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should be a strong Saturday. A crossing of nations, a long journey. It is the perfect home. Definitely.
6 months have been very full, beautiful, interesting. New and rich. And now, right now, over.
But I can breathe a bit 'of money, see what it was, what has been done, not done, seen, eaten and smelled. What hath been forgot not tell, but I will say here will not itself be forgotten.

Centosettantaeuno days. What do the Dutch post centosettantaeuno eating, greeting and thanking. The sixty lack of Eugenius I, however, since many satisfactions.

I did not know the incredible amount of people I had imagined. Much less, and with much effort, and this particular effort on my part. But it is, and remains so, there is good and the bad in everything. I opened facebook mainly to keep contact with people far away. Currently I have a charge of 101 friends and 50 photos. Of a total perfection, do not you?

My culinary skills required: 2 kg of salt, 2.5 liters of olive oil, 2 liters of vegetable oil, 1 kg of flour, 1.5 kg of sugar, 750 grams of coffee, 2.5 heads of garlic, red onions 35 , 3 liters of milk, a mortadella, salami, 2.5, 3.5 kg of parmesan cheese. Bread, yogurt, cream, pasta and bowls Malù: innumerable. L'Aquila Aosta and not received.

Education. I have 40 credits to spend on that of uniparma, a command of gesture that allows me to not move the forearm, a knowledge of Dutch that allows me to distinguish one cheese only if they smell a tulip, a knowledge of Chinese allows me to postpone my next trip to the land of freedom for the sixteenth millennium.

Can I stay a number of days above 60 without ever entering a car (I did, I guarantee you will survive). The ass and the seat you want good, although it is often wet. At the first appearance of rain the inside ankle of the jeans will automatically assume the brown shade. The luggage rack on the bike seems to be unlucky, but it seems more nerd who carries shopping bags on the handlebars, and falls. And then gets up and then tear the bags. And the loser with the rack next to the rears. The world is my car.

do not watch television for a lifetime. The news I read on repubblica.it, but I am lazy and I prefer the photo gallery. The streaming movies are a great invention. I need at baseline and fear now chronically with an internet connection: there are stories, excuses or justifications that take. And even though I have nothing to do, this is not the point: I need it and that's it.

For example, to watch a lot of sport in the evenings desolate. I watched several matches for Parma in Serie B in the last 5 years of Serie A. The Italian Cup 2009, thanks to the new formula, is giving a lot of emotions. Caressa has an edge with his shovel and Bergomi is perfect. If I have to be international in the first place the English commentators, then the Portuguese, British and Germans (too many silences, mein Freund). Juve did not play a very neat, but offers beautiful emotions. The Roma live ups and downs but the ups are often a spectacle. The same goes for Milan, which has less fantasy team, but most fantasy single, and if the individual is seen in the evening. Inter makes me turn the Maronites 8 out of 10 times, only to be commended for the consistency, because all the points behind in the league should not see.

I like the music tends to slow and sad. Maybe because I am not sad base. Besides, where is it written that you have to like things that are equal to you? The horse is a horse, is not hay, but he likes the hay. Then there are the sheep and the grass. Summary

music. Theme of the return. Allegro ma non troppo.

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Financial Peace and broken bones

despite the alarmism that has spread, the news is unfounded, or rather inaccurate. However, no, not yet returned home. What I did was clean the house because the owner gives me the 400 euro deposit, healthy for the last time professors, classmates and friends. What I did was look around, do not cry and play the guitar. To cook more than eat, read but also write. Have fun and smile, well, what ever.

What I did was also spent last weekend in Maastricht during the carnival. "I feel more than at any other part of Europe, except Venice and Sitges," says my guide Lonely Planet. I sitges in Venice and there have never been, but in Maastricht was a really nice atmosphere. Nothing huge or complicated battle, nothing spectacular choreography: the peculiarity was the desire to have fun of all (I mean the city, he felt his breath) and relaxation. Lacked the anxiety of having fun at all costs, in short, the frenzy of our young people. Because the most extraordinary thing of the streets of Maastricht was the age of persons that crowded: there were children in swaddling clothes (do not know if you have this level of tenderness that makes a child a few months disguised as a carnival), boys, young and old, hoary to octogenarians. And in this mixture intragenerational it even more curious was the ease with which mingled in the dance, young and old, mothers and children, grandparents and grandchildren, uncles, aunts and cousins. In this needle of pea that is wedged between Belgium, Holland and Germany can not do it just not fun. The only drawback is that my bad language I can understand the lyrics of songs that sound stupid. They are ridiculous, to hear the first time: "Children!" you'd think. But, while walk from bar to bar and dozens of bands and hundreds of speakers still ringing in the ears, you know who I really am a simple felicizzante. So all good.

Now it's raining, cold does not feel it. Waiting for Godot.

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Up and down

Day in the Hoge Veluwe National Park , especially with a stop at the Kröller-Müller Museum found inside. Travel and day high and low .
Being able to wake up at 9 even though I had fallen asleep at 3 is rock.
I fell asleep to the three without a reason and against my will hahare ago.
forecast that morning say they are rock rain will stop soon.
What I get on the train and not raining, I go down and it rains, hahare ago.
What I miss the bus and that is ahead after 15 kilometers hahare ago. When he arrived and would be expected
10 km bike still raining, that does just hahare. Find
at the wrong stop a minibus door without km bike, I want to visit the museum which is rock.
The two old men who are funny on the bus are rock.
That smell of horse manure hahare ago.
But they do it so nice, and this is rock.

the minibus there is this song rock.

that the museum is very nice and rock.
What art does not know anything hahare. What
in a room (for me) I see a picture showing strangers and say, "That's nice" and is a De Chirico, you rock.
room after, other names unknown, another "pretty picture", this time Picasso, even more rock. No
Caravaggio, hahare ago. Putting
24 years to realize that Caravaggio is best for you in modern and contemporary art (including the poor Van Gogh) hahare ago.
least be aware for this is rock.
A framework that haunts me is rock.

The supplier of blue and yellow of Van Gogh and rock.
The smell of 54 kg of rosebuds in 1984 hahare ago.
The pea soup is hot rock.
bread and cold black hahare ago.
ride for 15 kilometers in a beautiful forest and rock.

spiovviggina do it while it's cold and it is even more rock.
The bench of the bus stop this time it is dry and covered rock.
waiting for the bus for half an hour ago hahare.
Busy time writing the draft of a post on a laptop skin is covered with rock. Far too rock.

Well, the monument to Pac-man, can not be that rock.

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Anyway ... Globe trotter

Second trip this week. Other on site but do not say anything that certainly brings bad luck.

Both the order. Including hares.

The goals of today are two towns nearby, Kampen and Zwolle . Cities with a substantial brickyard. The first very small, with many doors and a pair of towers really wrong. The second with a beautiful medieval city and a tower of the cathedral that looks like a pepper grinder.

door straight, crooked pictures.

Tonight I drank a coffee Dutch with some nice vintage men. So I thought it was evening, and perhaps with the coffee I could not sleep. Then I thought that so often I drink at home before going to sleep. I thought that I drink coffee at home, the white cup and the black liquid with a little 'foam on one side. And after I drank up the stairs and I go to bed. I mean, I came to cry. Meaningless, especially since I'm the one who's about to cry when I look at Armageddon, Forrest Gump and sometimes Braveheart. Anyway ...

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I'm still alive

I woke up at 8 yesterday. For travel must make some sacrifice.

More than 5000 pipes, a body of 30 meters. The church of St. Bavo in Haarlem well represents the spirit of Dutch. Pragmatism, not the chapel of the Holy Spirit or the Scrovegni chapel, but the dogs and lash the brewers' guild. Concreteness pure state: as the antique shops and the elderly hairdresser who occupy the windows built a wall of the church. Love for the measure, or rather to measurement: in a nation where the heart of each city is not the cathedral but the Waag, weighing the public, not the jar inside of a cathedral which marks indicate the heights of the giant and the dwarf city in centuries past (respectively 2.64 and 0.84). The organ with 5000 pipes, 30 meters high has obviously been played by Mozart at the age of 10 years. A plaque remembers.

All Haarlem is a summary of the social conception that these people have in life. The many hofjes , inner courtyards of the districts, for centuries, dedicated to helping the poor and destitute. Even today, well kept gardens and the green signifies the concern for others, for the community.

Frans Hals museum was closed. My guide has messed. Too bad, I would have gladly looked a bit 'art. Too bad, because I really had a craving for warm colors, sensation of oily, yellow, red and orange. Ages of gold, group portraits and massive anatomical studies.

I asked for the sea, they told me to return to Amsterdam. I went to the station and I met the guy that I had advised against the sea. I was on track for the sea. Hoping to continue to ignore.

Zandvoor aan Zee. Plays: foam flow by the wave to shore and left on the shoreline, to tremble and dissolves in the cold north wind. ( Words ).

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I was watching a game. Finish the first time interval. And I find myself immersed in television advertising, there are no more used. I open another browser tab and I read some news, but the audio remains in my ear. One minute of Rocchetta, Del Piero and Chiabotto, children and sister. How I him, "Olive Grove and Rocchetta water of health". That's him: Ridge Beautiful. O-man documentary if you are keen on The Discovery Channel. In short, Claudio Capone died this summer, more than seven months ago, and I still hear his voice. Come to think of it is only natural: the companies make contracts with maturity precise for their advertising. If a player dies after shooting, it's obvious that they continue to broadcast the ad. Same goes for the voice actors. But then I thought about his poor wife. What is not natural to hear the voice of your loved one who died. That is, it is the ' heard that it is not a way that can withstand such a thing. The view, that means that it is just that. If we go back in history always has been. We have pictures of missing people, who lived perhaps thousands of years ago, or portraits. Our mind is able to understand that this image has a life that is independent of the other and that person represents. A photo can be here in my hands even if the person is in Australia, or even much further. But the voice, the no. The item itself means presence. So happy, strong unmistakable, you arrive at home all'improviso, well, it must be nice un'eserienza.

do not know the Abba. I ate too much rice. I would look at Blade Runner. Today is Valentine's Day. Panda.

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Initiatives Uberto Bonetti

to mark the centenary of the birth of Uberto Bonetti, Creator Burlamacco mask, held in 2009 in collaboration with the Philatelic Club Puccini were conducted in 2008 and 2009 a series of initiatives:

U. Bonetti Studio Masks: series of postcards produced for the masked Carnival 2008.