extreme gardening

my friend wrongname is about to move into a new studio. he sent me this beautiful view from his balcony:

it is, as you can see, on the outskirts of the city. i don’t know if he can hear the seagulls, but there’s a forest in the distance, and the scattered building sites spice up the landscape. as for the acres of green(ish) fields, he described it as ‘irish lawn’.

‘now what do you want, huh, want me to call it weeds?’

origins of the v (word of the day)

widely circulated these days, the images about the origins of the vuvuzela (or here). good one, huh? but it’s not true.

the much-hated noise source – currently made in china – used to be an instrument for healing the sick people. no, seriously. people sick of their in-laws nagging take a vuvuzela and ask a friend to blow it directly to their ears for the necessary time, until they stop hearing. it’s a very effective relief.

advanced users: stop the treatment before complete deafening. this way, you can hear just what you please.

there’s no such thing as a free meal / seal / veal

i could, of course, write to wordpress.com’s support . i doubt it would help.

do you like this feature of wordpress that adds ‘Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)’ after your posts? does it make sense to add links to long-ago posts about entirely different things, or even, in some cases, to ‘404 page not found’ pages? does it help anyone browsing? or finding things?

hmm. free. this is the keyword. if you want extra tricks, you have to pay. i can understand that. if you want your blog free of ads you didn’t ask for, you have to pay. that’s ok too, up to some point. as long as it’s free, you can’t complain. they have to make money out of it, or they would shut it down.

ever been in those nice italian restaurants where you find free grissini on the table, and you can crunch as many as you want while studying the menu and waiting for whatever you order? so they’re free – you can eat them or not. imagine they would add next to them some turkish delight and a cup of custard-like infant food. you can’t eat that, even if you have strange ideas about appetizers. you can’t even touch them – they’re there only as free decorations. you think it’s yucky? you can pay to have them removed.

there are already many disparate things in most blogs. many people use tags and categories, still without dedicating the whole blog to one theme. they write about themselves, one way or another, and the result is often quite inconsistent. let’s add more confusion, using some search engine to find ‘related posts’ on other blogs!

must be a sales trick after all. definitely. some whiz came with the idea: let’s drive them cheap bastards crazy, surely there’ll be one in a thousand to give up and spit an extra buck to get free of our spurious noise.

a blog like this is based mostly on words. they only added a few, nothing wrong, they might think.

suppose you have a blog based on images. to the pictures you consider worth showing to others, they would stick a couple of thumbnails with ‘asses that might look like yours’.

extend that to youtube. you upload a clip with a song of your own. ok, you’re not the new pavarotti singing while you’re playing the guitar like jimi hendrix. you’re just trying something and wanted to share it, god knows why. imagine they enrich your tune with free vuvuzelas – some search engine has decided ‘this might sound like you yodeling under the shower’.


the last two posts about the world cup have more readers than anything else. wtf? i don’t really give s*it about those endless dialogues of deaf. i’ll rather resume talking to myself.

i made candied fruits yesterday and today. really simple – don’t expect recipes, the net is already full of them – and really good. you can fill a turkey, decorate a cake, or upgrade your ice cream.

cherries, apple slices, orange and lemon peel, kiwis and apricots. at the end, you’re also left with some thick syrup, and a fresh smell all around the office.

hatred post about maradona

i grinned when, after one goal of argentina in the group, the whole staff on the bench gathered in a pack to rejoice, and he was left out. after a ridiculous attempt to join the group, jumping at the asses the other had turned to him, all he could do was face the field and show his teeth to the cameras – as if he had any merit.

i hate maradona. i’m not going to say anything new or original, absolutely nothing. i just hate his guts. irrationally, wrongly, disproportionately. his place should have been in a jar filled with alcohol, right after he was born.

because he’s short. little more than a dwarf. i hate the ambition of those shorties who need to prove.

because he is and he always was ugly, with his hunchback and his ridiculous belly for the balance.

because he’s laughable. he’s as unfit in that suit, as the pope in bermudas.

because he knew so well to play the ball with his feet, he needed an extra-one. hand of god?!?! boo, chimp!

because he was a cheater. they caught him too late. he was a despicable drug addict, which can explain many of his ‘exploits’.

because he received the coach position on a silver plate. what did he accomplish beforehand in training to deserve that?!

because he posed next to fidel castro. and fidel castro is little different from the other idiot mentioned here.

because with all that, argentina might slay germany, or even win the cup, of course.

none of these would justify hatred, if taken separately. on the other hand, when you put them together, they make up the most intolerable result: an overestimated buffoon, whom idiots often call ‘a genius’.

missing details


if only he had ankles, he could be a football player.

and if that uruguayan had eyes, he could be a referee.

via! *

sheep take after each other. people also take after each other, sometime. but not always. there is a good reason for 99.99% of those who watch the world cup being contentissimi that italy has been kicked out. avete ammazzato il calcio, campioni del mondo di merda!

* in italian, it doesn’t mean ‘by way of’, but ‘fuck off!’

copy/paste error

sometimes i think he’s me. then we have these excellent pasta, with home-made real tomato sauce flavored with fresh basil, and ‘oltre 16 mesi’ grana padano spread over. and i can’t talk him out of pouring a generous dose of ketchup all over it.

lunch break in the office sometimes is just heartbreak.

seagulls’ soothing hysteria

like in many cities, we have seagulls, though the nearest sea is 150 miles away. they can feed on virtually anything, including the garbage of a landfill – as seen on discovery. they spend their nights perched on a crane, across the street, but they don’t sleep much. i think it’s because of the city lights. they often quarrel, but you can’t really hear them until it’s somehow quiet, very late. when they do, it’s awful, like wheezy geese out of their minds. when it’s a little softer, then

a car with a silent engine passes, and the tires sound like small waves on a beach. and the seagulls let you dream. if you close your eyes, it’s like 150 miles away, before dawn. the last cigarette and the coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup feel like the first smoke and the first sip, when everybody else is still sleeping. thank you, seagulls, i’d get out on the balcony and throw the butt, if it weren’t already enough litter for you and for the city. and mosquitoes might come in.

or perhaps i should. in exchange for your cries, you deserve the illusion of a firefly.

bloody holidays

summer holidays. i can’t work. i take short naps during the day, then i work in short bursts. there’s lunch, more or less together (- come to table! – in 10  minutes, i have to finish this fight/stage/raid!) then the world cup matches interrupt me. i try concentrating while just keeping an eye on the hottest efforts – try working with the background buzzzzzzzzzz of those fuckuzelas!

night used to be my salvation. a few hours of quiet and freshness, when my output was fantastic. now they’re gone, too. it’s 11 p.m. and there’s still fuss all around the office. then midnight, and preparations for going to bed just begin. doors banging. shower noises. some late snack (- close that fridge!). 1 a.m. they have finally shut down their computers, switched off the lights. ol’ podna comes next to me for a moment of quiet and a cigarette. it’s not yet bedtime for her – she’s searching god knows what on the internet. a ‘mom!’ call is still possible, or rather very probable. i’m behind my schedule. the clients are waiting, the blood pressure is high. nothing to do, nothing to reproach.

it’s the holidays. for everybody, except myself.

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