Friday, September 25, 2009

Bottomless Party Advice

that beard ..

not my fault if the doctor stared at me for a visit at 18.20 Friday ..
not my fault if the study is being
Burgundy .. not my fault if I decide to get back to Piazza del Duomo on foot .. fumarmi right for that couple of cigarettes ..
not my fault if while I am there to walk quietly, smoking, texting, watching the windows and trying not to fall off the heels (three cm), all at the same time of course, I am overwhelmed by the group, a crowd of girls ( girls?) screaming .. no, not just to look good girls .. indeed .. men .. several men ..
not my fault if they are very near to me when Rinascente "three girls and two little men .. I spend a little more than a meter away ..
I'm tired, I sleep and my feet hurt .. I would like to reach the metro .. but Holy shit, Claudia, Naomi and Eve .. just had to get at that time??
Uff .. that beard ..


Ragassuoli PS .. admit that you wanted to be in my shoes .. (Well maybe not in my shoes ..)

PPS were the two little men D & G

Thursday, September 24, 2009

How Good Are Inflatable Achilles Floors?

indissoluble bond

"The ties that bind us are sometimes impossible to explain ..
unite us even when it seems that the ties should be broken.
Certain links, challenge the distance and time, and logic ..
because there are links that are simply .. intended to be. "

Grey's Anatomy - unbreakable bond - 5 x 08

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Virtual Remote Offices

ACIDO AI MONDIALI. PRESIDIO ALL'HOTEL BERLIN, BERLIN

Berlin - The athletic around the city (piece released on www.correre.it)

CORRERE.IT



strange idea holiday in Berlin in the days of the World Athletics Championships. Risk of mental dissociation, thoughts out of sync, the focus is moved elsewhere. Visit the Pergamon Museum, full of Greek idols of stone and a half hour's subway than meat at the Olympiastadion in direct combat in History is not healthy. It is unnatural. At this stage, then I've been there. Tickets purchased online well in advance to the final day of the ten thousand. August 17. The Day After. Overnight on the history of delay. The energy of 9 "58 has not yet dispersed, making a storm molecular anger of my regret. I'm right in the fifth row of the departure of the sprinters, just below me as I had in my living room of their home tics and rituals, the war of facial expressions, their eyes fixed on an imaginary horizon line for nothing. But it's the wrong evening. It is one of the semifinal and final, yes, but the women's race. When I booked the ticket I was seemed a good idea. Today a lot less. I console myself with the awarding of the race the day before. When the pack of photographers is left free to sacrifice the three statues of flesh I lose almost a smile hysterical, down the steps like crazy to the podium risking your neck. Tyson Gay is sad. Sadness of a century, the lines of his face and his uniform old style Nike are already a narrative. 9 "71 people would forget him. Destino infamous. Powell seems to have developed the defeat, is now docile, in the final at last decided to take all the hundred meters to the end. It is his curious gesture of surrender.

Bekele in its perfect predictability is unnerving, to see if taking a few meters under ten thousand twenty-seven is alienating experience, are like hypnotized, and the next day be able to focus better, nell'incedere of these athletes, there is nothing of "muscle". It's kind of slipping. Do not expect sympathy from a phenomenon like Bekele and me can suck all the wheels you want, not part of the "criminal". This is not the problem. He is only a Tergat, a beautiful victim to be sacrificed in the past four because the epic is done with the best, but the scripts are not always miraculous, everything is cyclical, the era of Bekele does not provide opponents with a strong identity as that Lord of the Corsa. For the rest there are no Italians. For a long time. But there are French, there are Scandinavian, there are British, there are no Belgians, there are no Germans, no Dutch, no English. Missing half of the world in one of the most mythical race. Something does not work. For a long time. Evidently, not only at home. The Iberian peninsula is not that great face shape. I saw a couple of Yankee run well by the parties of the 27 "30, not bad, but the potential of the United States should give much more. Prefontaine Running seemed to suicide, the race is now playing serious, and when she got off the Tadese ' accelerator for shelter from unpredictable traffic jams I got the final laps of 1'02 "and 1'03".



Sunday 16 are at the Brandenburg Gate, the girls of 20 km of travel going up and down Unter den Linden, literally "Under the linden trees." Sounds like a jack ass, there's no shade for them in the hottest day, start at noon and fainting after the race are bread for photographers. The first crossed the line to collapse is just the Rigaudo with its problems of anemia should not have spent a beautiful morning, then a Russian seems to mention a dance step before being collected on the fly and stretchers. The images of these small hills fill the newspapers the next day, are the consideration of the incidents in Formula One. Olga Kaniskina her face suffering now, even when he left the company to fly away unapproachable, his smile reassured me at the finish line, I did not want to see her only world champion. I wanted to see her finally relaxed.

Italian friends moved to Berlin, working on video productions sanno della mia ossessione.

Roberta e Marco ce la mettono tutta per distrarmi, il mercato turco, le tentazioni culinarie bizzarre. Il distretto dove abitano, Neukölln, è delizioso, qui è piacevole camminare senza mete turistiche, ogni piazzetta è una sorpresa, 139 etnie, qui i tedeschi si sono integrati bene. Al tavolo di un bar all'aperto fingo di parlare di cinema, Orson Welles, il leggendario piano sequenza che apre L'Infernale Quinlan, aneddoti sulla lavorazione de Il Padrino di Coppola, il cinema francese, quello europeo in generale, differenti punti di vista, Mike Leigh sì, Mike Leigh no, Happy-Go-Lucky film sorprendente o rottura di balle. Si arriva in fretta a parlare di quanto l'Italia vista da lì seems an even more impractical. Then I stiffen, tighten the arms of his chair and opened his eyes as if possessed.



- I gotta go.

- Where?

- At the stadium.

- Today? What a Berlin ...

- I know. But I must go.

- When.

- Now. Now.

- What to do?

- There are the 3,000 steeplechase. And more.



My emotion infects them, and two theater actors Italian nourish me in the madness, we store the path to Metropolitan helped by others at the table and we start, I could tattoo the itinerary sul torace come il protagonista di Memento, così, come ricordo. Armando addirittura millanta di avere il numero di telefono di Elisabetta Caporale e cerca di chiamarla subito senza sapere esattamente quale privilegio ricavarne. Oscar sembra meno entusiasta, ma non si pentirà della spedizione, Bolt quella sera correrà un sonnacchioso quarto di finale dei 200, ma tanto basta. Mettono a fuoco che Berlino in questi giorni non è solo la metropoli intasata di artisti e locali trendyssimi e sperimentazioni. È Atletica Leggera in purezza. Lo sport più bello del mondo. Tutto qui parla di atletica, le pubblicità fanno martellante riferimento ai campionati e ai suoi eroi, il centro è punteggiato di atleti colorati, fisso i pass con invidia e curiosità. Their headquarters is the Hotel Berlin, Berlin on Lützowplatz. Everything starts from this place, the athletes who compete in day out from the secondary, well protected, the other fooling around, they are human in every respect, peer at the windows overlooking the lobby, trying to locate him every Jamaican with tapered deltoids ago a miracle fans who preside. Previous to his business seems to have dropped the black and white of an undeserved oblivion. He is the present and the future. What perhaps has never been. The Perfect Athlete, although I will say that every time he claims a.

How do I get to the hotel I see Alex Schwarzer leaving for the penultimate training session before della cinquanta scortato da Sandro Damilano in bicicletta. Christian Obrist mi parte sulla sinistra per una medio con la divisa della nazionale, arriva Gibilisco, ha la faccia scura ma determinata, Clarissa Claretti qualificata fresca. Avvicino Meucci, sembra sereno, spero non sia rassegnazione quella leggerezza nella gestualità e nella voce, decido che gli rompo le balle, la mia ragazza finge di non conoscermi, lo avvicino e gli chiedo come si scarica nei giorni immediatamente precedenti a un grande evento. Dice che oggi ( il giorno che precede la sua batteria dei 5000) ha corso mezz'ora. Penso e non dico, Solo? L'ultimo allenamento specifico lo ha fatto lunedì già a Berlino, giorno della gara giovedì. Non gli chiedo nei dettagli che ripetute ha corso, i tempi, e come sono le sensazioni.

Conosco bene la zona, ho soggiornato lo scorso anno al Berlin, Berlin. Questo albergo è strategico, poco distante da Tiergarten, il cuore verde della città, un reticolo di vialetti ossigenanti dove i berlinesi vanno a fare jogging. Non mi è difficile capire che tutti si allenano lì. Giapponesi, keniani, etiopi, cinesi, francesi. Tutti. Sembra che si debba correre un mondiale di cross country. Il giorno della mia partenza metto la sveglia e indosso canottiera e pantaloncini. Da Checkpoint Charlie vado verso i grattacieli taglienti di Potsdamer Platz e in dodici minuti sono nel bosco metropolitano. Individuo quasi subito tre mezzofondisti keniani, mi tengo a distanza rispettosa, sto ten meters behind, I pull them, as Bekele, we run more or less 3'40 "per kilometer. Absurd. It is as if I corrected a five-minute mile. I think I do not like jogging, fatigue and the same stride loses roundness, are disjointed. They instead maintain a regal gait, the people who cross the high-five, then just look behind me with respect and curiosity. And who the hell is this?'re thinking.

Berlin Post. That Berlin on television. Back in Italy I found really Rai in shape. The editors were prepared to the fullest, archival images just in time, we knew that there was no Pilgrims out of the water, you could fear the worst from P italica e qualcosa si sarebbe dovuto inventare con guizzi d'improvvisazione. La telecronaca della Maratona maschile è stata un piccolo capolavoro. Splendida prestazione di Bragagna, professionalità, preparazione e grande cultura in senso lato. Zona emotiva e cognitiva a dialogare bene. Misura nell'evidenziare alcune pecche di formula, tipo la progressione nel salto in alto che ha accorciato le gare, ammazzandole. Monetti ha potuto dare il meglio, puntuale senza essere puntiglioso, l'intelligenza, la preparazione, la semplicità di Baldini stanno a raccontare che un grande campione non può essere solo gambe, Pizzolato sempre millimetrato. Chi ha seguito questa telecronaca ne usciva meno ignorante. Ditemi se può succedere una cosa simile in una football match. Sure helps the city, said the Bragagna clear. Berlin is the real capital of Europe.

Saverio Fattori

Tuesday, August 25, 2009 10:20

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

How Do You Know Where To Sit At A Wedding

MARCO RAFFELLI INTERVISTA ACIDO

I finished reading Lactic Acid. A novel set in the world of athletics, an open window on the dark side of professional sports. The life of middle-distance star of the Italian Claudio Seregni. A soul on the brink of a precipice, bad with himself and with others, indifferent to the attacks of others.

Lactic acid is a representation of many small dramas, fantasies, fears and failures.

The story moves in a circle made of hard training, repeated on the 400 as only 25 can be, impossible dreams and hopes, a paddock with a perimeter of red blood cells as heavy chains, doped to the death.



These days I spoke with the author, Saverio Fattori, and has led to a conversation about sports, life and hope for a world that sometimes seems no longer to belong.



Saverio what would be the character of the book had he not done the professional athlete?



Claudio Seregni is the worst. There is an athlete like that. Or maybe yes. But I have pointed out that during the best pages, it is probably true.

could become human, but then loses Clara even before meeting her and lose the opportunity. It 's basically a desperate man, a person infinitely alone. An unbridgeable solitude.

Seregni do not know what it was, the point is that I used as an excuse the athletic metaphor to describe what we are bad ...



The character of your novel is hard, in a passage of his book Doctor (supervised the preparation of the chemical) was one of the few to have told him how he lives and that the end would have done anything he has not moved an eyelash . Its hardness has allowed you to make him say things that otherwise you could not not it?

Yes, the Doctor describes it well in the end. Claudio Seregni is rotten, because it is closed in the same ss, even if he has not been more going to make it anyway.

I suspect the psychology of young broken promises, the child prodigies often end badly. As a writer I are negative, but I got bored that you deny the harshness of professional sports, athletics is fabulous (I figured, I return from Berlin) so many beautiful smiling faces, but lots of background we do not see them. As a writer my job is to lie (by failing to test), but in an intelligent way, pretending to take in the true random ...

My hope was that the story of lactic acid functioned as a metaphor and that would go beyond the microcosm athletic.



I left a sick feeling ... yellow eyes of too many athletes for the substances consumed, vomiting, skin board, swollen veins around. How to get to the bottom? I do not write things

reassuring to be so black with the sport I love has been a challenge. Even for the reader. I ask him to play the game, to walk the journey "wrong" to continue to hate doping, but trying to "understand". Attention, to understand does not mean to justify.

There 's nothing demonic races in the business world and the like. None. I just say that in recent years there has been too much emphasis on the marathon speech, seems to have become a body sé rispetto all'atletica leggera. La maratona è una costola dell'atletica, non viceversa. Questo equivoco nel tempo ha generato guasti in Italia esplosi a Berlino. Un grande maratoneta parte dall'attività su pista, comunque, ha corso i 1500 metri a 3,40.


Da settembre porterò Giulia, mia figlia, in pista alla Farnesina un paio di volte al mese, tanto per farle respirare l'aria, il suo sguardo sarà puro, chi ci sarà accanto a lei ?

Occhio, il mio libro è un noir, non è che gli atleti forti sono automaticamente dopati! Ho esagerato nel libro per ragioni di speculazione narrativa. Tua figlia vedrà ragazzi forti, sani e puliti, di talento alla Farnesina, stanne certo.


What is the sport that allows you to do the same path as a world champion.

Athletics is the most beautiful sport of all. Anyway. Always. Here's what remains. Even after Marion Jones who seemed really clean and big girl icon of enormous natural talent. But we must keep our guard high. I


I would not dream of playing with Totti all'Olimipco, but to run in NY with Baldini yes.

fact ... inter alia, the cooperation of Baldini during the marathon World Cup has been amazing. In sports without direct physical contact, there are no particular malice. We are all focused on ourselves.


's athletics has in itself the myth and the indecency of this world.

do not agree, the wrong perspective. The fact is rather that we can not expect that professional sport is our garden untouched, when the degradation of ethics and cultural backgrounds from all parties.


The difference between your work and that of Covacich (Ed. Einaudi at breakneck speed) is in reality: is catchy at breakneck speed, lactic acid is bad.

I am extreme, sometimes irritating, but there is Covacich mica light ... I think the thing is just shocking acid in the use of narrative, as I said above forces the reader to immerse themselves in the ... Covacich brings the narrative climax the final race, the stall of the living acid Desert of the Tartars. I should not say, however Daniele Menarini who wrote the preface noted. Commendable.


How have you documented the drugs?

I had a builder friend who told me years ago, details of certain practices (like the thing of subcutaneous GH and keep in refrigerator) and now the net is full of information. On the history of doping in Italy Eighty years c 'is "Champions of no value" of Donati and Seven. Extremely rare ... as a writer-athlete (amateur '67 year class in 3000 and 16.40 9.23 in 5000, both for framing) are still able to put myself in the character, but I run to beat the others and when vado male (tipo al garetta chiusa malissimo stasera... cotto) vado un po' in paranoia.


La figura del preparatore com'è nata?

Il Doctor è inventato completamente, infatti è una figura stranissima nel mio libro, molto complessa. Non sono mai andato da un medico sportivo, mai fatto nemmeno una dieta. I due allenatori se ci fai caso riprendono lo standard dello sbirro buono e dello sbirro cattivo...


Chi non si dopa oggi nello sport? Ci sono atleti puliti? (puoi anche non rispondere).

Vado a naso. Oggi non penso ci sia un sistema federale dove il doping regni, penso che siano iniziative personali di atleti medi non più giovanissimi, forti ma non come vorrebbero loro. There are 3 hour marathon athletes who use illicit drugs ... I would also checks for between lovers in a prestigious road races, track championships master already there.

I care to explore our limits, the exploration of ourselves. I am obsessed with old age, I train and compete to take the piss time. Knowing that he finally fuck me.


Thanks Xavier soon and good pace.

The interview was published on Podisti.net Marco Raffaelli, MarioMoretti.it, Maratoneta.it