…And still standing


uring a long weekend cruising up and down the Costiera Amalfitana (Amalfi Coast).

Lots and lots of small villages perched on the slopes of the Monti Lattari (Lattari Mountains), so many that at a certain point, the memory of one fades into the other, in one long continuum of small streets and endless flights of irregular stone stairs leading down to lilliputian beaches full of wooden fishermen launches waiting for the next trip out.

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A Difficult Life


aken while on a trip across central Europe with two dear friends of mine.

On our way to our final destination (the Netherlands) I insisted to make a 2-days stop in Luzern (Switzerland), because I wanted to see, first in the family, the place where my grandmother had been born, grown up, married, given birth to two children, become a widow and moved to Italy where she married my grandfather and had five more children.

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Eleganza d’altri tempi


hot at the end of an image-harvesting spree through the old city. Miles and miles wandering the old streets, visiting known and unknown places in search of something that strikes the attention. A detail or a panorama, it is always unknown what will trigger the eye or the mind.

After a whole day, tired and not very satisfied of the results, I sought a bit of comfort in the old Grand Café Gambrinus for a good cup of coffee and a Sfogliatella riccia (one of the few sweets I love).

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Napoletani (a post in Italian)

I Napoletani sono un popolo d’amore ma, piu’ spesso che no, somigliano a bambini troppo entusiasti.

Se gli dai un dito, si prendono tutta la mano. Poi ci ripensano e si prendono anche il braccio. Poi ci ripensano e ti restituiscono tutto: il braccio, la mano, il dito ed in piu’ ancora una valanga di altre braccia, mani e dita.

Nel frattempo sei defunto, sepolto sotto questa valanga d’amore e se sei fortunato, faranno una statuetta a tua immagine e somiglianza  da mettere nel presepe del prossimo anno…

On a desert island


ooner or later we all get a question like: “If you were on a desert island, who would you like to have with you?”, or “What are your 10 favourite books you would like to have on a desert island?”.

I was musing about the same lines of the above and asked myself the question: suppose you are stranded on a deserted island for a year, what would be your daily music during those 365 days?

So I dived into my extensive music collection (2300 and spare titles on LP,  EP, 7″ Single, Tape, Cassette, CD and FLAC file) and started to imagine which records I would absolutely not want to miss. That brought me nowhere near the 365 target, by exceeding the 1000.

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e have Spam, Spam, Spam, Bacon, Eggs and Spam.
Spam, Sausages, Spam, Beans and Spam

who has not laughed at the unforgettable Monty Python’s SPAM sketch.

However, the SPAM I’m talking about is no laughing matter. I’m talking about that irritating avalanche of unwanted mails that everyone receives daily in their email Inbox, which in turn threatens to explode by the sheer amount of crap that those criminals (because that is what they are) try to shovel down our throats, predating on the less experienced, or the youngest, or the oldest among us.

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