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Enough hypocrisy, let's call the war in Afghanistan Afghanistan

small fragment from the film "THE NEW AMERICAN CENTURY" you find on Luogocomune.net explains the real reason for the war in Afghanistan and why the soldiers are dying ....




On the day of the funeral in Rome of the Roman lieutenant, killed in battle in Afghanistan last week, yesterday Accame Falco, president of the National Victims Assistance recruited into armed forces and families of the fallen said "If that was considered a war in Afghanistan, orphans and widows would be granted to the treatment provided to a war situation. The hypocrisy with which masquerade as peace operations are those operations War makes you adopt the code of peace and therefore there would have been the compensation for the victims, that under conditions of war are dealt with much more appropriate. "

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faded snapshot of a week full of jitters

The week that football will conclude this evening with a delay between Sampdoria and Napoli snapshots faded and left us in some ways unnecessary words, spoken by two characters who football live it and chewed it for years. Zlatan Ibrahimovic on the one hand, Claudio Ranieri on the other. "Bags must learn to be quiet, if you have something to say has to come from me, not to mention on television or in newspapers "ruled Wednesday the Swedish blue railing against the former coach on the sidelines of the challenge of the Champions League by AC Milan won 2-0 against Auxerre. Ibra, author of a perfect game in the field, but a red card in front of the cameras. Arrigo Sacchi has tried to throw water on the fire: he who has given so much to Italian football, led novelties, led the National bringing it a step away from getting on top of the world. At some point, however, has blurted out: " You're a great champion, but first you must learn education." sacrosanct words, because since the world is world's opinion (and bags can be considered the leader in this field, as his trophy) are sitting in TV studios or in front of their computer to speak or write reviews on this or that player, on one or the other coach. And who earns several million euro per year should have the decency to be able to accept criticism, rather than wait and claim the praise. Not only the players, as I said a moment ago, but sometimes even the technicians can get out of line. It 'happened in the past: the most striking cases, in historical memory, are those of Lippi (whether it was on the bench than on the National Juve), Trapattoni, Malesani, and Spalletti Mourinho. It happens today: the last, in order of time, Claudio Ranieri, who at a press conference on Saturday morning said all he had to say in a long monologue 6'30 ", without giving way for journalists to ask any questions about the contest between Rome and Bologna." This team has the ball, we'll make it again this year. Cagliari after Monaco and we have mud thrown at him. I do not make the list, but then remember this and we will remember you . "Now the only question that could be done to Mr. Giallorossi after his monologue would have been:" Ranieri, but after the captain said to Monaco have revived the old and much-criticized bolt and that what you have expressed is the worst way to play, what they should write the papers? Words of glorification for the serenity of the environment? ". As I said a few lines above to Ibrahimovic, but here you have the domandars if a man of great charisma and long career as Ranieri did not know how to judge the decisions of journalists in coaches and the negative results of a team. In the media meat grinder is finished even Walter Mazzarri, who responded by explaining to reporters that his is not the "Real Naples," which "will certainly better the team ", and finally that "in five official meetings in his boys never have lost from the field." As if to say: better to give a shot at the rim and a barrel, hoping that the latter is big enough to make even a bathroom. Humility.

Giorgio Velardi

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Davis Cup at the start: after the first day between Italy and Sweden is 1-1

E 'was born in 1899, and is the maximum of men's tennis team competition. The Davis Cup has raised the curtain Friday afternoon Lidkoping, Sweden. At the end of the first day Italy and the hosts are cover 1-1, after the victory in straight sets (6-2, 6-2, 6-2) over Andreas Vinciguerra of Potito Starace and the defeat of Fabio Fognini , who sold the world's No. 5 Robin Soderling (6-1, 6-3, 6-2 score). "At first I was tense - Starace said after the race - I did not expect a win so easy, I'm happy for myself and the team . "tennis match that the field has played a revolution, making elementary errors Vinciguerra (if you divide almost 500 places in ATP rankings there is a reason ... ), which snatched the seven-time service. Male unfortunately, as mentioned, the onset of Fabio Fognini: Soderling was a tough opponent, you also knew before the race, despite the two had met twice before in the past and had collected a victory apiece. The desire for Corrado Barazzutti is, however, been fulfilled. On Thursday, the Italian captain said: "The important thing is close the first day in a tie '. It is, however, only the first piece of a puzzle still to be built. Saturday in the program is twofold: Starace almost certainly will play in tandem with Bolelli, while the Swedish captain Enqvist should deploy Aspelin and Lindstedt (is not ruled out a new use of Soderling).

Giorgio Velardi

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When it seemed that everything went to pieces, I do not seem at all

In my previous house, which was little more than a hovel Loffi and damp, I had a mirror, not one or even the bathroom. This does not make me particularly upset, because I wanted mirrors everywhere around the city: the windows of shops, especially those of the central course always bright and sharp, even the toilets of the university and the polymethylmethacrylate (plexiglass did you know that is a word that there is a word business? advertisement in the dictionary of words is in fact followed by r circled: the trademark symbol) of the bus stop me be very useful for this purpose.

One evening, returning home from a dinner Pharaonic pulled up with 4 shillings and sweaters soaked with sweat and flour, I found a mirror of a car to the ground before the house door. Strange, I thought, given that usually stationed in front of that door just incredible dog faeces, with the sub-brand of the tramp Tavernello in hand and / or (because the options are not mutually exclusive, indeed) Punkabbestia any intention to launch and lose his personal challenge to the force of gravity.

I took him in hand, the plastic was perfectly intact, unlike the glass that was hopelessly split along lines oblique parts different from each other. There was something strange and fascinating.
I do not know what strange association of ideas, but I decided then that since that evening I I also had a mirror, or rather a tinsel-style garage-punk substitute a mirror.

was not easy to hang, I had not in fact neither nails nor hammers in that house very unwelcoming. Luckily I had and I have a friend who enjoyed as a child to take apart and reassemble computers and laptops and all that was small and rectangular and full of engaging Lucette. It was a clocker , those who pimped the computer increasing the voltage and amperage and other premium and filled with neon-colored fans hooked to giant-style fast and furious. He called himself an "overclocker", to emphasize that it was not a clocker any, and I called him "the Albanian computers, "the good old panzer, and this has never digested, even though every time he pretended to sbellicarsi laughter. Diatribe dialectic aside, I have this friend and also the time I lived close enough. Thanks to him rimediai nails and small screws, definitely not suitable for drilling sing, but it was what filled the convent, college or, better said: the college student. Of how I got hold of a hammer will not here to tell you, I do not think the case.

Eventually I managed to stick solidly in one of these nails to the wall, just above the sink, as in real houses. I tied one end of a stretch to pin the mirror until a few days ago linked him the car, I stared at each other with a nail knot, holding in delicate balance on the edge of the bathtub.
I liked looking at me like crazy there. That piece of broken glass could become fragmented and unstructured better than my imagination had ever spauto do. Every single chip with a light and I reflected with a different angle. I saw the nose so much bigger than the mouth, right eye two or three Vole brighter than the left and the neck was attached to the head quarantcinque degrees. The facial features were reassembled according to a new scheme. In short, there were many pieces of my face and so many ways to put them together.
And I liked them all. When I left that

home I was happy, not at the bottom of the boiler and had not had the oven, two essential elements for the life of any student sentenced to pull fields for each day of his youth. Only one thing they missed a few weeks. I do not notice it, because basically it was a detail of an object small in size and importance, had the case all over.
I began to miss the old broken mirror, black plastic and cracks in the reflecting surface. I began to have nostalgia because he knew me to see different every morning and every afternoon, and because it allows me to focus on some points than others. A focus and more targeted states.
Now, my beautiful mirror surrounded by bulbs to large size white and round, I see only un'annoiata haggard face that would not give even a penny of trust. The same face that started getting sick on average, so much so flat and predictable and banal.

It seems to me that everything is in pieces, now that I see always only one.

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Twenty minutes

My father died after 54 years as a complicated and difficult to bring a smile never marked by doubts. Did not agree. I am getting older in particular about him at my age today: some signs of the hands, a look in the mirror, in a tone of voice.
This thing I do not like it at all. Since

I have a legacy he left Christmas: had a friend, a Milanese known to military service in Friuli in their twenties.
was the beginning of the sixties and must have been moments of great discovery and sharing of the world. This guy I saw him only twice, as a child. People who had more middle-class conceit, more of us.
I meet him, that friend away, just before the bed of my dying father. Since then the man decided that I am my father.
Every year, Christmas Eve, he calls. Talk to me twenty minutes of the things that I do not know and a time when I was not born yet. He used the tone of camaraderie that is wrong with him and even called me by name. He says "Do you remember that guy? That ... there ?..." exactly as he had.

I never shared my father's choices. I always hated cordially. Now that there are more peaceful, I fixed the things I had open.
But every year I hear a voice that speaks of him as a wonderful person and speaks of it as I've never heard of. I do not recognize in these stories of friendship lasting more than the natural expiration. Rest in silence in front of the devotion of a man who is alien to me and he calls every now and then from far away and for a short time.

It 's a devotion which is not even comparable to mine, which is almost absent. Twenty minutes. Not one more. Also this morning.
Talk says , almost crying. He dismisses and calls me his name, then corrects himself.
put down. It was not me who wanted to talk.
It was not me that he needed.
My father called me for so long only once a year, on Christmas Eve.
was the only gesture that he felt towards me to do, given the obvious hostility that's confidential.
That phone call made by nine miles distant and cold as the Bering Strait, cost him a lot, but if ever denied. A point of honor.

"Hello son, your father is doing well. Let yourself be heard in a while. How's your mother? Valla find. At least you. Hello son, Merry Christmas" For someone like

Metuccio, was to be a great effort.
afterlife.
so great that it still has not sold out completely.


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