Where To Buy Wrecked Airplanes

Three reasons why reading is seriously detrimental to social life

I have always loved to read. I say this not to brag, because we do not see anything extraordinary in this, it is a simple fact. I love to read as much as I love ice skating, playing the piano, and then mice with old bottles and egg cartons. Except that none of these passions I have never taken so much trouble as my infatuation with books.

you wonder how this is possible? Do not be surprised too, that these are carried only three episodes, but I assure you that there are many, many others ...

Case no.1: Animal Farm (George Orwell) or here as began my hatred of nuns

Location: Classroom catechism of the church of my country

Period of time: long time ago, just turned twelve

Sister: since my mission in life is helping others, making all children feel special and loved, I will start the year wondering what book you read during the winter holidays, only to humiliate one by one the lazy that they spent all their time to devote a demonic pastimes such as watching TV and collect calling cards.

Child no.1: I read If this is a man, lady sister of a certain Prime Lesti or something.

Child num.2: it's called Primo Levi, stupid! Also I read If this is a man, Sister Mary Clarence.

num.3 Child: I too, me too!

Sister: very good, all children are wonderful! And you're all that silent, however, what you read?

Enlil: (bored) Animal Farm, Orwell.

Sister: (puzzled) ...

Sister: and did you like?

Enlil: yes, very much.

Sister: ... well ... and had many figures?

Enlil: (confused) ... I do not think so.

Sister: Sure ... obvious ...

The next day

Mommy: How strange, now Sister Mary Clarence to church stopped me to talk to me.

Enlil: You know how I made these sisters, always caring for others, deliver good deeds as if they were peanuts and stick their nose into everything.

Mom: He said something strange, the kind that kids should read things appropriate to their age and that at some point you should set aside books for children.
Enlil: ...

Mom: He also mentioned something about a psychologist who specializes in such cases. I have no idea what he meant.

Enlil ...

Enlil: I want to become an atheist.

Case No. 2: Perfume (Patrick Süskind) or here as my mother began to refuse to have a daughter

Location : my house

time periods: the sunset of my seventeen years

Connect my mother came to get a cup of coffee: how many books you have on the shelves! You must be a true lover of literature.

Mom: (proud) are in fact all of my daughter, she is the reader of the family.

Enlil: (busy watching TV and slashes the characters of Buffy) ... what? Yes ... as you say ...

colled hateful to my mother, really? And what is the last book you read?

Enlil: Man Spike, when are you going to jump on to Angel?! Um ... this is Profumo, I think ...

hideously sweet of Colleague my mother seems so romantic ... a title that speaks of?

Enlil: (distracted) is the story of a murderous brand with a fetish for smells that will eventually be eaten up by a mass of homeless junkies cannibals.

Link diabeteggiante of my mother ...

Mom: uh ... I assure you that we have done everything possible for her.

Case No. 3: The game Angel (Carlos Ruiz Zafon) or here is how my grandfather began to look at me oddly

Location: my grandparents' house

time periods: five days ago, family lunch

Enlil: (innocently, referring to the page. 25 of the book) What does the word masturbation?

Grandpa: (spitting andatogli across the veal with tuna sauce) ...

Grandpa: (shocked) What the hell's books do you read?!

Despite my many encounters with the normal civil society, I assure you that I'm not going to discourage me. I will continue with impunity to read this that appeals to me - slash and yaoi fanfiction including - and each time that an old uncle looked at me diserederà or going in a strange way, it will be like a new bravery on my chest, or at least will be served to make you laughs at my expense!

Should I Got To Work With Chest Infection

Books, paranoia and sexy shirts

After so many resumes, interviews and hard work I managed to find a job for the book fair. The fact that it was taken only because a friend of mine is doing an internship at a magazine that will be attending I further confirmed my belief of how things work in the world of work.

Friend: I was told that looking for people to work from eight in the morning until eleven at night.
Enlil: No problem. I will paste the foot to the floor and I will not leave even to go to the bathroom. Protect the stand at the cost of my own life!
Friend: They also said that the salary is ridiculously underpaid and poorly delivered at a date specified in the distant future.
Enlil: Perfect. What is a pittance compared to the salary as free passes to the fair and the opportunity to be submerged by the culture, getting lost, even affogarcisi?!
Friend: They also said to dress so tight.
Enlil: ... Here's what I

wrong in all my interviews, I did not never put skirts and necklines inguinal dizzy. And I thought the problem was my being not yet graduated or who have the annoying habit of sweating profusely under stress.

Apart from that I thought of going to work at the book fair and not a motorshow where tits, ass and legs are required attributes, the awareness that if you ever want to work I will be forced to undergo multiple cosmetic surgery has taken away every will to live. And even my mother seemed to be too happy about.

Enlil (on phone): So mom, I found this job in four or five days. But before I have to necessarily go to the beautician and hairdresser.
Mom: Sure honey.
Enlil: Then I will need money to buy mini-skirts and T-shirts members.
Mom: ...
Enlil: And cheats. Many tricks. I'll need it.
Mom: ... Where did you say you go to work?

In fact that could well result in misunderstandings about it. But even after I explained that no, I did not get hired because I was seduced by the boss and no, I stand where I worked did not deal with erotic literature, not much seemed to have calmed down.

Mom: You said that this exhibition there will be lectures.
Enlil: Yes mom, dozens of conferences, hundreds of lofty conferences on the most beautiful pages of world literature.
Mom: And then there are many writers?
Enlil (in ecstasy): Yes, tens, hundreds, thousands of writers, and I can breathe their own air, I can see them, even touch them!

Mom: Honey, please, this time not madly in love with no author ultra fifty. The neighbors start gossiping and your grandmother does not but wonder where we went wrong with you.
Enlil: I'm sorry mom, I'll try, but I can not promise anything.

Objectives for the book fair:

1 - Do not spend all his salary (if I ever have before getting to the age of retirement) in books.

2 - Make me to recognize my professionalism and efficiency and not for some fool (I will never forget about what happened to me the first day I worked on the 2006 Olympics. I can still hear the laughter of those nasty echo in German ears).

3 - Revise my (disastrous) English to be ready in case an explanation should be given to a stranger, or when feel the urge to ask some international writer to be the father of my children.

4 - Do not stutter like an idiot nonsense and sick.

5 - Better not talk at all.

6 - Smiling, always and everywhere to me to be a risk of paralysis face.

7 - In the case of the collision over fifty writers did not go through, try to seduce some editors, in the end it is they who have the power.

8 - If you met my former boss (which you certainly will) do not take the first handful of books that I find handy to throw. The books could be damaging. The launch of the chairs instead is allowed.

For now I'll stop here. Looking back there are a lot of things that could go wrong in this job and I'm starting to get me to seriously panic. I know I should not, after all, is only a job for a national magazine where I write important scientists and critics, most half of my university professors and journalists ...
I think I need to prepare a cup of chamomile.

Broken Capillary Nose

(un) adventures weekend

Last Thursday, armed with the book "The Grammar of God" by Benni, pop-corn in industrial quantities and dozens of DVDs to watch, I was anticipating the start of a weekend dedicated to doing nothing more than absolute when, alas, came the call from the woman who for years had earned the honors of "slave aunt and hell."

Aunt: Hello, disorder?
Enlil (munching popcorn): Yes, I was just immersing myself in a fiery embrace with the love of my life, has more than 50 years and his name is Stefano, Stefano Benni.
Zia: I'm glad that you have a satisfying sex life and intriguing. You have to do this weekend?
Enlil: I think so, Stephen is very jealous you know, he does not like not having to hand at all times.
Zia: So he takes, I need that tomorrow morning you come to Parma to help me out at the fair. Call me when you arrive, hello.
Enlil: But I actually ...
Phone: Tu Tu Tu
Enlil: Damn!

And so Friday morning, with Benni's book in stock, took the train with the prospect of four days of hard work hardly alleviated by the knowledge that that night I would eat pounds and pounds of prosciutto di parma and tortelli all'erbetta.

Fair of Parma itself I like: lots of beautiful things to see and to buy, mostly just to watch as the perennial state of anorexia that affects my wallet. The problem is not the fair, as people who wander from it or them to customers!

They move casually, as if their choices are not my destiny depended. Throw a glance, seem to be interested. I watch their every move avidly but not resolved. Are to stop, I hear they are going to do it ... when he finally snaps suddenly pull straight destroying all my hopes. Repeat for all
sixties and have an hour of my personal hell.

Then some types of Them (I'm always talking about the customers) are recognized at first glance. A little 'how to know right away you venture in which circle of hell.

There are stingy , guys looking for a gift for Fidan, always with his eyes fixed on something less expensive and more distasteful.

Then there are the patriarchal couples where the wife / girlfriend is still with his head that extends in steps to the counter, a bit 'as that of a pigeon. E 'thrilled by the desire to buy something, as if her happiness depended on it, and her husband / boy, insensitive bastard through and through, pull straight, all without so much of the merchandise take a look and forcing the unfortunate and unhappy wife / girl to follow him with his head bowed. The women

ingioliellate then are among the worst. When you see them you wonder how they manage to walk without hanging on one side with all the tangle of metal that have him. They stop and begin to try everything, absolutely everything, forcing the poor merchant (in this case me) to govern the mirror, smile, put in place the discarded goods, prices come up and comment on prices about how the ribs that color the complexion, all together.
Of course they will pass without buying anything, because you suddenly remember that "in that color so many have already" or that "their female friends are waiting at the bar, but then come back for sure." Ovviemente then there will no longer pass in front of even by accident.

But those who just can not stand are the good Samaritan , those who look at you from top to bottom, as if the mere fact that for ten minutes, you are obliged to serve in the hope they buy something you do a poor ; unfortunate lower-level to be pitied.
Here's what happened to me Friday afternoon, I swear that if I'd been too busy to look at all sides of my polo's would have laughed in your face.

Enlil (smiling): Hi, need help?
Donna-fat: I would try this series.
Enlil: Sure, go ahead.
Donna-fat ...
Enlil: ...
Donna-fat ...
Enlil: Um ... wants to help her to wear it?
Women Fat: Oh ... I would be really helpful if you do me this kindness.
Enlil: I find that the very gifts, a great color. Women
fat: Do not make me rich neck?
Enlil: Absolutely! In fact, I think the very enhances the cleavage. Women
fat: Really? Indeed ah hit me for this! I must say that is really good.
Enlil: Divinely. Not to mention the shine that gives the face! Women
fat: She is really a good girl, excellent manners. A pity that did not have the best opportunities in life.
Enlil: Excuse me? Women
fat: Leaving always around to fairs to sell, it needed to maintain the family business ... I remove a curiosity, she and the people doing his job living in a camper?
Enlil: ... Women
fat: It has had the opportunity to do more? To win a title? I see a little 'worn out, eat regularly? Has some decent clothes?
Enlil: Actually what I'm wearing is a pole of Tommy. Women
fat: And I must say it is a very good imitation, my dear, it looks almost real ...
Enlil: ...

30 minutes after

Zia: How much did you pay for the necklace to the lady before?
Enlil: 360 €.
Zia: But it cost only 200 ...
Enlil: The other 160 I'll take them to buy me another pole.

The following day, after the closing time for the show, I decided to sneak into a bar with a book of my secret lover (so secret that even he does not know) Stefano Benni. I got a cappuccino, I chose the most comfortable desk and opened the book.
suddenly came a group of skinheads from the face of very bad.

skinheads no.1: Do me a coffee, as black as can be. Do you understand? I want it very dark!
skinheads num.2: So in that red motherfucker I made him show you. I played them to him so much that he could not even get up off the ground I say!
skinheads num.3: Appenna I heard others say they are coming to have a feast.
num.2 skinheads: Then, when begging for mercy, I spit on him! Writhing like an eel!

suddenly decided that sit in plain view sitting reading a book by an author known to be left in a bar full of skinheads is not so brilliant idea.
quietly closed the book, keeping it well hidden torches cover slip on the table to hide under my coat, I got up and sfiondai out of the bar.

Item: Miss! Hey, lady!

Someone was calling me from the bar, surely one of those guys to make me skin! I knew that I would die young for political causes, but not so young!

I slipped in the first bus I found myself out of breath and there catapultai inside. Only when the doors were closed and the bus was gone I ventured to look towards the bar. That had shouted out that he was not a nazi-skins, was the owner of the bar. I had forgotten to pay the cappuccino.

I had become an outlaw, and most did not know where the hell was going to that bus.

At that moment I rang the phone. It was my mother.

Mom (very angry): What is this story that you see a man with more than fifty years?!
Enlil: I hate my life.

Zaswiaty W Mitologi Mezopotamii

writer's block

you ever set for hours at a blank sheet of paper, with pen in hand and with the thoughts even more bare?

You know you have something to say, and you also know that white sheet that represents billions of possibilities, stories, reflections, roads ...

Yet the pen continues to remain just above the piece of paper, without even touch it.

That should make you feel free, white, enchanted by the multitude of different ways you could make it dirty. Instead just feel a strong sense of oppression. Inadequacy. Empty.

This, for me, writer's block, but I do not think that should necessarily be affected have never written anything throughout their lives. I think it's more or less than a sensation. The white paper is the life, the pen is its own decisions. If I try to imagine my future I see it as a sheet full of writing. Maybe it will be a story or a poem, or maybe even a drawing. I do not know. I do not see my future very clear, only a halo of blurred ink.

The future is I who decide, but every time I approached the pen to paper here is that this emptiness comes over me. Then return everything to and after leaving that card on the table, and white.

few years ago, I remember, I could not wait to live my future. I did not know what I would be, but I knew I wanted to write. So I wrote for hours and hours and still other times, I stole the time I needed to create my own stories, happy at the thought of what I wrote in my future. Now that future I imagined as a child I'm going through. Some things are similar to those that dream, others completely different. Study at university to become a journalist, I am putting everything to give my best, to achieve that dream, so much that I forgot how to spell.

course for the university are constantly forced to write essays, articles, essays ... but I have not stolen more time to my duties in a park to sit down with pen in hand and knees in a notebook full of dreams. Just when I'm making my biggest dream as a child I can not remember the WHY 'I was dreaming.

and then continue to fix this white paper, trying to remember.

This is the mo writer's block. The

not be able to understand what I really want, what it represents in that small piece of paper that is my life. And 'as if I was in a maze with walls of blinding white. I can not distinguish the right path to follow and then, panicked, I remain motionless, leaving little time to make that white is more oppressive until you join me.

But now I'm tired of all these white walls, I want to paint on thousands of different stories so as not to lose more than the road.

And so I sat down, and I began to write.