Which Holes Should I Use On My Snowboard?

New moms in SUV-stroller

I noticed that the carriages are slowly exaggerated. Perhaps it is the need to have more space for things, perhaps, the importance of competent child, maybe it's just a fashion package. Or has this syndrome SUV that all men and women, not content with more traditional measures but are constantly trying to increase the tonnage (and prowess) of objects deemed essential (Freud).

So, at this rate, to produce the machines for the handling of infants is no longer the grain, but the caterpillar. Strollers bigger and bigger spaces mean ever closer, ever more pressing family and impetuosity.

Scene, example, episode. Mothers slips and everywhere, just like you handle a jeep, pretending to go everywhere first. In library we have narrow lanes, there are cells left and right, and that customers are going, and who stop prevaricating in front of the shelves. Mother-rider, as a sidecar motorcycle of vertical s'intrufola, pushing and shouting until the road is made. Being a new mother firmly believes that the whole world is after her, that everything else has a lower amount. As during the sinking of any titanic (and there are far away). Okay so the reproduction of the species, it's good for the woman than the mother, the love is good for children but here, in this case, there is only one candidate idiocy at work.

Today the new mother was directed to the shelf of books on childcare. Building in the middle of the aisle, clinging to his SUV-stroller, grip the handles as the Red Baron a machine gun. He had already toppled two stacks of books, then picked up by a kind man, he had already hit a guy and pushed away a middle-aged woman, now unequivocally grandmother had already cried and please leave a voice arrogant and making their way to the sound of shots rigid bulkhead of his bandwagon, forcing it to stumble here and there, quiet buyers of books that floated away in small slices of the back covers.

He then confronted me on my knees, I was simply not working and I moved. Obstruction. I would kill him. To tell the truth, I did not hang him that I was passing. So he looked at me full of hate, as if I attack the dignity of his mother, his right of first refusal on anything. Take off, saying his eyes. Can not you see I have to go? Can not you see I have a future, a goal, a goal? Can not you see the result of the advance port?

The boy stared at me like I'm an ogre or a pediatrician. He was on the verge of tears one of those hysterical, minimal and artificial. Fortunately the second half was enough for me, I took standing and I am made of hand. God save the Queen. I have vacated the hall. Go, go, God bless you. The new mother ran off and parked in front of his half cookbooks, then dived into the shelf of Bibles maternity conscious and happy. I do not know what he wanted. Perhaps a good manual to pappa or going to sleep. Something that will teach, in detail, how to become a good and good mother for her child. Gilmore perfect for babies on the SUV.

paradox, hyperbole, contradictions.

Applebees Vinegarette

draft of history for children. The boy who wanted the dark.

Martin remembered the dark. It happened one night during a thunderstorm when lightning struck a large electrical substation and his country was immediately plunged into darkness. Suddenly everything was gone. There was no light one. And nothing works. Was not warming, was not television, not turned on the toaster. People roamed around the house with candles and making light from the windows could be seen here and there small lamps pale as ghosts. Around the world was dark. A dark soft like a blanket, a dark blue, with many variations of color. For Martin it was a very strange thing. He had a good look, that darkness, and decided that he liked. A few minutes later, however, had returned to the electric light. The normal life.

Since that day, Martin had wanted to see him, wanted to see the darkness. But Passariano years, and Martin became big, not too large, a child not yet grown man. Each time he remembers that business. Just go there, the electrical room. The big box that contained the light.

So one day he made the decision. One evening, after dinner, she left the house with her father's toolbox. The electrical room was plunged into silence, in an isolated place outside the country and there was nobody around. Martin opened the door and looked around. There were cables everywhere and machinery, levers and buttons. Without losing a moment's time he started to do that for which he came, he cut a thread here, then another there, whites and those blacks, red, blue and orange. Gradually, as they cut out the lights in the country disappeared. He died the church, disappeared the light of the hall, immediately after the whole square became dark. One after another, all the streets became dark. Then came the houses. A condominium here and a building there. As the lights went out one by one, little by little, darkness prevail over light. A few minutes later the whole country was wrapped in the cloak of incredible wonder no glare and no sparks.

Martin left the cabin. You could see the stars and the horizon sky a strange glow. In the distance though. Finally, he thought Martin. Here it is, a wonderful dark. It was enough to accustom your eyes and you could see the nuances. One can distinguish clearly the outlines of things: a tree, the road, the hill with the river behind.

At home, however, people thought it was a very strange thing, because there had been no storm. He complained that there was no light and why was not the television. But then, little by little, someone left the house to see, while others leaned out the windows and looked around.

- How nice! - Said the children - you see many most things!

The sky was a luminous sphere of stars and they could count un'infintà.

Martino, hidden behind a tree, and heard only the best comments and thought he did a nice gift to the entire country.

But shortly after he arrived, a van of the electricity. Dismounted and ran two workers inside the cabin. They began to work in a hurry, and while the cables repaired, the lights came back in the country.

A streetlight, the gas station, the house of the baker, pharmacy, and then workshop dell'Ortolano.

Martino could not do anything about it. His darkness was ending, indeed, had already finished. Once again disappeared into nothingness. Look at those white and yellow lights coming back to flatten forms, things and colors. And at every light he became sadder. In the end it took a few minutes, but the city returned to more normal, and people just went back in their homes. Returned to their chores, watching TV, shaving in the bathroom or kitchen for cooking. No one believed more in the dark, for better or for worse.

only Martin was thinking. He had seen for the second time in his life and for the second time was left speechless. The absolute dark, soft, infinite. The dark with nothing. Without not even a fly light to fly.

And from that moment dreamed that someday he would have discovered a faraway place, beautiful and without lights, where it would stay there in silence to enjoy it in peace. Alone. Whether in the end of the world, he said. Whether it be in Antarctica or in Oceania! Sooner or later I'll go. To review the dark. And so saying he went to his room, closed the window and turned off the light. This time for dreaming.

paradox, hyperbole, contradictions.

Why Is My Face Red And Hot After Eating

Antonyms

Ok, we try. It is not easy, in different ways. Quite a challenge.
Let's get on the mad bull.
topic: Hate, understood as a noun, Hate, understood in its verb form infinite.

The correct definition is the starting date and resume as a whole (in this post) from the dictionary Treccani (oil, on display at the Macro).
The encyclopedic dictionary par excellence defines this little word so used and abused like that feeling can be felt toward others or toward themselves.
The correct way to describe it is: hate or nurture hatred for someone or something, wishing evil.
For some obscure reason this blog more like the second way to land on the feeling or the fact that they feed him. For some reason, even more evil, we can imagine the hatred like a beautiful plant, with a huge flower, colorful, red, black with lots of tiny yellow dots, murderers.
A lovely plant, carnivorous, whose flower is basically a mouth that opens its petals soft and gives way to mouth vile and poisonous insects eat, eats men, poison dreams.
A flower that captivates, seduces and that calls from the wheat stem, wrap, then use that to tighten up the bone, to strangle, take your breath away, blurred vision and make his own. Moving petals, blown by the wind, giving life to a sweet melody, a call to the ears of poor human beings, or worse, for those who can not think, for those who allow themselves duped, for those who do not do the right questions at the right time, but are the wrong ones at the right time.
Usually, in real life, the fantasies of these silly and useless words never occur, then, these flowers take different forms, and recognize the flowers, hidden, it is not easy at all. We leave
charm and bite, let the poison enters into us, and euphoric and happy, waiting to take its long journey within us, making us believe that nothing, after the dose is so beautiful, so true, so worthy of being followed, well informed and respected.
Inevitably poison, finished his course, leaves us on the ground and the awakening is full of anger, hatred blood cousin.
Scored, we believe that this can pass, and as healthy carriers, we go around the city, bringing even lunch box.
We do not offer it. It is not polite.
hatred works in silence, hidden behind a corner, between the folds of the silk sheets in the drawers of memory, and the syllables in the breeze, the shade of the folds of our brain, how fast synapses, radiates and produces vicious circles, which is repeated like an echo infinite, resounds in the silence, remembering and repeating himself. Thin strip, and scratches and stings and torments never satiate us. Consumes us.
Become a tangible expression in small, lightning, you squeeze your eyes, stomach turns, fists close ready to attack, but liars just try to defend themselves.
There is no cure, there is no salvation, there is no air.
Perhaps envy, disappointment, disillusionment, and never got due respect, that perhaps the doctor would write, but do not know how to leave a proper medicine on that block that keeps on his desk in cherry wood. He, the doctor can do anything, when something measurable, something that he knows, something for which he has studied and knows the symptoms and healing methods, this occurs because the cold all in the same way, it is universal, as a way to send him away.
You can use the recipe, lighten it with a spray to the nose or milk and honey at night before going to sleep, but also the sweetest thing that nothing can anger against acid deposits in the bottom of the stomach.
Bile, damn green is the color of its tip.
You can try to vent, on a lot hanging in the room, on a sheet with a pencil on a white page with the pen, but his fists as the pencil and ink appear to have no end. More peaks, more designs, more writing and less seems to give relief. So you think it's time to stop and think that perhaps the strategy is wrong, perhaps this is not the cure, this is not the way to deal with them.
Try to use your head, you are rational, which often did you come to the aid will tell you something new, different and useful. The plays, in silence, you're in class, with very special teacher and maybe she'll whisper something was already a long time, accompanied, as the support teacher in a new room, one in which rationality is very important. Following the corridor that led you from the belly to the head, now return back, stopping midway and walked to the middle, in that room is called the heart, the generator of dreams, of adventures, love and hate.
Once in front of that door, the brain lets you enter, stay out, as Charon, gray mass that can only accompany you.
Now inside, across the river in that room, in front of your response can understand that the source of that hatred is only the reflection wrong, like the light in the water, its opposite, the ' love, expressed as well.
Amazed, you acknowledge that opposites sometimes in the excess, are adoptive brothers.
Think how many times you say you hate something or someone was the strongest manifestation of its opposite. How many times that "I hate you" thought or drawn with the lash out of the teeth, leaning against something or someone with a forked tongue would rather hide the most beautiful and felt otherwise.

Yeah, it happens.
And in this case we do?