Saturday, December 23, 2006

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The poor who can no longer go to the Caribbean



The strike of journalists (which goes all my sympathy and solidarity) has meant that my father went to withdrawal symptoms editorial ... so, having to buy a newspaper and wandering restlessly for newsagents in Italy has at last arrived at a shocking decision: what are the only newspapers that come out even if there is a strike? Those of the master. So that bought "Il Giornale".
I can assure you that it is a reading that must occur at least once in their life because it is a great mine of information manipulation and pseudo-Catholic statements and simplistic, but especially for some truly hilarious articles.
But let us.
On the front page is a box called "memo" titled "Something has changed "and nice (at least today, then I do not know) from such a Filippo Facci (please do not ask me to investigate him, I would like to avoid being disgusted) that has nothing to envy Cornacchione. The problem is that I do is serious .

Here is the article on minimally acceptable, but 90% to creepy

"Where are the barricades? Where are the road deaths, assaults to food, interviews Tg3 the middle class hungry and desperate to the merchant? Where is the relationship Eurispes number three thousand? Where is the climate of anxiety Ballarò with services retirees who sleep on park benches? Yet Christmas is even worse than that last year recorded Hell is a media, a Christmas tree cost 27 € instead of 25, a garland € 3 instead of 2, colored balls plus 5 percent, 8 percent more Bamble, designer bags plus 9, weekend in Italy more than 4.5, more skiing 2.6: Where is the Courier? Where are the investigations by Dario Di Vico? Codacons says that consumption fall by 5 percent and 80 percent of leaves in the thirteenth and insurance bills and mortgage payments, says the Concommercio set the consumption of salmon and caviar and champagne (minus 6) not to mention the exotic vacations: legions of impoverished families migrate to the Red Sea and leave the Caribbean and the Indian Ocean, the bridge All Saints had already been registered 27 percent fewer admissions, where are the newspapers? Where is the investigation on children at the fourth week no longer have milk or cake to dip? Where is that last year Tg3 dilanciò the 'Christmas without any presents' on 12, 19, 22, 23, 25 and 26 December? Where, where are you? C 'anything changed? What?

Assuming that this gentleman has a concept of journalism a bit 'special (in fact for him the investigations should be remade every year and should be called every time the same things), I might say also that there are some hints ridiculous that there's almost insane, like designer bags on the pitch, or maybe the one on caviar and exotic vacations, but that especially when he talks about how much this and that (which might be an interesting thing to write, if well documented) does not cite sources (except when it comes to luxury goods, as it happens), who gave you these figures? You took them in stores? What stores? How many stores? You're talking about items of "brand" or objects of "brand"? The figures in the last year have you pinned on a paper towel? he could be the dealer to garlands of example and to gain something more has increased the price by 50% in its exercise. But this is only an extreme case. In addition, the tg3 by definition is unable to do a "media hell" (as the look in 6 people around Italy), considering that the other 5 national news showed a beautiful world, cheerful, made of good, peace and fraternity with President Bush that gave the sweets to poor children and the very Italian ex-premier master-worker president-Napoleon-Jesus Christ-entertainer-singer-actor-playboy-striker-coach who showed around his happy grin ...
I also invite you to reflect on the champagne, weekends, trips, designer bags, and then you wonder if you understand what I mean by "the newspapers of the master."

Hello and prox
Merry Christmas to all, good and bad, with much love and belches, possibly without broken glass.

PS: I have an idea to help journalists in their strike. Simply send a letter to major newspapers saying that if you do not renew the contract for journalists not to buy their newspaper overloaded with advertising. In case of failure, you expect the next strike by journalists, and once finished, you should not buy the paper more.

Monday, December 4, 2006

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Those lives hanging in the intensive care unit


It 's too long since I write on the blog. I do not want. I have too many projects in mind and no one on paper. I have too many ideas, but nothing at stake. Classic. And now I'm writing an article with too many points. Point. Also I'm going through another one of those moments that I do not like. Li awards from the post. When I threw against the Church are "normal" or cheerful. When I do not make sense are thoughtful articles. When I make articles in which one sees a certain existential crisis, which means it is one of those moments there.
E 'Perhaps this is why today I was able to decide to publish an article that appeared on the front page of "the Rupubblica" of October 18 if I remember correctly, article by Adriano Sofri, controversial figure, but certainly great intellectual. This publication will be a little 'end in itself, in the sense that it will necessarily involve a discussion (which would certainly be interesting) and then I do not expect many comments, also because the article speaks for itself. If you really want to comment ... I would no doubt delight.
Here is the article.

<< The first time you return, as pilgrims, with your feet, in the intensive care unit, are a bit 'disappointed by the smallness and quiet, as an adult to review some fabulous places and tumultuous childhood. Less than half of admissions is less than 24 hours, is the average of eight days. There have been but ten days in a coma, and twenty days later in a waking state, though not now finish. Or rather, too glossy, as is the paranoid delirium, sedation powerful effect of curare, who imagine to be treated by curare? In the transition from anesthesia to waking, you are a victim of a monstrous conspiracy, doctors and nurses torturing you and prepare will kill you, your own family will not believe your alarm, and perhaps they are lending to the conspiracy. When you are better, there a bit sheepish about not much, but understand that and perhaps die, and that doctors and nurses are trying to prevent. Then you fear not to die, and compromises to remain in the body or mind, and who want to save a life that you would not accept. Before you afraid that you wanted to torture and murder. Now you fear that you want to torture and save lives. It is not just paranoia induced by anesthetics: the resuscitation room looks like a torture. E ', so to speak, a torture down, not meticulously stripped of dignity and living a healthy body, but to heal a body already lifeless and dispossessed. Similar is the feeling of being deprived of if, and to watch his body painfully, made strange and humiliating at the mercy of strangers. In other departments of the hospital patients, even the most serious, are normally awake, and therefore it is assumed that they can perhaps absurdly sleep while in intensive care patients are usually asleep, and are not able to wake up to, or is kept in a deep sleep, and therefore there is no difference in CPR between day and night, neither for patients nor the doctors and nurses, whereas in other units shall be respected too closely, I do not know if the strength of 'habit or for reasons of trade union the difference between day and night, night and ordinary care are suspended, and applies only un'azzardata custody, even if those who are ill do not want to know feel better just because it is nightfall, and the sleepless nights of patients not endless.



When an exception to the host of resuscitation is alert, the lack of distinction between day and night it is confusing, in a way that can be painful or joyful, as a winter holiday to the South Pole. The light of day does not enter the ward, where the lights are always artificial, colorful pile of machines that feed the breathing and the beating of hearts and the introduction of fluid in the body, and the battery of mechanical sounds that punctuate them, fixed base, interspersed with sounds of alarm and emergency, to those, like a sob artificial light, indicating that the life goes out. Who is alert, therefore, looks similar to its neighbors and other people's bodies with a sense of strangeness and compassion, and watch the bustle expert, and often frenetic and feverish, doctors and nurses around the bodies of others, seeing them treated as a Provisional inert matter still callable for life, and imagining her body handled with the same experience and frenzy in the balance between inertia and definitely on point off a bet of awakening. Sometimes the editors handle the body without noticing that it is vigilant in its own way, and looks at them and listen to them, and introduces them within its own plot, scared or reassuring, as is sometimes the dreams that trap and bend itself to external sounds and real events before surrendering to wake up. Who knows is alert and inventing the story of her neighbors a little girl in a coma for weeks, whose parents do not detach from the bedside, a young Albanian who slammed the bike, made an octogenarian aorta yelling insults and lies in a catalepsy, an elderly worker who keeps his eyes open but there is not, and the visits of his frightened wife, who seems to apologize. We get the kids in intensive care, even babies, and yet it is rare that there are places designed for them, the ICU is genius, come up with a niche in which to keep them property, a motorcycle helmet, for example. Who is awake and lying, attached to a ventilator, tracheotomy ammutoilto the content, in principle, to dispense with the word pierced the cable inlet and outlet pipes, look, and it seems that their fate depends inevitably from that of neighboring its unpredictable neighbor, and today perhaps this morning, perhaps tonight, who knows the young Albanian girl and the bike leg was amputated, and the elderly worker continues to keep his eyes open to vacuum, and a gym are inert, like a dummy, chicken'll be ringing, tilted on the other side, and the old screams obscenities and falls back into hibernation, and the parents take the little girl's hand and holding hands. That What will happen to them, what will become of him, and the same thing. E 'joint venture. Who is awake he felt called to fight for them, lying asleep and unaware. Resuscitation is actually disguised as a ship building city, but at sunset a sunset imagined, to eye on the nurses' shift change falls on the town scaffold and it turns out the hull and the rigging of the sails of the pirate ship, which sails to once daily deilla naval battle under a full moon, in the expanse of water in the Piazza dei Miracoli. The captain is an anesthesiologist with a beard as a pirate, or Russian populist, and has taken note of all about his secret notebook, the mate is a red-haired surgeon, the best man of the world, for you a renegade, who is flaunting every day again on a new coast resurrection of a patient, always the same, in league with him and pretend to collect certain international medals. Who is alert but nailed to his bed at the same time must attend the boarding of enemy flagship and plot a mutiny against the treachery of the red and his associates, nurses, and secret agents disguised as cleaning workers. As long as the moon goes down, it changes again turn back the pirate ship anchored and straighten the front of his house, and you start with the recitation of the visits, measurements and sampling, treatment, the looks of Understanding between the doctors and nurses lines who speak to foreign fighters or sedated as they talk to a baby, and in fact those are close to the wall of the afterlife as a baby, and they have their own impression, though they may have impressions that stand between him to go down ' another world and have just come to this world there is almost no difference. And that lasts forever. As long as you agree to talk again, demanding a piece of paper and a pencil and a hand writing a semi-free thinking, a desire, an order, but an insult to the nurse, the wife, the doctor, his daughter, takes the sheet, looks at him, shakes his head and can not read that one doodle insentato, a zig zag infantile upper left and ends at the bottom right. Know ye not write, you do not know to speak or walk, or master your breathing, or your bowels, and do not know if it ever will be able to re-learn, let alone if you want, and you take a fever so high as to give the delirium tremens, and again you run around you to make frantic movements that escape and are no longer appeal to you, you do behind your back, so to speak, perhaps for finirvi, perhaps to save, perhaps, and what scares , for refusing to finirvi without being able to save. Things happen. The young motorcyclist in his early twenties, as he was sturdy, had lost a leg, and now loses his life. The girl wrapped from head opened his eyes, looked his parents as if they had left the night before, and they are crazy, cover her with kisses, and shake the hands of doctors and nurses. All excited and intimidated, even the senior wife of the worker, who knows what your eyes open, and a face burnt to a Pope who would be well alert the patient, as it is, without breath, without a word, with the cable input and output tubes, is placed in an ambulance and transferred to a normal ward, with a merry mermaid in the world where there is no difference between day and night. It is not safe, but can make it. Away from the limbo of bodies on leave, tauniaturghi saints, archangels and churubine nurses, devils forked. Stay in intensive care, from now on could cause him more harm than good, and then you have to leave the place. They say that anyone who has ever spent even one hour in intensive care while awake, can not wait to dimenticario. But in some patients remains a nostalgia. As in other places of extreme suffering, a city besieged, bombed cities, the isolation cells, places that should not exist, but from which we come off with a heavy heart, because you have the feeling that he approached the meaning of death, or life which is the same. After releasing the healing place, or dying. Not infrequently the ICU, grappling with the place, they must choose between one or the other: between the young and the elderly chronic motor. To leave a place, you can transfer to another occupant resuscitation temporarily available is a risk. Can be removed in favor of the newcomer who can do it, a patient who has no chance to survive (but then why was attacked? Relatives, legal risk, the fury ...). But if you leave off the bed to lose their organs for transplantation: a candidate for brain death can be expected. You can arrange an extra bed in some corner, but it means reducing support for all. So? You decide, you choose. Every day is so, the inside, every night.>> Hello


and prox. With an article funnier (I hope).

Post Scriptum.
has nothing to do, but it must be said, exactly 26 years ago, December 4, 1980 Led Zeppelin broke up, less than two and a half months after the death of drummer John Bonham (very bad death).
They were not wrong to be appointed the greatest "band" of the world and had recorded albums that have marked the history of the rock world, especially not to forget Led Zeppelin IV, with the immortal "Stairway to Heaven" or the jarring but fascinating " Going to California ".
seems incredible that after so much time these songs have remained faithful to their charm and their inarrivabilità, but there you are ... Well, a heartfelt salute to the drummer who became a mustache and alcohol kill a 'good luck' the remaining 3. Then I write something about Led Zeppelin again