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yoke which side are you? There is a crib in

"Why grow your hair?" asks, among other things Claudio Baglioni in his beautiful song a few years ago. Why grow a beard? - I wonder. It would rather avoid, even if several springs ago I tried to grow it with very little success on all fronts.
Over time I believe they are better off (in all senses) and the need to follow some simple rules on the management dell'indesiderato ordinary fleece.
Number one: do not ever get a beard in the afternoon, let alone in the evening (but this, perhaps, is normally shared by most of the hairy boys) to those hours of the day's beard is a lot more woody texture to wake up.
Number two: Do \u200b\u200bnot shave on the second day since the last, when the hair is too short and inflexible to be cut without the risk of annoying injuries, then choose The daily shaving, cutting the hairs just throws his head out and give him air until the third or fourth day.
Rule number three: to avoid as far as I'm concerned electric razor: especially in the neck I could hardly hope to get decent results considering the raw material.

short, understand that Mother Nature has run (or just my mother) has left me in a beard dowry among the most stubborn, hard to subdue, and that morning the condition of the undersigned, his face covered with gel foam in front of the bathroom mirror has nothing to do with the icons and the advertising industry, where the daffodils persuasive gesture dwarf sweet painters graceful in an attempt to settle the unbeatable under the last tetra-blade razor.

The point is that these blessed blades cost a fortune, so that it almost nearly ask for Christmas gift in a six-month basis gesubambino (it seems that Santa Claus does not know where to look for strut, just as it is accustomed to day work of the depilatory most of us mere mortals. Mal going, I will ask the whole concern, which at a guess it would seem some problems of hirsutism).
A pack of ten (razor blades, I mean) the other day I paid € sixteen and fifty. If you consider that the same blade can keep up with my beard combative for no longer than two rounds at the end of the month is a nice nest egg that goes to a looming of which - as mentioned - I would rather avoid.

Of course the manufacturers of these kinds of comfort, if only they wanted, they would know how to tear out the blade out of the hat indestructible, that proof indestructible beard. But in defiance of the half of mankind and to the delight of their CEOs continue to believe that it is much better to go ahead with the disposable. The alternative would be to go back to the old barber's razor, affiliated to the leather when it is necessary, but the idea of \u200b\u200bhaving to handle up areas so worries me a bit delicate.

So it goes without saying that the humble razor, especially these days, has become a valuable commodity. So that the shelves of supermarkets is now kept under lock and key in tough squared like shoplifting in order to avoid misappropriation.

And so, as the most patient cashier traffic not just to release the product packaging dall'ingombrante armor-robbers chases, the ATM by entering the code again I we recall the verses of a song I can not remember the title. The one where Frank Sinatra raises another question (but how many questions are the songs!) but this time decisive

"Which Side Are You?
're on the side of To Be A Superhero?
or who built them stealing? ".

Merry Christmas.

***

120-55 Queens Criminal Court

Christmas Island



is a few days ago the news of a boat over the rocks Australian island of Christmas Island, loaded to capacity with men , women and children allegedly coming from Afghanistan or Iraq. The island is only three hundred kilometers from the Indonesian coast, far enough to induce crowds of desperate groped to take off from war and misery.

is always the same sad story of people forced to sail to power, that told the terrifying images sent by a national news. Witnesses speak of yet unseaworthy vessels approaching the coast of Christmas Island staggering (and never was more ironic name!), While the stormy ocean does not care even for presence of children exhausted by seasickness .

I try to imagine the screams and terror in their eyes. I try to feel the petrifying fear in the hearts of fathers who have led them right there. I try to put myself in place of those mothers who cling hands and hopes. Finally, I try to see my son on that same boat, just before the timber comes apart against the cliff. I see him falling into the water, but I try to catch a wave higher sends him crashing into the rock and then hide it in my eyes.

Provo, yes. Because only this way I can begin to stand next to a less distracted this pain, tossed in a news story in a rough sea of \u200b\u200bso-called information. I want to stand in the shoes of those poor people who have dreams and needs quite equal to mine, to me very similar if not for the courage that only enormous hunger and too many tears can give to a man.

There is a Christmas crib Island, a crib for children forced to leave, for which once again he has not wanted to find a place in the hostel in the world. Children still poorer than that their illustrious contemporary Bethlehem, because the rock star dreams in the night did not hear quiet chants of mothers, but the furious cry of the sea. And the members do not numb the comfort of the breath of animals and good-natured friends, but the hostile wind and cold of the elements that seem to attract a miserable little boat on any kind of misfortune.

There is a crib in Christmas Island, an extreme crib and placed on the dark waters of a marine graveyard, another of all those scattered across the globe. No star comets to show the way of some way out, nor the heavens opened, the angels came to tout the glory of a God who seems to be here all except Almighty.

But then God got to do what? It is rather the injustice procured by men to turn into a death camp in what was originally the garden? Not the vortex of personal and collective selfishness, which have so firmly taken root everywhere, to determine the impoverishment of ever greater masses of people to her children? Where was God then? Always the same question resounds when men and women find themselves helpless in the face of pure evil in one way or another, have contributed to, in thoughts, works and omissions.
Where is God? In the midst of the storm, perhaps asleep, resting peacefully on the pillow at the stern.

Surely, if there is a God, he is on that boat in the middle of the crib tremendous.
who is "powerful only to love and from which nothing escapes his hand to what has been called into existence, it is certainly there, once again voted to perish with that perishes. And to show everyone, especially to children and the humble, from Christmas Island in this latitudes, the new heaven and new earth. That which was finally settled by the courts, where they live.

***

Etf Thailande, Malaisie, Vietnam

First Winter at the San mt 1682 - Winter in the 4/12/2010

not take much to decide the destination of today.

given the heavy snowfalls

wonderful day and decide to go and enjoy the sunset over Mount St.
first.

http://www.brezzadimonte.com/sanprimo.htm

Trust Driver Tb 3100 Windows 7

Grignone 2409mt - November 27, 2010 High Crossing

The abundant snow has fallen in recent days
legs and mood need of a long and arduous journey

to get up again. What better choice

that Grignone get on with Andrea?

http://www.brezzadimonte.com/grignone.htm