Financial Accounting Libby Libby Short Chapter 4

A tip from a friend in the fridge

Despite what most of my readers think of me, I am a friend of Berlusconi. A great friend to those who see themselves only in times of need. Like now, for example. Given what I said, I advise him to leave for good on this ungrateful earth.

Silvio (excuse the audacity, but friends are using it. In fact, I'll tell you more about this: I think you have very toned buttocks ...), Silvio, I said, disappear forever. In a Canadian forest or on a beach in Tahiti, do you. No computer or fax, or hidden behind a beard under a wig. Got themselves a new life and forget the previous one. Play rummy or chess with the locals, laughing with them about your past from "statesman." Draw from your vast anecdotes to entertain the natives there associates on how to take the piss out of an entire people for almost twenty years (to you like jokes, do not you Silvio?). You know that laughter!

But I want to do more. In order not to leave anything to chance, I went to ask for expert advice on how you can make the case.

Doug Dyment is an expert in the art of packing. He is the author of onebag.com site, a site on the art of traveling light and without too many problems. According Dyment, the best way is to evaporate to leave with one suitcase, preferably in size "baggage". And that, dear Silvio, for a variety of reasons.

For an economic factor because it does not have to pay the porters or the surcharge for extra baggage (not that you lack the money, but have less money for indigenous girls, I do not know if I understand. ..).

With only a suitcase, you can get to the airport just before the plane took off. You can freely take trains or buses or metro, without waste of money for taxis (always a factor bunga bunga). Upon arriving at their destination to avoid queues for the withdrawal of cases and have more time to go see the local wildlife (I do not know what I mean). Not to mention that, with a single piece of luggage, you will lose less time to pack up and, I know, that the hours are precious to you.

But beyond all these bazzeccole, traveling light is the best solution for you and the planet. Less transport to move your items, less fuel and less greenhouse gases. It is more likely for your friends (Alfano, Gelmini, Calderoli, Vespa, Minzolini, D'Alema and so on) can leave this ungrateful earth.

No, please, Silvio, I thank. For this and more friends ....

Black Scabs, Pregnancy

There are days that the reflections (more or less deep) flow in front of the most unlikely places.

Literature is full of aphorisms immortal born in front of a mountain sunset. Or set entire books in front of the majestic vastness of the sea. Yesterday my source of inspiration was the refrigerator.

I was, well, crazy as it stopped in a car motionless in front of an endless red light, gazing at the interior of this essential appliance.

My refrigerator seems to be the cell of a supermarket. With the passage of time will take the form of a painting of the late nineteenth century, having as its object a still life.

A thorough inspection brings to light the remains of mummified flesh, rusted cans, zucchini damaged by mysterious mold. And then, again, dried tomatoes and cheese fossils. More than any other product of Mother Earth, the result of my family's frequent raids in the various food emporiums in the area. Not content with value for money products of about fifty stores, often we also rely on the tele-shopping, often self-rubbing.

should, sometimes minor problems aside (basements in Monaco, party scollacciati, the decline of its vileness, the debate within the Democratic Party), sit in front of the wide open doors of the pantry and ask, finally, the sun fundamental questions of this part of the century.

Why I bought the light mayonnaise if you do not like anyone, not even, I think, to the producer? What prompted me to accumulate a lot of bacon than it would be enough to feed thirty years for the entire population of Western Sahara (old and children included)? What are they doing in my house, eleven eggplant? Why I ordered a pallet of typical Calabrian if everyone in the family abhor hot?

If we want to further harm, we could make a detour to the basement or garage. We finally have clear causes and effects of consumerism: garbage and pollution. Just stop for a moment and reflect. The conclusions can only be one.

is no getting around them changed from a ruthless debate in front of a refrigerator the only true hope of salvation of the tottering empire of the West ...

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Looking good journalism and bad habits and perceptions

There was a look of the inn Brunin strangely hilarious. Not that we always talk about crime, but usually in the hour devoted to domestic policy - around 18, over a bottle of Vermentino with trays of hot scones - the atmosphere is very gloomy. The object of so much happiness were the sexual performance of our prime minister. The jokes are wasted in front of the vaunted copulas by an escort, a guest in one of the residences of Mr Berlusconi. Stratospheric numbers for any one Siffredi. That interview excerpt aired on Annozero had the merits - or demerits, depends on what perspective you look at it - to vilify the entire drive, essentially based on slanderous accusations and serious crimes which have as their main character (so to speak) the President of the Council.

sensuality of the shot on the life of famous people are filled with the chronicles of all time. And each time that cares the reporter on duty and the desire to bring to the office of a news worthy headline. Many times, however, such errors are Marchiani.

writer Simenon told one day to a Swiss journalist who worked in Die Tat have had ten thousand lovers. The reporter accurately reported the claim, and there came out of an article which caused a moderate interest, finding its way into many front pages of European newspapers. Of course it would be enough to reason for a moment to realize that it was impossible. The great writer would have had to make a breakthrough day for thirty years in a row. Never flu, a slight headache. Never a moment's respite. Mission Impossible.

" Follow up" is one of those difficult to translate English expressions when used in journalism. For example, if a customer enters the tavern of Brunin that between a glass and the other, claims to have been on Mars during the last weekend, the follow-up is not the next question (like what will be the next destination), but insist on seeking more details on Mars, so as to unmask the possible - and probable - lie.

usually listen carefully enough to know the answers and focus on what is being said. Is essential to rise above party and personal care to avoid the fury that is not conducive to some good journalism.

enough to remember the age of our Prime Minister and to local mind about what it means to have seven sex in a couple of hours ...

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There are words that have magical powers.

One of these, for example, is demagoguery. What happens is that you prepare yourself mentally the whole matter, in the end, perhaps, in the heat will escape a harmless rhetorical emphasis "people need to work." The other party, if it is clever, then you tow immediately accused of demagoguery. Dictionary in hand, I should be accused of my harangue for interest only, or to procure consents. But I'm not a businessman nor a politician. Should I continue the fearless speech. But demagoguery stop loss is a granite and has the power to create a break in my loser concepts. At that point, I'm fucked. It's the magic of a word.

Another word used liberally by the puppeteers and perception. Tremonti says that in his personal perception , the Great Depression is coming to an end, and the thousands of jobs went up in smoke are nothing more than the false negative perception of the usual defeatist (and Communists, which never hurts).

The perception of Maroni, however, gives us a nation, we at the mercy of the Roma, rapists, thugs and general Camorra. It follows that nothing can be done to allocate millions of euro to military arsenals. It does not matter if the statistics are a normal situation than in previous years and to neighboring countries. What matters is the perception of insecurity of the people and national Bobo Po. Manco we were a country of mediums and clairvoyants.

According to a recent survey, the perception that the vast majority of people have is that Georges Simenon, the most famous crime novelist of the last century, both French. Why wrote in French, because he has lived most of his life in France, because his success began when he set foot in Paris. Again it comes to perceptions . Use it to say that the feeling, the feeling, the collective image that one has can be taken into account as much as reality itself. In the name of respecting individual sensitivity. So explore and describe the reality is a pointless exercise. Statistics show that we are still in the midst of the Great Depression? It does not matter. Investigations talk about crime declining? And who cares. Got only perceptions. And in the name of these legislative measures are justified frankly disproportionate and misplaced.

But beyond the perceptions, the point is that Simenon was Belgian not French. And who says the opposite, says only a schiocchezza ...

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The distortions charity of capitalism

I confess to not feel sympathy for any one trader estimated that from time to time, peeps on TV to advertise its insurance company with an adjacent bank. It's a matter of skin. I think not to be his sympathetic, either. I get the impression that you look at me differently than all other viewers. The trouble is that often think out loud, my wife hears me, watching me for some time and drew up his diagnosis: it is a principle of madness.

may be right.

In this dialogue over the air, the other day Mr. Mediolanum gave me a lesson. He said ( told me, looking mockingly) that anyone who opens an account in his bank, will contribute to helping a family in Haiti (as well as, of course, their own). It made me stay stone; noticed it too: eventually even smile, the bully.

Mr. Mediolanum is proud. He has good reason, is doing a good deed. But it is equally true that helping a family in Haiti contains a significant element of hypocrisy.

In today's capitalism, the tendency is to mix - dangerously - profit and charity. That's what we call cultural capital. When we enter into a policy or open a bank account, we are also buying our redemption. We are doing something useful for the children of Haiti or Guatemala, or protect the environment with a detergent. Or even rebuild a sense of community with a cup of coffee ecosolidale. All this creates a mental mechanism that puts us a clear conscience than to a whole series of ethical responsibilities. As can be positive, mutual aid to the needy is not the solution to the problem.

I have the impression this is the last desperate attempt to capitalism in the service of socialism: not undo the wrong, let it be evil itself to work for the good.

40 years ago we dreamed of socialism with a human face. Today, the horizon of our imagination is more welcoming global capitalism more human face, the rules are the same, but we make it more tolerant, more sympathetic , with a little 'more than welfare.

In Western Europe, never in recent decades, it has enjoyed so much wealth and freedom. Now these riches are called into question. It is a point of no return: we must do more for the other tenants of the World, those who are worse off than us.

is obvious that we must help the children: it is inconceivable that their lives can be destroyed because parents do not have the $ 20 needed for an ordinary surgical operation. But if we only help a few children of Haiti, their, yes, they will live a bit 'better, but will find themselves in the same situation.

do not know why, but Mr. Mediolanum, it seems to me that do not look at me with contempt. But perhaps

the impression of a crazy ...

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Sitting on the edge of the river in the name of the Italian people

Brunin Yesterday was angry. I saw him gesturing from outside the room. He spoke animatedly with Adelmo. He gestures to be ample lawyer, pointing to a tavern somewhere. I do strength and within (the bruschetta Serve hot and are a powerful incentive). "Just looking for you - hiss - I wanted to tell you that I have nothing to do nothing." For a split second, my thoughts have gone to get caught in the crime (professional deformation). Brunin questioned for a murder? My landlord accused of a vicious rape? Adelmo blames the abuse of a building?

No. They cut the cedars to make way for a parking lot, in an indefinite place of Liguria.

He is too passionate to proclaim his innocence on everything that happens in this devastated nation, is like that. Future generations, he thinks, could point the finger at him (and against Adelmo, even if you ravines behind the delicious pesto bruschetta thinly paved). Now he made up his mind to put a sign outside the inn, "I have nothing to do nothing." Action that I strongly recommended: people may not understand.

wants to imitate the American peace activists of the '70s, they paraded as sandwich men shouting their disagreement with the government's choice to go to war in Vietnam "Not in my name", said. They were right. Even Brunin right. I behave differently.

I sat on the edge of the river, as they did in the past, the Eastern sages. Expect that this class is self-defeating policy. Now here we are. I'm good in silence, to read the sarcastic comments that come from all parts Universe to take on one fault: that of being Italian. Not for long, I hope.

Our Prime Minister is an anomaly, and not for what it is and does today, but for what it was and did before running for political office for his first time. The Minister of simplification would be banned from public office for some time also in Burundi. To say nothing of televised public. We are so "abnormal", that if we happen to see any other news of the Western world, there is no doubt that captures the revolutionary underground stations.

only to delight in idle thoughts, then we can ask, what happened to an entire people for what are normal for anyone else, is outside the norm. Why are we self-imposed - and we accepted that imposes upon us - a vision of reality so miserable, poor, wretched. The problem of my country is not its prime minister, but the millions of people who agree, and like, this normal . Jung said that a man can accept whatever, it just depends on the degree of its submission. What entity, in which fate, in which vice, we were able to submit up to this point?

Brunin continues to pour, bake bread croutons and talking angrily. I stand in silence, raising his anger universal. I'm still with the breath to a minimum, waiting for what the river might lead me ...

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I remember it perfectly. Appeared in the middle of the game of billiards. He moved with movements along the water table. For us it was a kind of idol, given his background in the world of professional football. But rarely talked about football. His favorite subject was politics. Or rather the non-political: he was an anarchist. He came from Carrara, a land of marble workers and rebels. He followed with his eyes the billiard ball, meanwhile, threw darts terrible against the Church, priests, nuns and Vatican.

In its own way was a believer, at least he was respectful of the Supreme Being. Just could not stand the Vatican. Every little mishap that hampered the peaceful things happen to him was the work of the Church. Earthquakes, floods, UFO sightings, malfunctioning appliances, penalties not given, but clear: the work of the provosts scattered throughout the world. After prophesied (and a crop fair number of followers) came out, disappearing for days in the fog.

Achilles had done so.

If I had the pleasure to meet, I'm sure, Achille point the finger straight against its vileness. More or less is what is happening these days in Italy. Berlusconi has been accused of everything, lacking only the abigeato call (but I think it's a matter of days).

In Italy there are millions of Achilles, the most unexpected recesses in the crevices. They wait for the reviews, certain of his guilt, as they were at least a few hours before, his legendary preparation business. Having always doubted his magnified entrepreneurship (which I always seemed cynical opportunism of a mediocre singer, a piano bar), I feel entitled to not even be certain of his guilt. That is, however, business of the courts.

bothers me, however, the ease with which millions of citizens have failed to judge in its own sphere - that is political - flooding votes for almost two decades, this wily lobbyists, and then rely on justice the hands of another power, or judicial branches.

Too easy, gentlemen, to ask the others what that we have not been able to do, but failed to power. I am proudly a part of that group of Italians (alas, a small part) that does not need to root for the judiciary to make sure that Berlusconi is politically guilty - surely the most heinous offender - the Italian disaster.

processes I'm not passionate about.

appeals most to me many years ago, the speeches of Achilles ...

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The new enemy of the Millennium

There is an invisible enemy, creeping, that undermines the peace of Italian families: pediculosis.

All infants, in fact, seem to be affected by this invisible parasite.

The children live in the "mishap" with solar superficial, barely scratched by the bureaucracy of school circulars and the anathemas of the teachers.

Families are destroyed by this war of nerves, and my not be free.

analyzing the positive side, I can say I learned new words, for example in the whole world there are nits, or eggs from which blossoms a brownish animal commonly called louse (a being that I, personally, I do not have ever seen in his quiet routine daily).

The first sighting - and capture and Executioner - the enemy was my wife, in a dreary evening two months ago. I put it under my nose, accompanying the exposition with a piercing cry and a principle of fainting. The night he passed was, needless to say, virtually sleepless fires between cleaners and pest control capillaries. Since then, that evening, everything changed.

First, we rely on the noble art of pharmacy, applied to the skin of the poor child - my daughter, damn - the best variety in the world for the treatment of head lice. Two treatments per day ("But the information is written once every two days", I protest. "Sconfiggiamoli definitely! You do not understand the drama of the situation," he says piqued my wife).

48 hours later, the blow: the nits have reappeared. After a medical examination of a brain pool (composed of myself, my wife, a distant aunt in Sicily, a sorceress in Romagna to heresy and hardware) fail to understand that this is old or dried nits, that do not contain the enemy parasite. But to my wife this partial victory is not enough: it wants to win the final battle, whatever the cost.

So we cling to ancestral rites handed down verbally by ancient ancestors: washing with vinegar, combed with magic ointments, emulsions with rare herbs, the collection of which must necessarily take place in the nights of the waning moon.

me soon to the humblest tasks (collection of herbs at night, looking across the mysterious land of oil, buy pallets of vinegar in the supermarket of the area), just to put an end to this disgrace. At the end of the louse is defeated. But evidently the harem around me that is not enough. We proceed, then, as a last resort , shortening of the crown of the baby - which is, Always my daughter, damn -. Following a short course to the accompaniment of the child, after which I will set a delivery I can not compromise: absolute silence. The louse is an indelible stain on the record of the family tree of the family toilet. Concentrated in agony, take my daughter to take the school van. The mother of another child is already at the bus stop with a bag full of glass recycling (bottles of vinegar? Inners oil?).

Note the new hairstyle and my daughter asks me to do mischievous: "Did you cut your hair?". Fresh course for accompanying retort: \u200b\u200b"Short hair is more practical with the summer. " By the way the day is definitely winter temperatures many degrees below the seasonal average: in fact, one of the coldest autumns of human history. She smiles, sardonic. I understand that he understood. Here comes the van and she walks away, leaving a trail of pungent vinegar.

few days ago was his daughter to have her hair trimmed considerably. It's my revenge, "Even for her is a matter of convenience?". Her back, as if he read the script of a film: "But no, it's the new look of Patty."

a battle is still long. Loooong long ...

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Pulp Of

It was hard. It took a medium intense fight to take possession of the remote control. The other contender was my eight year old daughter. Like all addicts, I'd need my daily dose of news. Scroll through the headlines: Most of the newsletter is devoted to crime news. They start the service launched in the studio with the eerie air reporter. My daughter is hypnotized by the trail of blood. Approaching her hand to mine: I understand that fear. She looks at me, look at her. Here comes the demand for stone, "Dad - I wonder - why?". Mechanically, the pull toward me as if to protect it. I kiss her head. With your free hand to take the remote and tune in on Rai Gulp. Terror leaves room for Tom & Jerry. Better, much better ...

The vision of Tigga and reading the newspapers these days, should be accompanied by a red dot. It is not recommended for minors and even the depressed (and we are many). It could be inferred that we live in a world of rapists, serial killers, mobsters hardened. And then bombers, mad with jealousy, kidnappers and molesters of minors. At the mercy of chaos and insecurity. Information as a whole, seems to be a testimonial to relentless vigilante pittbull payment and farms. But the security situation of today are not much different than those of any age, at least in this part of the world. It shows that the media is a giant amplifier of human obsessions. A catalyst of horrors, dementia, ugliness. It is useless to deny that any form of sweetening the news stinks regime of censorship.

But it is equally agglutinated apodictic that the information about the monstrous, the abnormal, painful to work as a system. "I'll show you the bad part of society and distract you from others, and perhaps most important, problems. Do not think the global crisis, the loss the work is not that little girl. This is the problem. The others are false problems: we take care to solve "this could be the retropensiero of Puppeteers. Explain the murder of a young girl took place a thousand miles away, after all, it's easier than explaining why there is poverty in the home. Easier and more profitable.

So increasingly, we are forced to look elsewhere for the truth. Turning off the television, for example. Or leaving the house and watching my grandmother that her grandchild by the hand. Or are you still watching the Senegalese and the native flying high-five. It is not difficult to find even the good news. Just want it. Just scan the course, now illegal, the common life ...

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news Crimes and Punishments

Me and my friend Brunin the landlord we think the same way. We tend to average civil and respectful of others' lives. We often find ourselves in agreement on issues that are meaningful rewards mollifying the patrons of the bar (okay, I'm Genoa player, he takes the bull, however, there is always a point of agreement).

But the other day, before a cabaret hot buns, I made him goggle. He failed to even finish the glass of which is Gutturnio Left, y final sad lonely on the counter of slate. I confessed to him that I support forced expulsion from national territory, with a mandatory stay in Senegal, Moldova and Western Sahara. It was a fatal blow to Brunin, as he's wrong.

is punctual. At 18.30 down from his SUV 4x4 Limited Edition, made by a very expensive German brand. Park in the middle of a narrow one-way street. Square four arrows and blocking traffic for a time ranging from 4 to 7 minutes. The tragedy is that that is the only route that I can go to get home. She, the driver of the semi half tracks, Bitch (so I call it, but I doubt that that is his real name) is dressed in leopard print complete, the legs are wrapped in pantyhose blacks flirtatious and sometimes wears hats. She made me change my mind on the Bossi-Fini.

I consider myself a thoughtful person. Before expressing an opinion so trenchant, I have documented. The Bitch could you need that car home, as an educator of a colony of infants in temporary conditions of poverty. But the only passenger who goes up on the Jeep No-limit is a child of a blonde washed by the apparent age of ten, branded from head to toe. The Stronzetta attending a singing course in a very expensive private school. I think for her, for Stronzetta, can be applied to the forced expulsion, and already I see myself in twenty years to block traffic on highway with his truck Td, never mind handsomely bells and whistles of the ozone hole and other accessories. DNA rarely wrong.

But none of this was enough for me to arrive at the conclusion to be drawn above. I thought that maybe the Bitch lives in a stone cottage situated in a particularly uncomfortable. I thought I was and hills, ponds and ravines. I thought at one stage of the Paris-Dakar route for that type of vehicle to travel one hundred meters consumes in a year what I use (my machine is powered methane). But the caterpillar will not crush even a grain of sand, has jumped by any atom of mud. The Bitch lives three hundred meters from the private school Stronzetta.

Sometimes the 4x4 limited edition also drops a poodle. Here, I would like to save dall'anatema. But at that level, I fear, that nobody can consider itself immune ...