the chicken or the egg?

Which came first.. the chicken or the egg?

Before I start, I have to make it clear that I do not have the answer, but I have the explanation, which might prove to be a bit more helpful...

It all started when I forgot my mobile in my car.. in the garage. (Be advised, this story is true, but very unlikely) It sat there for hours. (Also, be advised, this is not going to be about my mobile.) And when I finally remembered that I own a mobile, that I hadn't heard it for hours and that I was started to suffer from it's absence, I engaged in trying to remember where I had abandoned it. I trailed back my actions and finally remembered it sat, lonely as the moon, down there.

(Also, remember I had spent a whole day using my voice, and I was coughing slightly) So obviously, I went to get it. Now, I was in my socks, and I had to go down through an outside stairs, and it was raining. 1+1 = I wet my feet.

And from here, a trail of possible thoughts raced. I saw myself sick in bed, with broncitis. I saw the doctor, and that doctor asked me if I could remember what could have possibly triggered the broncitis. And I saw myself trying to think back to today.. but the memories were blurred. What came first, the cough or the wet feet?

Well, because at a certain distance of time things blend in, and blur until they become one jigsaw puzzle piece in the immense puzzle that is our memory.

So, the cough or the wet feet came first? I'm still getting the cold so it doesn't make much difference.

And.. the chicken or the egg?

As long as I can eat scrambled eggs on toast, hard boiled eggs with bread fingers and cakes, and pizza and buns, and sauteed chicken in peanut sauce and all that is the culinary world of the egg and the chicken, I couldn't care LESS.

period.
*cough* *cough*

un appreciated adventures

Episode 2:

Again I was sitting at table, relaxing, inhaling the evening air, watching the people, bla bla bla. Still insisting (uselessly) that salads have less calories than normal plates , I had ordered a salad. Now this salad had floors/storeys. At this point I was only able to see and inspect the topmost layer, which, believe me, looked delcious. Further inspections showed that it also TASTED delicious, this top floor. But curiosity made the cat want to differ, and so I innocently delved into the next floor, mixed salad.

It went something like this:

*munch* *munch* *munch* *CRUNCH* *munch*.

My mind quickly recalled the list of supposed ingredients of this salad, and none was supposted to CRUNCH. A shiver ran down my spine as a very long array of possible producers of this CRUNCH now flashed very clearly. Finally I simply blamed my imagination and proceded to intaking another lot.

This time, it went something like this:

* CRUNCH* *muCRUNCH* *CRUNCH* *CRUNCH*.

yukk. I spit it out. It felt like sand, but there was nothing in there. I could se nothing that remotely looked like sand. And no, it wasn't a particularly hard time of ground pepper. It didn't taste like pepper.

What does one do in such occasions. Drop the fork and stop eating. No I didn't complain, even though I should have because I just wanted to leave.

Again, no gran Finale.

un appreciated adventures

Episode 1:

Was sitting at table, eating, enjoying a calm afternoon and relaxing while a slow hussle and busstle of customers came and went. All was next to perfect until my gaze fell on something black that could have easily been mistaken for a pattern on the tiles hadn't:

a) the tiles been completely white
b) the thing been proud owner of 6 legs
c) the said thing been moving

Mr. C was taking a stroll because like me, he seemed to enjoy the lovely afternoon-turning-into-night air. It moved around casually, admiring what was offered for dinner, artfully avoiding feet and obviously giving that extra attention to me.. by now turned completely green. Because, I was not only faced with the fear of a very fast, unpredictable, huge, black insect but also with the fear of the food I was eating. The reason being very obvious: Mr. C. had made his grand entrance through the kitchen door, the place were my up-until-a-few-minutes-before delicious plate was prepared!

From here, the most logic thing to make.. raise your frightened finger and bring Mr. C. to the attention of a waiter. For an extra precaution I added a "squash it" with the logical "There's a cockroach over there." The waiter, most politely, knodded and walked off. Incredibly not coming back. By this time me and Mr. C. had put aside all differnces (except that where his feet were fixed on the ground, and mine were skillfully raised at a safe height), put aside all formalities and were on personal basis.

Don't expect a climax other than our exchanging email address, because there isn't going to be one. The waiter continued busying himself with the customers and ignoring Mr. C. I stood, paid and walked out.

*Fullstop, start a new line*

once upon a time..

... a loooong loooong time ago, when the skies were bluer and the grass greener; there existed a gadget that eased everyone's life by so much. It was indespensable for the peaceful flow of the life and everyone used this simple yet indespensable object: THE INDICATOR. Many nowadays have never heard of this mysterious word, and those who are familiar with it, know only the rumour fogging its existance. The indicator is indeed existinct nowadays because an evil witch one day cursed it with incredibly base/ shallow/ stupid/ (...) users. And that, my dear friends, saw the end of it.

The devastation that this vanish-ment has caused is endless. The users.. the dear drivers, are sinking deeper and deeper in the witch's curse and the roads are doomed to perish in the fires of hell.

Please, prepare yourself for the worse, ideally buy a new car in order to break it better, study the oxfort dictionary of swear words, and amass onto the tarmac. May God be with you.

Dopo di te..

se l'amore fosse un peso, vorrei essere una campionessa di pesi mondiali.
se l'amore fosse un profumo, sarebbe l'essenza dell'esistenza.
se l'amore fosse un colore, l'arcobaleno sarrebbe soltanto la sua ombra.
se l'amore fosse una stella, l'umanita' abiterebbe su essa.
se l'amore fosse un ora, sarebbe quella di un miglior' inizio.


e se l'amore non lasciasse cicatrici, forse la vita sarebbe piu' perfetta.

les femmes on the road..

Why is it that many women are an incarnation of a half eaten banana, on the road? And why is it that no matter what men do, they will not ever get the same reputation?

Well, after plenty of enlightening experiences in the field, I have starting forming some sort of conclusions on the matter at hand. These conclusions have been aged skillfully in hours-long in traffic very early in the morning.

Let us start with men.. and by the end of this explanation, I will barely need to go over the women's one; it will already be clear. So, men do as many stupidities on the road as women; if not MORE. However, and this is the big but.. they do it and they are aware of it. They risk it and they enjoy it. You can see a man's satisfied grin when he speeds out of a side road and missing you by that much. They tease you with their risk-taking; and I would dare say even flirt with your car. In a few words, men are show offs.

Women are plainly, the exact opposite. Women do stupid things on the road just because stupidity mode is active at that particular time. Want proof? Look at a woman's face when SHE speeds out of a side road and missing you by that much. You are right! You can't see her face because she hasn't looked! .. because she didn't even realize she was doing something completely wrong (and completely against the law if we had to take this on a more serious level). And I warn you.. don't be surprised if when you honk the living hell out of your car horn at her, she starts verbally attacking you and calling you blind, and sending you, your mother and all your relatives for a trip around the world in 80 words.

And so,I bid you all goodnight, and good luck on the road..

of carnivors and men

There's this alien film at the cinema. It looks scaaary..




.. but 90% of movies are scaaary for me so, its beyond the point. What is within the point is the following;

I was trying to think of a good excuse to convince myself I should stop eating meat; the real reasons being that it makes me fat quicker and that how they "grow" the meat today is not altogether too healthy. But the real reason did not stop me from eating it so plan B was to decieve myself with a fake reason. Now that I'm past that phase; yes, it was a stupid plan, but it actually led me to a really good reason why I (and everyone else for that matter) should stop eating meat.

Ok, Goodnight and see you at the next blog post.








Haha, no. Jokes apart. We eat meat, ie: we exterminate other creatures (and the only reason why they are not extinct is that we actually mass produce them so we can eventually exterminate them) because people believe the Survival of the Fittest Theory. Ok, fine. But that equation is nice and comfy because we are the fittest. The chickens that we eat cannot think on the same lines because, hey, they're not the fittest. So, thinking back about the movie, I put in aliens that are actually fitter than human beings into the equation, and surprise! the equation is no longer comfortable. If carnivor aliens had to come along, according to the equation that humans so carefully devised, they would have all the right in the world to eat us. And we would not have any "voce in capitolo". Terrifying and cringing to say the least.

Basically now I get the feeling that the Survival of the Fittest Theory is just a lame excuse that we invented to make us less guilty of killing other creatures.

For now its just a feeling/incling. I'll let it age for a while in my parking lot and see what turns up.. but its definitly some to CHEW ON ..


*munch*

peace ville

I hadn't been there for months. Various are the reasons that led to this elimination of the place from my to-go-to list; however I needed to refresh my ardour towards these reasons and so, decided to pay peace a visit.

First thing that strikes when you are my age is that 90% of the humans present are younger than you, with the result that you start feeling old and crippled. Self confidence 0; PV 1

Second thing that strikes is that youngsters drink A LOT, and have no problem with being drunk, making a fool out of themselves etc etc. The culture today is that drink is good for socialization and that the more you drink the cooler you are. By the 5th drink you're chest freezer-cool. Seeing such things make me feel like our society is doing a complete mess out of the people that will pull the ropes in the very near future. Self confidence 0 , PV 2

Then you see the way people dress. First you start laughing at how absolutely inappropriatly dressed many people are. Unfortunately (for them) its the ladies that have the record in this contest; ranging from pure mis-match of style/fashion ignorance to dresses which would perfectly disguise as tee-shirts for their length, cleavages that steal the "Grand(our)" from the Grand Canyon and bare bellies on show like a pure-breed, white, Persian Chiuaua at a fish show. All this too many times hanging on (/ out of/ off) bodies which would do with a size or two MORE of clothes or bodies of not so minute dimensions. And then you wonder how sometimes women are considered objects. After wiping of the tears of laughter you start shedding tears of disgrace. I'm not really sure who should get the point here.

The rest is all men with desperate looks and desperate behaviour trying very hard to hook up girls with desperately lonely looks. Oh, and we can't forget the only too young boys and girls roaming around as if it were normal that at such a young age one goes and f**** up his/her life only to be able to boast about having been there at school. I would not be surprised to hear a "hello there miss" and a "can I not do my homework?.. I'll be too hung over tomorrow to bother.."

I'd really so much rather not see these things. Someone needs to start doing something about these situations.. soon.

*silence* PV wins the game.