Former President of Napoli, Corrado Ferlaino: “I am Napoletano and I must support Real Madrid. If
Juventus were to win the Champions League, they would take a lot of money
that they would use to buy more players and Napoli couldn’t fight for
the Scudetto even next year. I’m not Italiano, I’m Napoletano. I don’t care about Juventus, I don’t root for the Piemontesi”
Borja Valero, Fiorentina player: “I’ll support Real Madrid because I grew up with the camiseta blanca and the Bianconeri are the enemies of my Fiorentina”
Giacomo Ciccio Valenti,
italian TV and radio conductor, Inter Milan supporter: “How many Juventini fans supported Inter in 2010? Nobody. At Cardiff we’ll return the favor. I already know what shirt will be worn by my son: white, with the words C. Ronaldo”
Paolo Beldì, italian filmmaker, Fiorentina “la viola” supporter: “Who will I root for in the Champions League final between Juventus and Real Madrid? It’s not my fault if Real Madrid will play with the purple jersey…”
Bruno Peres, former player of Torino FC and now playing in Roma: “Juventus is a great team, but we support the failing of the Triplete, so we are happy if they lose”
“Guarda basta, basta. Non lo reggo più. Mi ciondola in casa tutte le sere: divano, poltrona, cucina, divano, letto. Ooooh?!! Se lo sapevo che mi diventava così col cavolo che lo prendevo.” Mi racconta Lucia al telefono parlando del suo compagno Matteo. Matteo che aveva 3 passioni nella vita: la Fiorentina, la moto e le donne. Poi Matteo si fidanza con Lucia e non ha occhi che per lei e Lucia lo sa. Così giorno dopo giorno lei educa quest'uomo ad essere come lo vorrebbe: educato, silenzioso, accondiscendente; via i raduni di moto, la Fiorentina solo in tv, le donne vabbeh, nemmeno a parlarne. Ed oggi, dopo tanto impegno, Lucia si trova in casa un pupazzo e si accorge che non le piace più.
È stata brava lei? Oppure non sarà che certi uomini non vedono l'ora di mettersi le pattine e spiaggiarsi sul divano?
Giacomo e Vittorio sono molto amici quando si parla di calcio.
Giacomo è grato a Vittorio di aver preso un giocatore di Lucca nella Juve,e Vittorio è riconoscente alla Lucchese per aver praticamente riformato con i suoi calciatori(In quei bellissimi tempi in cui la Lucchese era in Serie A) il Grande Torino dopo l'incidente con l'aereo.
Spesso vanno a vedere le partite insieme,visto che tifano le stesse squadre
(E no,Lucca per la Fiorentina non ci sta,mi spiace Anna)
Nikon Live Roma, un evento che ti fa passare la voglia di fotografare.
Premessa – Il mondo della fotografia si
divide in due tipi di persone: chi fotografa e chi non fotografa.
Chi non fotografa in genere porta la
macchina fotografica ovunque, conosce tutti i modelli dal 1950 ad oggi e a casa
ha un hard disk dedicato con una capacità di memoria superiore a quanta ne
basterebbe a Samantha Cristoforetti per raccogliere dati in otto anni di
Chi fotografa, e intendo chi bene o male
con la fotografia ci campa, di solito la macchina fotografica la lascia
tranquilla nella custodia appena può. Ed è giusto così. Avete mai visto una
sarta prendere le misure di un abito in spiaggia? O un chirurgo al ristorante
tagliare la fiorentina con il bisturi? Ecco, vi siete dati la risposta.
Quindi, il motivo per cui ad un evento dove
si parla di fotografia, vengono mostrate fotografie e presentato tutto quello
che di più all’avanguardia il mondo della fotografia possa offrire, ci si debba
andare con la propria macchina fotografica al collo, per me rimane un mistero. È
come andare al ristorante di Gualtiero Marchesi e portarsi la pizzetta da casa.
E ancora peggio, andare al Nikon Live con
al collo una Canon è un oltraggio, un’ offesa, una cafonata che solo perché mi
rimangono pochi mesi di condizionale non ho lavato col sangue. Vai, vai con la
sciarpa della Lazio ad una partita della Roma, se hai coraggio. Viene qui con
la sua Canon al collo a toccare le Nikon. Ma come si permette? Non lo sa che
poi vanno disinfettate?
Come dite? Ci sono i photoboots con le
modelle ed avete le sezioni di shooting?
E poi che ci fate con tutte quelle foto di
fregne in posa? No, ok, non lo voglio sapere.
Vedere tutti questi professionisti, o
aspiranti tali, diligentemente in fila per poter mettere l’occhio dietro un
obiettivo 800mm f/5.6 (per i non addetti
quello lungo 50cm) che raramente potranno permettersi, mi fa venire in
mente le immagini tristissime della gente che va ai festival dell’erotismo
accalcati sotto il palco per tentare di toccare una tetta della pornostar di
Ora, per chi ancora non le conoscesse, le 4
regole auree del mondo della fotografia:
L’abilità di un fotografo è
inversamente proporzionale alla lunghezza del suo zoom.
Al contrario della scrittura,
dove si viene esortati a scrivere ogni giorno, in fotografia è consigliato
fotografare meno, ma meglio. Il fatto che la vostra scheda SD abbia 32GB di
memoria, non significa che dovete riempirla tutta tutti i santi giorni.
Se avete fatto vostro il motto
di Cartier-Bresson sulla fotografia che “È porre sulla stessa linea di mira la
mente, gli occhi e il cuore” – ricordate che era vecchio e si dimenticò di
aggiungere “Il Culo”.
Se su una foto passate più
tempo a post produrla che a scattarla fatevi un favore: vendete la macchina e
comprate un Dolce Forno. Il cake design può dare molte soddisfazioni.
Finita la premessa, finisco anche io. Ho
amici e conoscenti alla Nikon e vorrei continuare a ricevere l’invito, se non
altro per la busta Nikon con cui farò la spesa ammirato da tutte le MILF del discount.
Perché sì, mi occupo di fotografia, i
supermercati seri non me li posso permettere e la busta mi serve.
for the writing prompt thing, #50 with spamano?? thank u!!!
I’m still working on these I promise omg
Sorry for tardiness!!
50- going through a divorce au
The smoke wafting off Antonio’s cigarette blew into his eyes and got them watering. At least, that’s what he told himself.
Everyone had told him everything would be better once it was finalized. Once the papers were signed, the lawyers were dismissed, and the last of each other’s stray shirts and old coffee mugs were either returned or burned, things were supposed to go back to normal. A new start, they called it. The ashes the flames of divorce left were supposed to be swept away and forgotten.
Then why did Antonio feel as though he’s still on fire?
The cigarette fell to pieces at his feet, and Antonio immediately pulled and lit another one. He chuckled to himself. Roderich had hated his smoking, so after a months-long battle, he quit. And the moment he moved out he was right back at it again. That could probably be read as symbolic by some literature snob somewhere, but Antonio knows it’s nothing more than revenge in it’s most childish form.
Antonio never loved Roderich. Not in the way he was supposed to love him, at least. And Roderich had likely never loved him either. Their marriage was confusing while it lasted, years of stilted conversation and miscommunications and long stretches of time apart… but it had been a marriage, nonetheless. And a marriage is always to be taken seriously.
It wasn’t as though they’d hated each other, either. Roderich had filled the house with music. Gentle, lilting, beautiful music, music that lifted from the grand piano and created an atmosphere that Antonio could live in forever.
But Roderich obviously felt differently. One too many tiny, insignificant fights, and he was gone. The house is dead silent now.
Antonio takes another drag on his cigarette and looks up. The clouds are pooling together, a mix of greys and whites like paint in the bottom of a jar. Antonio sniffs, half-laughs, smiles. Of course it’s going to rain. What pretentious shit.
“Hey bastard, can you move?”
The angry voice brings Antonio away from his self pity and back down to earth. Standing in from of him is a brunette, scowling man with crossed arms and an impatiently tapping foot. Then, Antonio realizes he’s standing directly in front of a red Italian sports car. “Oh, my apologizes!” he says, summoning his usual amount of cheer. Just because he’s having a bad day doesn’t mean he needs to make this stranger’s day worse.
“You really shouldn’t go around leaning on other people’s cars, you know,” says the man. Antonio smiles and offers another apology, but the man just waves him silent and starts digging through his pockets. Antonio knows he should probably walk away but doesn’t. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that this man is still digging through his pockets.
“Doing okay?” asks Antonio finally.
“Are you still here?” he snaps. He reaches into his back pocket again, comes up with nothing, and lets out a sound between a groan and a scream. “God fucking dammit… I lost my fucking keys!”
Antonio is a bit taken aback by the language, but it doesn’t bother him. “That’s a shame,” he says. “Where did you last have them?”
“The last time I… Who are you, even? Jesus!”
Antonio chuckles a bit. After living with someone for years who only expressed his frustrations with passive aggression, this unabashed temper is kind of refreshing. “My name is Antonio. And yourself?”
“Lovino, though it’s hardly any business of yours.” Lovino sighs. “Dammit, I must have dropped them in the coffee shop…”
“The Starbucks right down the road?”
Lovino scrunches his nose. “No, not Starbucks. It’s this little Italian place on third. I doubt you’ve ever even heard of it.”
Oh my, and a hipster as well! Antonio definitely has experience dealing with those. “Is it La Fiorentina?” he asks, feigning modestly even as he takes silent pride in his perfect pronunciation.
Lovino stops, blinks. “Yes, actually.”
Antonio nods. “Thought so. My husband and I used to go all the time.”
“Used to?” says Lovino. “Why would you ever stop? They have the best damn lattes in the city.”
“Oh, well, I still go on my own. Just not with him. We’re getting divorced.” Antonio cringes a bit after he says it. He’s always had a little problem with over sharing, and this is a flawless example. He decides to leave out that he’s actually avoided that coffee shop like the plague ever since he signed the papers.
“…oh.” Lovino isn’t scowling anymore. “I’m sorry about that.”
“That’s alright,” says Antonio even though it very much ISNT alright, but he supposed it will be eventually, as all hardships in life eventually turn out.
“God, I have an appointment in half an hour. If I don’t find those damned keys…” Lovino sighs deeply. “Goddammit.”
“Why don’t you allow me to help?” says Antonio without thinking. He doesn’t have anything better to do, after all. “I can do it as repayment for smudging up your car.”
Lovino scoffs. “Are you for real?”
“I would hope so.” Antonio stomps out his cigarette, finding he doesn’t have any urge to light up another one. “Come on! I’ll even buy you a latte.”
The Cartier Ruby suite, one of many expensive presents that Mike Todd gave to Elizabeth. This suite composing of a bracelet, necklace and earrings was given to her just as she was swimming laps in the pool - wearing a tiara! - at La Fiorentina in 1957.
“When Mike gave me the rubies I was pregnant with Liza. We had rented a villa, La Fiorentina, just outside Monte Carlo near St.-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, about three months into our marriage. The most beautiful house you’ve ever seen. Actually, I rented it twice - once with Mike and once with Richard. I was in the pool, swimming laps at our home, and Mike came outside to keep me company. I got out of the pool and put my arms around him, and he said, "Wait a minute, don’t joggle your tiara.” Because I was wearing my tiara in the pool! He was holding a red leather box, and inside was a ruby necklace, which glittered in the warm light. It was like the sun, lit up and made of red fire. First, Mike put it around my neck and smiled. Then he bent down and put matching earrings on me. Next came the bracelet. Since there was no mirror around, I had to look into the water. The jewelry was so glorious, rippling red on blue like a painting. I just shrieked with joy, put my arms around Mike’s neck, and pulled him into the pool after me. It was a perfect summer day and a day of perfect love.“
Elizabeth Taylor (pictured with Richard Burton in the second and third pictures) photographed by Henry Clarke in 1967 at a rented villa, La Fiorentina, in St. Jean-Cap-Ferrat, France. Assuming that it is still there - and open - I intend to visit this villa one day!