede alle lusinghe di moderni despoti che parlando alle pance dei sudditi promettono “panem et circenses” (oggi potremmo dire “magnum fratem”) sfruttando il potere mediatico di cui dispongono. Il popolo bue è quello che ha subito il rapporto diretto, risultandone poi manipolato, di leader quali Hitler, Mussolini e Péron.

Scusate la retorica alla Nichi Vendola ma mi è scappata…

Le moderne democrazie dovrebbero evitare le facili manipolazioni del popolo, dotandosi di organi di controllo (le authority di cui si parla tanto) che indipendenti dal potere politico impediscano il verificarsi di questi fenomeni e di un giornalismo libero (si pensi high risks for democracy that may arise from control of the policy or of the strong powers of what is known as the fourth power) that exposes the false, damaging and defamatory state political leaders.

Let's face now, however, for the avoidance of doubt, though deeply flawed democracy is the lesser of two evils can succeed and we need to keep close and defend it against those who want to attack it, the demagoguery and the people and the totalitarian tendencies that may result .

start talking rapprentatività also must ensure that the electoral law. In my opinion, should ensure representation of those who vote but also those who do not vote for this and do not have less rights. Let me explain with an example. At the last elections, which had a turnout of 77%, the PDL has been collecting about 38% of the vote. Now 38% to 77% is about 29% even on an Italian three. Here I think the fact that you have the consent of an Italian in three does not justify the fact that you have the country as you want just because you have a relative majority of votes.

It 'clear that enough is enough and should be a relative majority to govern but to change the institutions and laws which are the cornerstone of democracy and protection should be raprresentanza of an absolute majority of Italians. A little 'as in the Monthly Meeting to decide where maintenance work is necessary to have the most extraordinary vintages and not just a majority vote of those present meeting.

Established an electoral law that would ensure we come to my wonderful proposal.

How can mitigate risks that may result from abuses of democracy and populist demagoguery? Sometimes it makes sense looking back to look forward. And in fact in the history of ancient Greece and more precisely in fifth century BC, this was the institution of ostracism that seems to be the answer to the question before. Ostracism was a mechanism by which you voted, recording the name on pieces of earthenware, those individuals who thought they could represent a potential danger to democracy. Who obtained a simple majority of votes was punished with a ten-year exile even though he had done nothing criminally prosecuted. It is sufficient for the chance to become tyrants in order to be potential ostarcizzati and then exiled.

the modern day stigma as it was practiced in Athens, it is objectively difficult to implement if only because of the lack of debris and not least because of the difficulty to put them in a ballot box ...

So I thought to release revised dell'ostracisno. During the vote in the ballot you can express a preference (ie, indicate that the person I want to be elected in the constituency of ownership among those indicated in the party list) and at the same time also a negative vote "ostracizzante" (ie you can specify that person who does not want to be elected because I think it might be a danger to democracy or otherwise for the country in general). Can be expressed clearly just voting against. In this way you can give a voice to those people who do not vote because they feel that there is no party or candidate to represent them but that they would know very well who would never want to govern them.

Clearly it would vote against a vote that should hit the individual candidate and not party affiliation. The vote that otherwise would be reduced by the amount of votes received by candidates ostracized but not to punish the party's vote, however, should be given on the listing of the candidate redistributed among the other members of the list in proportion to the votes received by each. This is positive as long as the votes for each candidate received outweigh the negative. If the negative votes of a candidate exceed the benefits the surplus between the positive and negative votes should not be reassigned to the list but permanently lost. This is to penalize those lists che presentassero rappresentanti “impresentabili”. Chiaro no?

Il sistema da me ideato prevedrebbe collegi plurinominali, per garantire una certa proporzionalità e rappresentatività dei partiti minori, ed il turno unico per risparmiare sulle spese elettorali.

Per garantire una maggiore governabilità si garantirà un premio di maggioranza che avrà un tetto massimo, diciamo del 15%, ma che non sarà fisso ma attribuito in proporzione ai voti positivi ottenuti da tutti i rappresentanti della lista sul totale dei voti di lista (positivi + negativi).

Cioè se per esempio, la lista che ha ottenuto il maggior numero di voti has recorded 70 positive votes but 30 negative (ie a 70% positive votes) asseganto you will see a majority of the premium will be only 70% of the maximum 15% premium. This in the aim to persuade the parties not to submit the "monsters" in the elections

Yeah I know: that system is not wonderful that I promised you but it seems to me anyway, after all, a rather imperfect and complicated electoral system they can be easily applied in our country ...

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Le preghiere della buona sorte.

night. Have a question, then take time. Started to sweat. Schiaritevi a couple of times the item. With the index and middle fingers of his right hand, extended his shirt collar. Melt, defeated, you have previously worn a tie for the occasion. Choose a thousand tie, in a perfect mess. Choose the one that you have horrible striped tie. Open the cabinet in a hurry, each time amazed as the first. Embrace ACRI smell of days long past, all those who lived in the clothes you have placed too quickly. Here it is, the smell of your past, stored in four wooden walls, even aged. Choose a tie, a righe perchè l'occasione lo richiede. Non è un appuntamento romantico, né una riunione di lavoro, ci vuole qualcosa di serio ma brutto al contempo, qualcosa che non distragga lo sguardo, qualcosa che non stemperi la tensione. Selezionate accuratamente l'armadio tra i cento che offre il negozio. Quello enorme, che ci sta dentro l'intero anno, le quattro stagioni, le vacanze estive e quelle invernali. Quell'armadio con pochi specchi ma tanto spazio. Pesante e ben fatto. Quello che durerà a lungo, resistendo persino al furore dei bambini. Grande che ci stiano le valigie vuote, i maglioni fuori moda ma ancora troppo nuovi per andare in beneficenza. Enorme, per contenere un paio di scheletri e qualche amante. Non un vialetto qualunque. Meglio perderci del tempo ma esser sicuri. Comprate la casa nella nuova zona residenziale, forse c'è da attendere qualche mese, sarà nuova però. Tre bagni che sembrano esagerati ma se c'è l'ospite poi la vedi la comodità. Coltivate molte amicizie nel frattempo, ma nulla di impegnativo, non vorrete che passino settimane in casa vostra, quando saranno mollati dal consorte alle tre del mattino? Se aveste il quarto bagno forse...Tre sono pochi. I bambini hanno bisogno di spazio. Non fa bene rompere le loro abitudini quando stanno crescendo. I bambini sono così delicati. Meglio se il riscaldamento è autonomo, niente rotture, caldo e freddo quando avete voglia. Si, una villetta con giardino. Nella vetrina del negozio c'è un cucciolo con una macchia black on the head, you look confident, appearing cheerful and strong, sweet eyes, a ferret that you can not resist. A collie will be fine, you know you envy your neighbors? Costa, you know, pedigree and all, but is a necessary expenditure. The standard of living, new car, the automatic sprinklers that wet the pajamas, the first time you go to throw away the trash. It must be getting used to. The bed was great when he arrived in the arms of forced porters. Now, only a few inches each, a real torture. The space required on board as you pass the wrong night, his face fixed to the wall. Like when the plaster a wall full of moisture attack you, they do not you can avoid it, is stronger than everything, even reason. It is not home. Yet the lead on the fingers swelling of the wall, press up to make it explode. Everything falls apart in the long run. There is no plaster to hold. Already on the morning of the wedding was not the emotion that drove his knees on the ground, face to face with the violent toilet. Fear. That's all. Fear. Do not ask her out, let me ask you. It is not a knight but eventually pays off. See? Sundays in the fall as a chestnut to the forest, with her father. The woman of your dreams seemed unattainable. The most beautiful among others. Also the first time, while the rest of the people drooling. It is pointless when the power of memory to rediscover morning. Can not be and however it is. In cars such as more tainted teens township. Mom and Dad could have chosen an apartment in a modern style, maybe a hotel room, a four star, I know. Car no. Instead, the conception does not allow for choice, it is often only passion. The ability to choose ends here. No one remembers anything of what happened before. No forms. None required. A ten thousand meters, anchored to the chair, a backpack with a parachute attached to the back does not bode well. Suddenly a guy with a beard and mustache grabs you by the collar and straight below. The only time when it would be worthwhile to exercise the right to choose, the one in which potersi ancora salvare, è anche il primo in cui non si sceglie. La scelta non è umana, non è cosciente, né concreta. La camicia ha cambiato colore sino a dove si stringe nella cintola che tiene i pantaloni. Sudore. A notte fonda. Fatevi una domanda e non rispondete. Il silenzio, alla lunga, paga. Non era un rumore strano quello. Non c'è una pistola nell'ultima scatola in cima, nascosta nella stanza degli attrezzi. Eliminare la paura all'origine, non il brutto ceffo che attenta alla vostra sicurezza notturna, non è la migliore delle soluzioni. Troppo tardi. Buona notte.

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Il calice della salvezza.

Questi momenti splendidi, durano quanto le bolle in cui si trasforma l'acqua mentre la torture to a hundred degrees centigrade. Just off the flame, they cease to exist and it seems that the long minutes waiting in vain have gone lost. While the pot stops subdued to say the words typical of their job, we lose that vague feeling of celebration that gives the kitchen every time you make them free. Such as extreme hunger that comes in mid-day hours when it was devoured by the cold breakfast in the morning alone. For every tasty morsel to be diminishing the effect of chewing Endorf tasty. Everything always ends in the fall of perception. Too quickly or too slowly, more rarely. So the wine. A glass of red from the absolute and fatal collapse of sobriety, one almost has the feeling of holding impudent between forefinger and thumb of his right to happiness.

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Delitto e fastidio.

not without effort, the few words he wrote on the piano closed. Insistent in the dust, with the index uncertain. He left what looked like a solemn epitaph and perfect, a great cry for a start like that. He pulled the curtains. He turned off the fan coils on either side of the room. The pumps and pretend to grind fresh air, they ceased to complain to their usual weight. Some crunch complacency. The house drew perhaps a sigh of relief. The walls have not tasted a silence for too long. The lamps scattered on the furniture, already tasted natural twilight. A well-deserved break after so much work. For months the electricity cables had to scroll up in the morning. Screams, light, shock, tears. Already some small drops of sweat flowed from the sordid temples, grabbed the long neck to neck on chilly fall, after leaving my hair smelling. It was not the job. It was not fatigue. It was not sleep. It was not the wrinkles of a smile came too soon. It was not the heavy responsibility on the slender shoulders. It was not the bitterness of renunciation. It was not the wish of the late romantic words. It was not empty at important moments. Not even hunger. It was not the thought of her lips, engaged in conversation without words. It was not even the dark shape always uncertain and the partners who happened to be every time. It was not for the coffee to two taverns in the suburbs. It was not because the skirts are too short. Not for the lies. Perhaps even the stench of promiscuous lives that he brought with him from the dance halls where he spent the night. It was for himself, because he could not be strong enough. Uninhibited, clever, cynical, violent. He missed everything. It was a damn good man. Off the cliff, as the Spartans weak as an infant. An unnatural selection. Painful yet full of pity for the suffering to which evaded the unfortunate. He was chubby at birth. After the pat on the buttocks, he told his mother, uttered a cry from the first scare. The doctor said he was a boy strong and healthy. No one had taken the trouble to shove in your mouth an arm to search for those muscles that are not seen. No one can look through. Nor can they really do the thousands of modern machines. Wipe with your finger the two sentences on the piano. He wiped his hand on his trousers clear. He pulled the door behind him strong. He did not bother the keys. He smiled. No attention to the gas of the windows, lock the house of every petty. He climbed the stairs, with the nimbleness of a boy. One shoulder was enough to knock down the door of the attic. The Commander was away for a while. The goalkeeper had watered the plants at noon. No alarms. The cats knew him well, even moved when he entered, nearly falling, over the door lying on the ground. He went into the kitchen, drank water directly from the tap. He wiped the sides of his mouth with his forearm, without worrying about new shirt and starched. He took an apple from the old basket, bit into it. He smiled again. Was healing. That little cathartic path to liberation was making the soul back, like new, ready to be returned to the owner in exchange for some 'peace. He flung open the window. He went out on the porch. He squeezed his eyes to the harsh light of day. A strong breath. He spread his arms, as in the morning, just waking up and launched into a quick and powerful stroke. In a moment he was in a vacuum. He was already looking at the palace gradually disappeared from his view. The heart was beating strong. He remembered when a child told a friend that runs underneath, someone had died in the middle of fall, only to fear. He did not. He enjoyed the end. Speed \u200b\u200bmade his heavy body. The gravity holding out his arms as her mother never did see him come back from school. Impact against a tent flap, unfortunately open to stem the afternoon heat. The tent was broken with a sharp sound. He had shoulder pain. Was it during impact if the dislocated. I just cut trousers are tied to one of the aluminum arm that held the curtain suspended lungo la facciata. Un imprevisto. Con la destra ancora illesa cercò immediatamente di liberarsi per terminare il lavoro. Con la coda dell’occhio prima, con lo sguardo intero poi, guardò di là dai vetri. Era lei. Nuda. Teneva il portiere ancora dentro di sé. Entrambi lo osservavano ammutoliti. Attoniti. Increduli. Intontiti dall’amplesso e dallo spavento assieme. I pantaloni cedettero improvvisamente. Cadde ancora. Lo aveva colpito ancora. Era riuscita a negargli persino la soddisfazione piena di un gesto tanto estremo. La disperazione ebbe modo di attanagliarlo, di accompagnarlo al suolo. Ancora soltanto il tempo di pensare allo sguardo di lei quando avrebbe letto le frasi sul pianoforte. Nella stanza imprudentemente appena visitata, ai piedi del bed, lay the green plastic watering can. The porter had given water to the plants of the attic at noon. To have more time after lunch. They spent weeks because everything was settled. It was not easy. It was as if he had died of yellow fever in the Amazon. Applications, documents, annoyances. The widow entered the apartment to retrieve a few items. Feelings quite skinny, she paused beside the piano. He was completely covered with dust, because of some windows left open. A gray layer disturbing. She hated the dust. He left angry, never to return.

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Indian Religio

I can not begin to talk if India did not speak of religion. Rather I should say the religions, because in India more or less peacefully coexist many religions: Hinduism with all its variations, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Jainism and the Sikh religion are just the main ones. But not so much the plurality of religious denominations to surprise those who visit India, but as the religion, no matter what kind of religion it is, heavily pervades every aspect of life in rural India. In fact, probably just think that splitting the population into castes is a legacy of religion: that Hindu, to be precise.
Among many religions, the one that best characterizes certainly India is Hinduism. And not just because it is more widespread, more than eighty percent of Indians are Hindus but also because it is farthest from the way we live and think of religion.
If religion is the opium of the people, Hinduism it is undoubtedly the LSD. The Hindu pantheon is made up of a multitude of gods, all anthropomorphic but often with an improbable number of limbs and appendages, implanted with animal parts and not all colorful and shiny. These psychedelic hybrids of human figures with parts of animals remind the gods of ancient Egypt. Ganesh with the body of man and the elephant's head with the Matsya or fish tail and torso are not so dissimilar from the Egyptian Anubis and Thoth even if they do not possess the characteristic solemnity. The Hindus of the buttons are always portrayed life never posted but always immanent immersed, at least at a first superficial view.
But more than the religion of ancient Egypt, Hinduism, I was raised what could be the polytheism of ancient Greece. Although there was a diverse pantheon of gods and demigods, with some animal characteristics. We also know that the statues of contained in the Greek temples were originally colored with bright colors are gone and lost with the passing of the centuries. Seeing then the burning funeral pyres on the Ganges in Varanasi I brought to mind the description of the pyres of the Homeric heroes of the Trojan War, thus further corroborating this, my first impression.
But as I later discovered only later, my impressions were erroneous because they, unlike the one that apparently, the Hindu religion is not really a polytheistic religion which ones were the Greek and Egyptian, but enotice. Hinduism ie, the various deities are different manifestations of one supreme being transcendent.
But let's see how the Hindu religion. It's like this: at the head of it all is the sacred Trimurti, a kind of our Trinity, which is represented in the case of a body with three heads to indicate the three constituents gods: Brahma is the creator and which, in time, has 4 heads, 4 arms and 4 legs, Siva or Shiva the destroyer and Vishnu the preserver. The three represent the three fundamental aspects of the divine that is the Brahman (the supreme being) not to be confused with Brahma the creator of our universe specifically referred to above. Now if all this loot was limited to meat (6 heads, 8 arms and 8 legs, if I'm wrong not to count) would still be easy to understand but in reality, each deity has its own avatar, that is the reincarnation of which these have fallen to earth to restore Dharma (remember the Dharma Project from LOST?) which would be the cosmic order. To understand is a bit 'as if Jesus was the Avatar of our God ...
And because the Indians are so prolific in real life as in the religious Vishnu gave ten but someone speaks up to 23, avatar. Krishna, Rama, Buddha and even are the avatars of Vishnu. The other two are not talking about avatars. Siva's because being in the world (representing the destruction) did not need to incarnate, of Brahma, I confess, I do not know why.
Then to make things even more complicated than ten main avatars of Vishnu have been given several thousand names. These are just the main deity but then there are the wives of members of the Trimurti and its Avataresse and their offspring.
The best known of these relatives are: his wife Parvati is the second incarnation of Siva but the first and perhaps the sister of Vishnu, and here we are in the soap opera, and her son Ganesh with his elephant head. As for the avatars of members of the Trimurti secondary deities also have their emanations are gods in their own right. As just one example Kali, the Thugs of Salgariani with its four arms, is nothing more than the warrior aspect of Parvati. Ie they are the same deity, but with different names and appearances. But back to Ganesh and his origin. On this issue there are several legends. I'll tell you the version you told us about the Brahmin who was our guide during the visit at the time of Kahajuraho. According to him one day Parvati decided to take a bath, first rubbed with oil and body raschiandoselo way before diving into the water generated by your dirty a guy who gave them the task of guarding the front door home while she was bathing. Then Siva came home and finding a stranger to block the entrance to his home, is somewhat irritated, because I think he had the presence of probable subdorato horns. And without thinking twice decapitated the unfortunate boy. Then Parvati propina's the lie of the bath, oil, misunderstanding and then saddened by the untimely death of the young. Siva to comfort and to feel more starla not complaining, but this is my addition, he sent the heavenly host looking for the head of any creature they had found asleep with his head facing north. They found an elephant's head and they took that led to Siva with a daring operation that attacked the boy headless high surgery that raised up and called Ganesh (Ganesha or if you prefer). Moral of the story is not Fall asleep with his head to the north, especially if you're an elephant, in spite of feng shui!
So Ganesh which was "generated" by Parvati in a daring without the intervention of Siva fertilizer that being on the other hand its part, is not immortal, felt the need to perpetuate his ilk, he was an only child and showed a 'morbid attachment to the mother. Ganesh's mother indeed considered the most beautiful woman and perfect the world (classic case of unresolved Oedipus complex) and not find at other women remained unmarried all his life. Certainly his elephant head is certainly not helping him in dealings with the opposite sex, but this My conclusion is an entirely personal. Even Ganesh has four arms, which is common to many Indian gods, only one tusk and riding moves a mouse.
Now you may wonder why all this Pippone on Ganesh? But why Ganesh is by far the most revered god of all, at least from the Indian populace. This is surely because it is the lord of good omen, a charm that is, that is invoked by every good Hindu before giving principle in any daily activity. We could say that the statuette of Ganesh is an Indian as the red horn is a Neapolitan.
I realize that I dwelled too much and became too late. So for the time I finish here and I'm going to see if by chance I won the lottery but not before Ganesh ingratiate myself ....

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Denso di colpa.

is not the fault
sedare la rivolta
togliere gli uomini stanchi dal fronte
seppellire armi e munizioni
ricoprire di terra le trincee
riavvolgere il filo spinato
ritornare alle pareti calde delle camerate
offrire alle ferite debita cura
sottrarre alle fitte della fame gli stomaci increduli
sparire all’ingiustizia della pioggia e del vento
regalare respiro al nemico
venire meno al giuramento eterno fatto alla nazione
riportare gli occhi alle labbra delle amanti
dimenticare la guerra.
Non è colpa
sedare la sete di vittoria senza sangue
offrire la sagoma alla luce del sole
porre rimedio alle distanze
amare la notte alla quale abbandonare il corpo sereno
coprire talc
heal this wound and badly
ignore the infection to almost no pain.
is not the fault

resign punishment.

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O Dio.

At this hour of Sunday, the ideas of the mind s'affastellano the point from which to take the short road to the mouth, to be pronounced. Or beat the rough and difficult path that leads to your hands, to do with writing. And do not tolerate anything of what I see and feel, anything that happens. Faces compliant. Smiles worthless and useless as many money in inflation. Pat on the shoulder and hands immediately washed to be immune to fatigue of slavery. Gestures as simple or as complex as a greeting hug. I will not tolerate the bodies. The eyes, lips, saliva, teeth, breath, smells, sounds, sounds, letters, pictures, all actions, books, objects, roads and skies. I will not tolerate the gestures mean and the necessities of life. The mean work, wealth without restraint, poverty without reason, reason without feeling, feeling without tears, tears for no reason, without affecting the reasons and consequences brandished like a threat. I will not tolerate my similar or even different, not the high temperatures and even the tremors of winter. I can not stand the pain and the rain that covers the rumore. Nulla davvero sopporto se non il respiro impenitente che gonfia il petto senza che la volontà vi si possa opporre. Non mi piacciono le mani aperte lungo le gambe e nemmeno i pugni stretti della rabbia e forse neppure quelli sferrati sul volto del nemico. Non mi è davvero possibile tollerare il sapore salato e metallico del sangue ai lati della bocca. Non tollero più di non poter tollerare tutte queste minuscole cose eppure ne amo il pensiero. Non voglio esseri umani in giro per il mondo e nemmeno me stesso. Non voglio sopravvissuti, né eroi. Non vincitori, né prigionieri. Ma tutti i giorni devo percorrere questa maledettissima strada, devo farlo tutti i dannati giorni dell'anno. Ne sono obbligato e per quanto cerchi di camminare con estrema and consists of education, as I try not to run, for how hard I promise to look carefully at the ground where I put every single step, I can not stumble in the sensitivity of someone, lying, almost lost object, the edge of the road . At all times the impact of a shoulder snooty guy who harangue the crowd with the importance of education, that of others. I can not not cause discomfort. It will never be quite the poison that brought in here. Never enough to die. Never enough to be immune.

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3 things I know. (And Piero Angela has never had the courage to tell you). Passage to India

Every man produces about a liter per day of saliva. In fact, the amount can vary from half a liter to 2.5 liter to get ada, depending on the production of multiple factors: age, health status, activity (for example, produces more saliva that standing or lying down seated: so do look good from a spitting contest if you do a sedentary job). To get an idea of \u200b\u200bwhat this could mean, say that over of our lives will produce about 30,000 gallons of saliva or at least we hope to produce at least a similar amount. In order to view this material as you can think of a circular pool of 6 m in diameter and several feet deep but is not necessary that we dive into it. We begin and end our life drooling and spend the rest of his life to prevent us from swallowing saliva drool. Saliva has many useful features, without which our lives would be much more difficult. In fact, the saliva lubricates the food easier to swallow, lubricates the walls of the mouth and teeth by facilitating verbal expression (think of what it would mean having to always talk with your mouth dried and mixed), prepare the food for digestion by the enzymes of its attack (before digestion fit in hours) and protects against infection from dental caries and for its antibacterial properties (for personal use is better dell'amuchina). Without saliva, the mouth would have chronically inflamed and infected. Also interesting are the psychological effects of saliva. We spend all day in swallowing saliva but when it comes out of our mouth ceases to be spit saliva and becomes, with all the negative meanings that this term carries. None of you, I hope, would drink a glass instead of swallowing their own saliva during the normal activity of swallowing. Yet it is the same substance. Mysteries of the mind!

If you are unable to vomit spontaneously but you had like, here's the list of what to do: to start a deep breath, close the glottis and open the upper esophageal sphincter (the entrance of the esophagus); lift the soft palate to try to prevent the vomiting there coli from the nose (unless you do not like it), suddenly lowered the diaphragm to create a vacuum in the chest that will cause the ' opening of the esophagus and sphincter, which connects to the stomach. At the same time, you should contract your abdominal nuscoli thus compressing the content stomach that quickly retract the esophagus and passing through the mouth will erupt outside. Done? If there is no give in it is able to train your diaphragm and your stomach and improve the synchronism of the movements. In the meantime you can try with some politicians on television osseravare ours. I get excellent results with a Bassino, North America, with false hair ...

Every man produces 705 milliliters of gas per day through eight episodes of flatulence. Who we owe the discovery? The Center for Human Nutrition at the University of Sheffield in 1991 recruited ten volunteers, equally distributed between men and women who had to live for twenty-four hours with a rubber hose inserted to forty centimeters inside the anus. The tube was connected to a plastic collection bag and held in place with the surgical bandage which guaranteed water resistance of the connections (what you do for science ...). But studies on the subject did not stop here. A luminary of the Minneapolis Veterans Affairs Center has used for the collection of flatulence in the same way-lots of rectal tube developed by the team of Sheffield to study but the smell. Samples of flatulence in this case were taken from the bags with a syringe and delivered to two judges in an environment free of odors pushed the plunger of the syringe held three inches from their noses. Smelling intestinal gas several times the two lucky judges then had to assess the 'smell' linare on a scale from 0 (no odor) to 8 (very unpleasant smell). As you can complain about your job there is always someone doing a worse job ... dell'anlisi The result of that mixture of hydrogen sulfide (rotten egg odor), metantiolo (fetid odor of rotten cabbage) and dimetilsulfide (smell dolciatro typical Loffi, where there is plenty this) that takes the name of fart is as follows: women are the intensity odor significantly higher if they also produce a slightly smaller amount. The next time you feel a lift in unbearable stench, but do not be angry with your friend with that elegant lady who looks at the ceiling with air vague ...

PS Both metantiolo that are extremely flammable hydrogen sulfide. So if you are planning to repeat the experiment, careful to keep the bags away from open flames or heat sources.

PPS If you think that I made it all sit:

Tomlin, J., Lowis, C., Read, NW (1991). Investigation of normal flatus productio in healthy volunteers , “Gut”, 32:665-669.

Suarez, F.L., Springfield, J., Levitt, M.D. (1998). Identification of gases responsible for the odour of human flatus and evaluation of a device purported to reduce this odour , “Gut”, 43, 100-104.

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Questa estate sono stato in India, in realtà sarei dovuto andare in Ladakh ma poi c’è stata l’alluvione… ma questa è un’altra storia, e come consuetudine di questo blog avrei dovuto già da tempo postare qualcosa su questo viaggio. Anzi sono sicuro che vi sarete chiesti i motivi del mio colpevole ritardo nello scrivere dell’India.

Le ragioni di questo mio ritardo sono semplici. La prima, mi spiace doverlo ammettere ma apprezzerete la mia onestà nel farlo, è la pigrizia. Ma effettivamente non è questa la ragione principale o per lo meno non la sola. Non ho scritto subito dell’India semplicemente perché nonostante le tre settimane trascorse laggiù, io l’India non l’ho capita! Oh yes I have tried to integrate myself in the customs and traditions of the place, as can be seen from the picture.

Yet when he returned to Rome, I have tried to document, to read the experiences of people like me but certainly with a greater capacity for analysis and greater authority, did the same trip, seeing the same people, the same religions, the same habits, the same cultures, the same vibrant colors, smells the same, or more often smells, the same misery and the same richness and above all the same looks. But they, too, and I speak of Moravia and Pasolini, denounced in the writings of their difficulty, if not impossible for a European to understand the concept of Indian life in all its many facets and contradictions.

So relieved that my difficulties in understanding are not alone but in respectable company, I decided to write the little that I think I understand India and above all my personal impressions than ever as this year, I warn you, will be inconclusive. Without this sort of outing I have only just beginning, but I find it hard to choose where to begin. I was then reminded of what I wrote about Sammy on facebook India. Sammy is a friend of mine, fellow traveler in Mexico, Belize and Tanzania that has been in India a few times. Like a good Milan goes straight to the point of things not miss too many frills and made me share my puzzlement wrote: "India is a good beginning punch in the stomach, but then a little 'is the digest! I do not think you can understand it instead. "

Here India is just that!

In the next post I will try to go beyond this summary very telling that most impressed me in India, and moved more than once dismay.

soon.

for specifying PS: I know that the Ladakh in India. But it is in Tibet: India a country other than the classic (the one in Delhi and Varanasi to speak) that I visited.

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Ninna nenia.

And it's not wise to start conjunctions. Not the words of the first lean winter. Not the wind darting over the salt water to warm light of evening. And are not the voice that pop like the sound vibration of the whip. Not the cries of the beast factor, movendola back home in the evening. Not the pain of the thin moist temples. And there are phrases calm idleness, those whispered in blind oblivion. Not the remoteness of the year, put down with the cunning of memory. It is the night that jumped too soon at the door. And there are the subtle sounds of the leaves that give way to the fast pace of our silly shoes. It is not the silent passion of adolescence shy. And there are the prayers of the breviary writhing on the lips of young women repent. Do not shame for the ecstasy of the flesh. Not the crash that breaks the throat. And I'm finally drops that run through the face. Not the heavy sighs. It is nothing of this. Only the passage of time.

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Parola d'odore.

Words worst are those who long to be read. Struts, dressed up as prostitutes last minute. clumsy and often laughable, encumbered by the province's economic makeup. The smell terribly of mothers of infinite time, a mixture of suffering and courage, and stupid.

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L'insostenibile leggerezza del tessere.

An endless knitting, such as the little old dark childhood. Eternal silence at the door of his room by a low. The association would appear that the poor live to suffer. Of these, whose name sounds dreadfully in the ears of the living, neurotic tangle is made of the human mind. But racing at breakneck speed and continuous attempts to reach the farthest, to hide at the sight of awareness. Certainly know and perhaps do not know, a lot of people that there has never told of his past life. Among those who attended, trust me, there is more foreign people than it can imagine. Foreign to itself, of course. Stateless persons of conscience. They are for the most part to those whose eyes know sometimes be without substance. Those who look carefully, you really do not seem to know what lies beyond the tip of their nose. People foolishly happy in fact. Long-time fugitive, whose researches have ended long ago. While these little stupid things to smile, Just try asking around if anyone really remembers you and your childhood. Smile even when no one will answer. Smile and be happy.

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La belva e la bestia.

There is always someone on all fours forced to watch the others having fun, poking the iris over the cracks in the walls, as well as the floorboards. Someone who is afraid to show. Someone who wants to participate in the laughter and not be cause and purpose. There is always someone forced to stretch the ear over a thousand noises, holding the face on the cover of the cold bath, as well as double-locked the doors. Someone who flees his words but would like to speak out without fear of being invested and sentenced. Also seen and heard in the distance. We will always envied, admired, and finally hated, just hated the cause of their malaise. Never enlarge the cracks in the walls, it is true. Do not ever Divella the axis of the system, it is true. Never release the locks that protect us, it's true. Sani bad yet. All around, in the thousand shadows, the well, hobble awkwardly, spying on us.

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Condanna a sorte.

The Executioner smiles under the hood. What filthy layer of canvas is not the commitment made at the time of his own style. It covers the face of the Assassin, but insolent and lewd, does not reject the motion of facial muscles to contract and he leaves. The people knows it, sees it, he hears it. Too busy moving in other, more personal commission, feels the joy of death imposed by the iron. Then it stops even the smallest production of human beings and gives a performance as exciting as cheap. As always, a few minutes earlier than scheduled time. The sun, feel it, even if I have to focus inevitably paved the heavy, dirty, warm and polite is the eight in the morning. The same one that lights up the sky of the best memories. There is no bitterness in the execution nor condemnation, nor injustice nell'accanimento, the sacrifice is only natural number between the numbers. The culmination of the punishment waiting is bad, given for days. Days of idleness and tremendous pain. In too many books we read more and forgiveness granted, just before the last breath. E 'in this way that man illusion of making sense of wrongdoing, the incident, every single day of punishment. In the last look at the sky, barricaded in tears under the eyes, and fair expression together in fear, is concentrated around the craft art of living, acting. Comes strongly to the sky, lama swollen chest and a hissing whisper of joy. Falling, with its own door, the weight of freedom, the final one. In a gesture of relief neutral impact the pen, falls, blinked, looked at me with the boss look bad. Just passed the hour of pay. With hat in hand I leave the office. We hope in the good sleep tonight. Wake up at dawn tomorrow, tomorrow we lead.

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Balle di sapone.

is not the oppressive heat or a generic thin air. These are huge transparent globes and transparencies. Only with great difficulty, you can offset some with the back of an open hand. If they do not explode and is noiseless. Rarely are shattered, leaving her eyes contracted in the fear of bang that never comes. A disappointment expressive uncommon. No water, no soap, just words.

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Il cursore nero.

Terror of the seas, oceans of all those endless, bottomless, in which the words are lost not only written but also think. The same deep seas, the waves which are breaking the wind blows, those on which the fine phrases whispered, languish enmeshed itself from its roll. Small and powerful, mobile and tenacious. Often languid invitation to failure, frustration, vain and arrogant to the movement of the hands. Not only for hours, my friend, not days. Months on months passed inside the ropes that bind her wrists to the same time, not far away and no better, cut the air in the grip of madness and the regurgitation of suffering. The beautiful wickedness of things, how far we can run, lurks, ready to continue the job of bitter persecution that has voted. Everywhere in the world, appearing even for a moment on the sheet and electric white, waits, with constant motion and extremely nervous, similar to those of foot impatiently waiting for our late, ready to attack us, reproach, on the occasion, all our failures. Sly and cunning smuggler. Apparently harmless neighbor. Discrete playmate. Available when needed, heartless taskmaster with each fall. And 'the stone on the way, the rope along the way, the nail in the tire, the door without a key in our "city personale”. Maledetto!

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Inconsistencies

DOUBTS

P3 "Codename: Caesar, the name of the lawyer: Cesare, son's name: Pier Cesare."

Who is it? Investigators groping in the dark ...

Centro de L'Aquila to 15 months after the earthquake: nothing but rubble!

But the builders were Masons? Mah ...

CLARIFICATION

Nicholas Farrell To the right of Berlusconi's right but the right to fine and left. Besides, always according to Farrell Fini would be a Nazi. But fascism, it's time to admit, it's stuff left. So much so that Churchill, he is right man, he fought the second world war against the Nazi-fascist right "leftist".

I now everything is clear ...

Heil Churchill, Hitler companion.

PS Unfortunately, thanks to the Daily Journal for allowing us to enlightened and enlightening to know the thought of Farrell

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Champions

One Week is exact, the football World Cup ended with the final in Johannesburg between Spain and the Netherlands. Spain won, Holland has lost all the comments were made, the controversies have become dormant and various celebrations are off to Spain, at least I presume.

Well I know it is not, journalistically speaking, right on the piece, but you want ... it's hot and are more lazy than usual! Now and only now I feel I can draw some brilliant personal conclusion on the game just ended. And I think I also have licenses to do this legitimately because I am in Africa I played football and really before Cannavaro and company, look at the photo above as evidence. Oh yes the foreground recognizable by its pale complexion and the plasticity of the movements are really me!

First, two final considerations. It 'was one of the ugliest matches of all the world. The game completely offset by excessive tactics implemented by the two European teams blocked by fear of losing. Pressing led to the whole field, and high defense offside tactic: he ended up playing in thirty, forty yards when the field is more than a hundred. The result of twenty players have crammed into so little space was a player receives the ball just did not even have time to stop the ball, which was immediately pressed by at least two opposing players are ready with clubs if you got rid of the ball quickly rather than .

guess if the game did not appeal to me that I am European and therefore accustomed to the exasperation of the typical tactic of the modern game, so unless you liked the viewer average African. It is because for the African football is above all a game, a fun game, even more than a sport. For them, the result is not everything. Derive maximum satisfaction from the spin effect, the relentless travel, the dribbling too much. It is no coincidence that, at least in part of Africa that I visited, the most watched football league through the satellite channels is the English certainly the most spectacular of those in Europe.

In this respect, I tell you a funny anecdote. We were in Tanzania, in a small village on the edge of the Serengeti, a few years ago. Walking along the main road we stopped to watch a bunch of kids playing with a ball made of plastic bags held together by rubber bands and ropes. From there we need to start playing with them was a snap. We went to take our beautiful leather ball and we were divided into two teams. Mixed teams: African children with more elderly and imbolsiti muzungu (which in Swahili means "white man"). I remember we played beside the main road on a soft layer of chaff from the threshing of perhaps a mile. I remember the happiness of those children in order to play with a real ball. I remember the pride of those children playing with adults, Europeans like their television idols. I remember they were good and that we had a great game. I remember that there was no way to enforce a set of roles these children: defenders, midfielders or strikers, while taking the ball trying to dribble past everyone and score. I remember in the head twenty minutes into the impromptu game of football the entire adult population of the village had left their jobs, with no hard feelings I guess, to watch and cheer at the game. I remember especially a child a little 'smaller than the others who liked to score and that always pulled in the door: in his own or the opponent did not matter: the important thing was to score.

I remember after the game, from petty Italian, we thought "good football but these Africans will never win a World Cup." In fact, the African teams will try to win a World Cup and to do this already by now rely on technicians in Europe who are trying to frame them in rigid schemes and tactics.

But it is worth it? It is worth so radically altering what it ultimately is and should be a game. It is worth to win a World Cup soccer played so bad and boring as the ones we've seen play in South Africa?

The other consideration with respect to football in Africa, concerns the means. I remember Last year, through the Johannesburg stadium I saw from outside. Very nice. But for Africa is an exception to the rich as well as South Africa is an exception in relation to other African states as well as the Jabulani and black (the ball of light and technological world of Africa) is the exception in respect of footballs made with plastic bags and rubber bands they play with the vast majority of African children.

In this respect, another story, do not worry: it's the last. Last summer in Mozambique, Ibo were at the main island of the archipelago of Quirimbas. In the square main village, African teenagers were playing soccer with the usual ball of luck. In this case there was also a door three poles in poor condition from the static hold. We are struck by passing a player's skill in being able to consistently pull the ball in the seventh door. Then an inaccurate shot the ball rolls toward us. And one of us proud of his Italian, last year we could still rightfully boast the title of world champions, kick the ball to send back to the players of the place.

kicks in fine style but the ball rolls for only a few meters. My friend takes his foot in his hands and repress with hold Stoicism fantozzi a scream of pain. It was certainly not a Jabulani, kicked the ball, but a heavy pile of bags and leaves. It remains an unsolved mystery of physics as it was to be placed under the crossbar from exile player Ibo.

Well I have dwelt too long and conclusions, the moral of these stories leave you.

You do not want to do everything I ....

PS Thank you Sara for giving me the beautiful pictures. I doubt that has taken her ...

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Balaneria Africa: Breaking News

Speak of the devil and sprouting horns. I know it's only a coincidence but the short period of time (two days) that elapsed between my last post arrival by mail of a quarterly statement of my loyalty card WFP to leave at least some 'forbidden. WFP is spying on me that reading my blog? Sounds like science fiction but as we shall see in the next post which will have as its topic the blog, it's not an assumption too far from becoming reality ...

The report I received Today is Saturday and Sunday I have a little 'time to study it calmly. The best way to defeat the enemy is to know how to think and act!

Let's see. First, there are vouchers tout court without any further conditions for ten euro. And 'The mite that WFP pays me to study my spending habits by tracking purchases afforded by my loyalty card. But in addition to vouchers harmless, the magnanimous me WFP proposes four additional discount for purchases made respectively in the frozen food department, the department beverages excluding water and wine, cured meats served over the counter and produce department. A correction to what has been said in previous post I must say that the additional bonus items that would normally cover in my weekly grocery shopping. These extra allowances amount to about 20%, not bad but I expected more from WFP, but are conditional upon the achievement of a minimum amount differs according to the department.

And here's the catch. Yes, because to guess the minimum amount I have achieved to ensure the extra 20% discount (one time) it seems more than normally spend during my usual cost. I would say that PAM is subtly encouraging them to spend more money: to buy larger quantities of those products that normally purchase. Is looking, bland with its discounts, to drive up a bit 'the bar of my purchases. Never mind that it will buy more of what I need and then the good will expire and will end up in the trash or I'll see if my fuel consumption increase and with them the pitiful response of the scale.

But now that I know what game is playing I will act accordingly ... WFP will buy for me the greatest amount that will be asked to get extra discounts for non-perishable goods (frozen drinks and the consumption of which I will delay in time) and other only when I have guests for dinner that justify the higher consumption, for example.

I'm not a Muggle passive, I, but a conscious barnacle ready to give battle to the major retailers with their own weapons.

I know what you're thinking: the sun these days, I went to his head and otherwise is a losing battle. It can be but not take away the hope of being able to fight for a better world, even the supermarket!

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Balani to the rescue!

First two premises must. The first concerns the post title: barnacles. The barnacles are crustaceans that attach themselves to boat hulls, but annoyingly, in this context are considered in the sense that marketing assigned to this term. From the perspective of trade barnacles are in fact those consumers who prowl the supermarkets with the leaflets of the offers at hand and only buy those products that are sold below cost or even better deals. For the operators of supermarkets and traders in general, are deleterious included are a source of loss rather than a resource, like their namesakes in the animal kingdom are for sailors and boats.

The second assumption about my attitude towards marketing in general. I hate everything that is marketing. I hate the sales, discounts and different prices. As far as I'm concerned, a better world in the call centers that deal with telemarketing do not exist or WOULD BE than in the group of sensitive targets of international terrorism.

am of the opinion that if a store sells an item on sale at 70% of the original price is because someone else, not under the firm has paid the same article, a 15% percent more than the price that the seller could have applied if he had ever sold for the same price, guaranteeing the same income.

Also the idea that if each of us, when telephoned by someone (usually 95% are the operators of fixed and mobile) that wants to sell us something we do not need, maybe put him on hold for fifteen minutes and maybe some music making him feel silly (eg I do feel "my heart" Wilma Goich and Leslie Phillips) as they do " their "call us when the call center customer service duty to report anything wrong, well, then the telemarketing no longer exist to the great relief of us all.

All this to say that I consider to be a person that has nothing to do with barnacles. Especially as the aisles of the supermarket normally I avoid like the plague promotional offers. This is because generally special offer products are offered in packages for the community and are usually about to expire to expire and I can also long-life milk ...

And then if something costs more, maybe also because it is good at least I hope ...

Here though it is not basically a barnacle, in my crusade against the marketing, I would rather take appropriate behavior by barnacles because they are the toughest against the supermarkets.

We live in a time when the world of commerce, now in the hands of multinationals are beginning to capitalize on the opportunity provided by new technologies, to study our behavior as consumers. That is the big shops are beginning to associate our receipt (which is what we buy: our shopping list, to our profile). The first could be only for purchases made on the internet where you are forced to subscribe to e-commerce and pay by credit card. All of which leaves a trace electronically.

The same thing happens now when we move from the electronic world to the real world. Raise your hand if you do not have the loyalty card of its supermarkets to. I personally have that di PAM. E così al prezzo di qualche euro di sconto al mese i grandi supermercati si comprano la possibilità di associare il nostro scontrino al nostro profilo. Nel mio caso la cosa avviene anche con la catena tedesca Metro.

Non so se ci avete mai ragionato su, ma dalla nostra lista della spesa si possono ricavare un sacco di notizie interessanti. Se sono single oppure se convivo (un maschio single per esempio comprerà prodotti per la barba ma mai assorbenti), se sono a dieta (in questo caso nel mio scontrino ci saranno prodotti ipocalorici e dietetici), quale è il mio budget mensile medio riservato alla spesa, se compro sempre le stesse marche o se vario, ecc. Da questi dati opportuni software tracciano my consumer profile and I offer special discounts and custom. For example, WFP at the end of spending my print along with their receipt of vouchers to be used for the subsequent expenditure and Metro sends me by mail a booklet of discounts on specific products.

all bids are generally aimed at consumers to spend more money or at least for your money to increase the income of the trader. Tenders in fact make me want to buy unnecessary products or move a greater amount or the purchase of a product from brand to brand that usually purchase for which the higher the profit margins of the trader. From my experience I have noticed that generally good discounts are limited to those entities that buy products while they are still significant for those products that never buy.

Needless to say, inter alia, that by my behavior at the supermarket can be seen if they feared a barnacle. If you do not keep out potendomi still physically opposed the supermarket come in every lawful way. Will now be deleted from mailing lists bearing the latter deals or discounts will be limited to a minimum on the nose or on vintage champagne.

How can you defend that? The first method is to opt never to loyalty cards, not to register in promotional campaigns and discount cards. Personally I do not think that clinging to the defensive positions to the bitter end of their privacy to be the best option. I think it is a bit 'a battle against the windmills and also a hypothetical budget to be more negative than positive aspects of your personal information on alienation.

The second method is to fight the big business with its own weapons. Council not to be limited to a single loyalty card, but to create at least one other maybe your avatar using your work address and the identity of a friend. If you are married and have children, with a weave loyalty can go shopping "generalist", with the other expenses that may do that cause the system to think that you are male and single women but also similar and single. When the system will be labeled as single male and will offer significant discounts for nappies, assuming that they will buy it then and only then the barnacle that you all will come out and will kick off the roundup below. And then to a new avatar ...

Balani, to the rescue!