<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690</id><updated>2011-07-08T05:51:50.352+02:00</updated><category term='youtube video'/><title type='text'>South Spark</title><subtitle type='html'>Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>88</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-1558253819893340300</id><published>2010-08-10T18:18:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2010-08-10T18:37:08.508+02:00</updated><title type='text'>chronicles of a mission (im)possible</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Getting back in a good shape is one of my current projects. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, today I decided to go jogging. Before that, I read on a women's magazine: "If you return jogging after a break, you may feel OK while running, but if you overdo things, you're likely to feel the effects later. So, when you return to running after a break, always build up again slowly". "bullshit!" I thought. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Well, I have never been so wrong. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;While getting out of home, I was feeling very good. Of course: the first 200m are downhill. But then the road starts to get just flat and there I started to calculate: I have been practically 2 years without ANY exercise. TWO YEARS! MAMMA MIA!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;More than jogging, in fact, I have been walking and trying to run. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;During one of the moment of weakness a gang of 3  kids passed me with their bikes and slapped my fat bum. I think that was not the most encouraging thing to come across, but...whatever! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;After this lovely beginnig, I headed home. And the iPod decided to tease me! Among the shuffle songs, why did it have to pick the soundtrack of "mission impossible"???? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Perhaps the magazine was right, but I just hope I'm not "feeling the effects later".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-1558253819893340300?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/1558253819893340300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=1558253819893340300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1558253819893340300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1558253819893340300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2010/08/chronicles-of-mission-impossible.html' title='chronicles of a mission (im)possible'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5601598435388510706</id><published>2010-08-08T20:55:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T21:07:11.605+02:00</updated><title type='text'>ALMOST BACK</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;See???&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm back. Of course in this precious hour I should do some homework, but that's a minor detail. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm soon back to school, back to work. Damn, I hardly remember how to use my computer! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;But it was worth it. M. is a wonderful son. A sunshine. And being his mother is the most amazing experience I could ever have. Now he walks. He points at interesting things saying: "GADDA", meaning "LOOK"..and he HUGS. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;All of this - with the digression- is to say that I'll work with a computer and every now and then I will find some time to amuse myself and hopefully somebody else with my everyday life adventures. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm now (officially from sept.7, but I have to be mentally prepared) a lousy PhD student that tries to be a good mom for a wonderful boy. However, I'm always the same messy person. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5601598435388510706?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5601598435388510706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5601598435388510706' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5601598435388510706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5601598435388510706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2010/08/almost-back.html' title='ALMOST BACK'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-787961828475843732</id><published>2009-05-23T21:24:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-05-23T22:03:35.174+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Maternity</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Master thesis: done&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Dissertation of the thesis: done&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;GRE test: completed&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;PhD application: handed in (and now finger crossed!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And what now: painting home, baking cookies, searching for antenatal classes in english, going shopping for baby stuff, studying finnish, reading newspapers, writing to friends....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My belly grows and grows. There are just a couple of months left. It feels heavy and huge, but it looks rather pretty. The best part is when the inhabitant wants to communicate or simply moves within the boundaries.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I get tired quite easily and I sleep as often as my mam's dog (a very lazy one). I have a hunch that it's good to enjoy some holiday now, since soon there is going to be a lot to do! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;However, it is quite weird to have so much spare time. In my rush, I have always made the tyres screech, with no time to rest or relax. Now that I can sit one hour at a terrace sipping a hot chocolate and reading the Economist, I get drunk of relaxing vibrations. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;No exams to do, no hurry to get a book from the library, no concerns about the stupidity or perfidity of certain people. Freedom? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Somebody say pregnant women are beautiful. In my case, I guess it is just that life has never been more relaxed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-787961828475843732?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/787961828475843732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=787961828475843732' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/787961828475843732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/787961828475843732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2009/05/maternity.html' title='Maternity'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4197416716713294195</id><published>2009-04-07T12:38:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T12:46:05.829+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Puhutko suomea?</title><content type='html'>I'm studying some finnish.&lt;br /&gt;Funny to see that just by changing the length of a vowel you can say "I kill you" instead of "I wait you".&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, I try my best, but even in cafés most of the times I get the answer in english. Apparently I'm not a chameleon - yet-.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4197416716713294195?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4197416716713294195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4197416716713294195' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4197416716713294195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4197416716713294195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2009/04/puhutko-suomea.html' title='Puhutko suomea?'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3581652729250763395</id><published>2009-03-21T19:12:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-03-21T19:20:11.043+01:00</updated><title type='text'>spring feelings</title><content type='html'>March 21&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;st&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;First day of spring.&lt;br /&gt;Blossoms, sunshine and a clear sky.&lt;br /&gt;Pictures of you, The Cure.&lt;br /&gt;Shy daffodils come out. Nature wakes up and makes everyone feel so light and soft.&lt;br /&gt;It's the start of a new life, of something beautiful, again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3581652729250763395?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3581652729250763395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3581652729250763395' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3581652729250763395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3581652729250763395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2009/03/spring-feelings.html' title='spring feelings'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8306747315412162735</id><published>2009-03-06T15:43:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-03-06T16:14:37.333+01:00</updated><title type='text'>stealing toilets</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I still have to get used to live in a peaceful and safe country. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It does not seem real to drive in a smooth, silent and gentle traffic. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When I'm in the metro stations I still have the natural instinct of checking my purse to be sure that my wallet is still there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Today I was at the supermarket and I had to take the shopping cart. Automatically, I put just 50 cents in it. Why? Of course, because if somebody "stole" it, I would have lost just 50 cents and not 2 euros. Then I realized I don't live in Italy anymore. Nobody here steals shopping carts. But if I was in Italy, my precaution would have probably been right. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://corrieredelmezzogiorno.corriere.it/napoli/notizie/cronaca/2009/6-marzo-2009/metro-installati-anche-wc-antifurto--1501063028941.shtml"&gt;In fact, somebody steals even TOILETS&lt;/a&gt;! It happened in the metro stations of Naples. People dressed up as plumbers were staging a sort of Oceans Eleven in order to steal toilet bowls. I'm just wondering: what did they do with the plunder? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8306747315412162735?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8306747315412162735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8306747315412162735' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8306747315412162735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8306747315412162735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2009/03/stealing-toilets.html' title='stealing toilets'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5923386989193942565</id><published>2009-03-04T08:11:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T08:50:04.819+01:00</updated><title type='text'>some crumbs of the journey</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Despite the anxiety of my grandma, we made it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The car reminded those fully loaded lorries that travel from Sicily to Lombardy with all sorts of mediterranean delicacies. However, when looking inside the car, instead of spotting oranges and tangerines, you could see huge transparent plastic bags, saying "SERVIZIO IGIENE URBANA, RACCOLTA SECCO&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;" full of underpants, socks and other underwear material. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;After getting away from the italian cahotic traffic and from the german smooth mororways, we shored in the lovely fairy land that is Denmark for a couple of bucolic moments. There, we stopped in a town whose name made us think somehow of a candy and, with a lot of expectations, we tried to find a place for lunch. Of course we found just a greek pizzeria and an irish pub. Same amount of good luck in Stockholm, while waiting for the ship. The only places open for lunch were a kebab-pizza fast food and a fake japanese sushi bar. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And of course, once in Helsinki, we had a good dish of Italian pasta ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;* I didn't have any better bag than those huge garbage ones for the "dry waste"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5923386989193942565?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5923386989193942565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5923386989193942565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5923386989193942565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5923386989193942565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2009/03/some-crumbs-of-journey.html' title='some crumbs of the journey'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-124402492699557768</id><published>2009-02-01T14:35:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T14:41:28.696+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll be back</title><content type='html'>From the email of a really good friend of mine:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[...]&lt;br /&gt;"how is going? did you move to helsinki? you are really crazy girl ;))&lt;br /&gt;i miss you too much!&lt;br /&gt;take care my lovely friend"&lt;br /&gt;[...]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crazy girl is moving, and she is just so busy that now she does not have time to breath. She promises that she is going to come back to this blog in a month. Let her arrange her life.&lt;br /&gt;Soon she's back with new, fresh adventures ;)&lt;br /&gt;ciao!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-124402492699557768?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/124402492699557768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=124402492699557768' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/124402492699557768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/124402492699557768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2009/02/ill-be-back.html' title='I&apos;ll be back'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6715857227533733105</id><published>2009-01-11T17:46:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T17:48:24.084+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Italy vs Finland</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SWoirJI9D2I/AAAAAAAAAIo/mCrdeiZq8As/s1600-h/ikeatavolo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290078836883263330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 243px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SWoirJI9D2I/AAAAAAAAAIo/mCrdeiZq8As/s400/ikeatavolo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6715857227533733105?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6715857227533733105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6715857227533733105' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6715857227533733105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6715857227533733105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2009/01/italy-vs-finland.html' title='Italy vs Finland'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SWoirJI9D2I/AAAAAAAAAIo/mCrdeiZq8As/s72-c/ikeatavolo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8258428634000881364</id><published>2009-01-04T20:27:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T20:32:07.343+01:00</updated><title type='text'>frozen spits</title><content type='html'>funny when outside is -10 or -20.&lt;br /&gt;If sea and lakes get frozen, imagine what happens when people spit on the pavements.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How disgusting, you just stepped on someone's puke!"&lt;br /&gt;"Really?! But my shoe is clean"&lt;br /&gt;"Well, it was frozen."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8258428634000881364?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8258428634000881364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8258428634000881364' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8258428634000881364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8258428634000881364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2009/01/frozen-spits.html' title='frozen spits'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8890441178508066927</id><published>2008-11-16T21:16:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T21:26:06.190+01:00</updated><title type='text'>(some) women at home</title><content type='html'>I have always been wondering why most of the men like despotic women and end up marrying them. I mean: how can they be totally dominated by somebody that unrelentingly gives orders?&lt;br /&gt;I first thought it was a matter of excuses. It is always credible for them to say that they can't go somewhere with friends just because their women do not want. It is always easy for them to say: "hey, we cannot come cus my wife is tired". So, I have always thought that men enjoy beeing victims.&lt;br /&gt;However, there is another explanation, which is much simpler. Men miss their moms, so they need somebody to tell them what to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8890441178508066927?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8890441178508066927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8890441178508066927' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8890441178508066927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8890441178508066927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/11/some-women-at-home.html' title='(some) women at home'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8799530459407981483</id><published>2008-11-12T18:00:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T12:03:39.994+01:00</updated><title type='text'>cars and owners</title><content type='html'>Have you ever noticed that dogs always look and behave like their owners? Well, another natural association I made recently is about cars and owners in Italy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Generally, who is the owner of a Mercedes Class A? A woman of any age, that generally thinks that the driving mirror is really useful if used to check the status of her make up. A woman for whom it takes 20 minutes to park the car in a place where a truck would fit. A woman unaware of traffic and roundabouts: a woman that can't drive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smart! Yuhu! Smart-car is practical if you live in big cities. In the town where I live, smart is used by "wanna be cool" people who think that the dimensions of their vehicle allows them to be pirates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mini: any student of business who uses a little amount of fantasy for choosing clothes and ends up beeing like all the other stereotipical Bocconians: jeans, Gucci shoes, Tommy or Ralph shirt, Fred Perry jumper and probably Dolce&amp;amp;Gabbana underwear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The SUVs like the BMW X5: people that need to feel important and need to be noticed. Generally short women or men with a small device in their pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday an idiot with a Mini bumped into my car. Guess what he looked like!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8799530459407981483?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8799530459407981483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8799530459407981483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8799530459407981483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8799530459407981483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/11/cars-and-owners.html' title='cars and owners'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-882455937695206427</id><published>2008-10-24T13:15:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T13:34:51.396+02:00</updated><title type='text'>my new friends</title><content type='html'>"do italian archers just shoot? I mean, is it their job?"&lt;br /&gt;"yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guys that shoot for the finnish national team go shooting at 6 in the morning. At 8 they have to leave to go to work - the real one.&lt;br /&gt;After work they go again shooting, helping eachother with the training.&lt;br /&gt;"I have worked myself on my technique" explains one. He must be proud: his shot is beautiful to see and his results are excellent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It must be difficult to be an analyst or an auditor during the day and a good archer during the night. But passion gives strength.  And it makes dreams come true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-882455937695206427?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/882455937695206427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=882455937695206427' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/882455937695206427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/882455937695206427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-new-friends.html' title='my new friends'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-1367890580227824930</id><published>2008-10-10T18:41:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T18:56:32.736+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I absolutely love cooking. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It feels like preparing a potion or like making art. I especially like to use colours: sometimes there is some yellow missing or sometimes some green would fit with the rest of the ingredients. Today I made an onion pie. I happened to put red, yellow, green and white. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it must have been smelling good, since SOMEBODY got interested: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255567780460794466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SO-HDRdakmI/AAAAAAAAAGU/ALMnIGpRog4/s320/Immag015.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-1367890580227824930?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/1367890580227824930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=1367890580227824930' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1367890580227824930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1367890580227824930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-absolutely-love-cooking.html' title=''/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SO-HDRdakmI/AAAAAAAAAGU/ALMnIGpRog4/s72-c/Immag015.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8375195313377171453</id><published>2008-10-08T20:28:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T20:42:00.439+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The meaning of the yellow traffic light (in Milan)</title><content type='html'>Hei dude, make the tyres screech and go!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8375195313377171453?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8375195313377171453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8375195313377171453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8375195313377171453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8375195313377171453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/10/meaning-of-yellow-traffic-light-in.html' title='The meaning of the yellow traffic light (in Milan)'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3954225344049066951</id><published>2008-10-07T21:36:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T10:12:45.062+02:00</updated><title type='text'>While looking at the moon, it can happen to stumble over a pebble</title><content type='html'>I still can't believe that I am finishing university. It sounds weird. It sounds as if I am finally going to become an adult. It feels like jumping into something you don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="120"&gt;[....]&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Water, water, every where,&lt;br /&gt;And all the boards did shrink ;&lt;br /&gt;Water, water, every where&lt;br /&gt;[....]&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*S. T. Coleridge&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Questions questions everywhere! And everything feels dipped in uncertainty, in a moist of dreams.&lt;br /&gt;Is this fear of growing adult? I guess sometimes things sound more complicated than what they really are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3954225344049066951?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3954225344049066951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3954225344049066951' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3954225344049066951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3954225344049066951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/10/aiming-at-moon-it-can-happen-to-stumble.html' title='While looking at the moon, it can happen to stumble over a pebble'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-1712984373730599260</id><published>2008-09-29T19:48:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T19:56:52.934+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Another home.</title><content type='html'>It is funny to realize that I know Helsinki better than Milano.&lt;br /&gt;It has been nice to go to my former workplace and meet everyone there, go to my favourite shops and realising that people there start to know me and welcome me with a warm finnish smile. In the metro, I just read my book and realize that I don't need to pay attention at the names of the stations: I just go out automatically. I'm not feeling too cold and tomorrow I'm seeing a friend for lunch. The first friend I have made here, who has not seen me for 3 months but that has started to jump towards me when she realized it was me who rang the doorbell.&lt;br /&gt;In the supermarkets, I know what is the brand of toilet paper or of detergent that I need to buy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does this all mean that I am ready to call this place home?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-1712984373730599260?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/1712984373730599260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=1712984373730599260' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1712984373730599260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1712984373730599260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/another-home.html' title='Another home.'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5607064308652814423</id><published>2008-09-28T22:12:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T22:15:26.041+02:00</updated><title type='text'>colorful death</title><content type='html'>Orange and yellow and red and green and brown and blue. I love this explosion of colors. I love the autumn in Finland.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5607064308652814423?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5607064308652814423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5607064308652814423' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5607064308652814423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5607064308652814423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/death-is-so-colorful.html' title='colorful death'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8362334007420101784</id><published>2008-09-21T21:58:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T22:06:58.794+02:00</updated><title type='text'>P.S.:</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNapWXdGr_I/AAAAAAAAAGM/HtPolGP7DDc/s1600-h/2JQG6CAB71QHWCAI2HL55CANTQYKLCAR73P1ECANL1KMICABLPT8TCAINF4GRCA8OSY4OCAN49ITJCAUXMJ89CAO4OEJ0CAQ1HAU8CAMNLAT3CA2PMD82CA81QM5WCAXBBNEBCAW04G1RCAK5OBX0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNapWXdGr_I/AAAAAAAAAGM/HtPolGP7DDc/s400/2JQG6CAB71QHWCAI2HL55CANTQYKLCAR73P1ECANL1KMICABLPT8TCAINF4GRCA8OSY4OCAN49ITJCAUXMJ89CAO4OEJ0CAQ1HAU8CAMNLAT3CA2PMD82CA81QM5WCAXBBNEBCAW04G1RCAK5OBX0.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248568617465196530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;soon departing to Helsinki.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8362334007420101784?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8362334007420101784/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8362334007420101784' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8362334007420101784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8362334007420101784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/ps.html' title='P.S.:'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNapWXdGr_I/AAAAAAAAAGM/HtPolGP7DDc/s72-c/2JQG6CAB71QHWCAI2HL55CANTQYKLCAR73P1ECANL1KMICABLPT8TCAINF4GRCA8OSY4OCAN49ITJCAUXMJ89CAO4OEJ0CAQ1HAU8CAMNLAT3CA2PMD82CA81QM5WCAXBBNEBCAW04G1RCAK5OBX0.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3741564789743954167</id><published>2008-09-21T21:31:00.011+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T22:12:07.417+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Bye bye, summertime!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNaj7wPU_YI/AAAAAAAAAF8/WO0dNRX-grU/s1600-h/19097_01_253_x.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248562427709911746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNajuE0ccsI/AAAAAAAAAFs/opxLazbbSUQ/s320/18893_01_253_x.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3741564789743954167?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3741564789743954167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3741564789743954167' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3741564789743954167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3741564789743954167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/bye-bye-summertime.html' title='Bye bye, summertime!'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNajuE0ccsI/AAAAAAAAAFs/opxLazbbSUQ/s72-c/18893_01_253_x.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4771554657075639168</id><published>2008-09-19T21:28:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T21:34:57.523+02:00</updated><title type='text'>anal_deriv.m</title><content type='html'>was the name a researcher gave for a Matlab toolkit. According to her, &lt;br /&gt;"This program computes analytical first and second (if approx=2) derivatives of the function f(yp,y,xp,x) with respect to x, y, xp, and yp."&lt;br /&gt;But I had to think 10000 times before opening the file: at first it sounded quite nasty.&lt;br /&gt;Do you think she has done it on purpose?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4771554657075639168?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4771554657075639168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4771554657075639168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4771554657075639168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4771554657075639168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/analderivm.html' title='anal_deriv.m'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4551879355002586246</id><published>2008-09-18T10:21:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T10:37:37.069+02:00</updated><title type='text'>How much I pollute when I commute</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNITBezTq9I/AAAAAAAAAE0/0dheghG7BRI/s1600-h/finnair.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247277432009108434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNITBezTq9I/AAAAAAAAAE0/0dheghG7BRI/s400/finnair.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4551879355002586246?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4551879355002586246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4551879355002586246' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4551879355002586246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4551879355002586246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/how-much-i-pollute-when-i-commute.html' title='How much I pollute when I commute'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SNITBezTq9I/AAAAAAAAAE0/0dheghG7BRI/s72-c/finnair.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3164861794727454419</id><published>2008-09-14T21:57:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T22:17:40.520+02:00</updated><title type='text'>facebook miracles</title><content type='html'>"NOOOO!!! Is that really you???"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi old betsy, whassup? I haven't seen you for ten years!" "I wonder if you have a boyfriend now. No, it can't be, you are so crazy that nobody could stand you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These and other messages cropped out from my facebook page. Besides being happy of being in touch with people I did not see for ages, I become aware of the fact that I'm becoming old. We sound so much like grannies when we say that we didnt see for ten years. But still it's good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3164861794727454419?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3164861794727454419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3164861794727454419' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3164861794727454419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3164861794727454419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/facebook-miracles.html' title='facebook miracles'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3356879794047361129</id><published>2008-09-13T15:51:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-13T16:21:08.041+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Why do dogs like to pee on car tyres?</title><content type='html'>At least, my dog finds it irresistible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why every time I carry an umbrella, the sun starts to shine? The bigger and the most unconvenient the umbrella is, the brightes the sun is. Seriously, I have noticed that the events carrying the umbrella and sun shining are correlated. Is there a causality? Well, I start to suspect so!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another inexplicable correlation is the following: when I go out in a rush, without make up and with the most random combinaiton of clothes, I happen to meet someone that does not know the "messy side" of me. Some days ago, with my hair full of stains of paint (we have painted the house) I meet one of my uni professors, that recognised me and even stopped for a chat.&lt;br /&gt;Of course when I happen to be tidy and pretty, I meet nobody.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How the hell can horses jump and fart at the same time? Or run and shit? Fortunately, I don't do horseriding, otherwise my horse would end up to be really nasty in every competition. (considering that my dog has the amazing ability of understanding how to spite me whenever I happen to be barefoot in the garden).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3356879794047361129?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3356879794047361129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3356879794047361129' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3356879794047361129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3356879794047361129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/why-do-dogs-like-to-pee-on-car-tyres.html' title='Why do dogs like to pee on car tyres?'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6951647697491152965</id><published>2008-09-12T23:20:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T23:23:17.945+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrud_Gilberto"&gt;Quiet night of quiet stars.&lt;br /&gt;Quiet voice from  my guitar&lt;br /&gt;Floating on the silence&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quiet thoughts of quiet dreams&lt;br /&gt;This is where I want to be&lt;br /&gt;here with you so close to me&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I stay to long in a place, melancholy starts to take a shape.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6951647697491152965?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6951647697491152965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6951647697491152965' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6951647697491152965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6951647697491152965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/quiet-night-of-quiet-stars.html' title=''/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3234427555940302024</id><published>2008-09-08T16:53:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T17:17:30.739+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Break a leg!</title><content type='html'>The job of a friend of mine is to ride horses. She has competitions every weekend, and at each competition she rides seven horses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of months ago she had an accident during a competition: she fell before a hurdle. In the ambulance, she was trying to convince the nurses that she wanted to ride the last horse, but they did not let her go. The leg was broken and they brought her to the hospital.&lt;br /&gt;There, after some time, they put her a plaster and then she was ready to go away: she was wearing the posh white shirt for competitions, the black jacket, one boot and...a thong. The trousers remained in the ambulance!&lt;br /&gt;She then smuggled a piece of green-hospital sheet and used it as a pareo and went home by taxi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No wonder I miss my friends when I'm away: they are quite entertaining.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3234427555940302024?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3234427555940302024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3234427555940302024' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3234427555940302024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3234427555940302024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/break-leg.html' title='Break a leg!'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4277766988805560787</id><published>2008-09-07T20:53:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T20:53:54.443+02:00</updated><title type='text'>enough</title><content type='html'>Pudgy, short, bald. At a first glance, &lt;a href="http://www.jiakom.com/binn/home.htm"&gt;my father &lt;/a&gt;looks a bit like Mussolini. &lt;br /&gt;When you get to know him a bit, then you realize he really is a little &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mengistu_Haile_Mariam"&gt;Mengistu&lt;/a&gt; .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My best friend remembers when we were kids and the little Mengistu did not allow me to go and play or study at her place because he didn't like the idea that I could have some fun with her and, in that way, waste time. He didn't want to bring me to parties because it was a waste of time. In the rare occasions in which I was exceptionally free of going somewhere, I had a curfew that you would normally give to 5 years old kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I could finally have some freedom when I started to shoot arrows seriously. I thought I could have just disregarded his harsh comments and listen just to my coach. I was wrong.&lt;br /&gt;Not only he was insulting me heavily during competitions, but he even left me in Baselga di Piné (300 km from here) as a punishment because I did not have a good score.&lt;br /&gt;He managed to argue with everyone that was trying to make him stop treating me like that.&lt;br /&gt;As a resutl, I started to loose hair and to get full of red spots on my skin, due to stress.&lt;br /&gt;When I won a silver medal at the European championships (he could not come as a spectator!) he called me asking why the hell I was not able to get the precious gold. I was anyways happy about my result and since he was not there I enjoyed really much the celebrations with my friends, but that is another story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I finally got the drivers licence, I could decide a bit more about my destiny. I thought that the only thing I could do well without his interference, was studying and doing well at school. The last year of highscool I took the painful decision of quitting archery and to devote my time to learning things that where taught in school.&lt;br /&gt;He was too busy in flirting with teenagers and other women to realize I was finally doing what I wanted. I caught him, several times. When my mother discovered everything, he left. He went to live with a girl that is my age. He told me he was leaving when I was under the shower. Whas he afraid of my reaction? Chicken!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last news is this: now that he cannot control my life anymore, he is asking me what is the reason why I study, because it would be better for me to be a plumber.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am just bored of being asked why I don't shoot anymore and why I never talk about my father. I hope I satisfy your curiosity.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4277766988805560787?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4277766988805560787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4277766988805560787' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4277766988805560787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4277766988805560787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/enough.html' title='enough'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6443762143050250508</id><published>2008-09-03T18:31:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T19:03:34.780+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Snake in the grass?</title><content type='html'>I went to the golf course 2 times in 3 days. I feel guilty: my bow is probably crying in the cellar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: Now that I tried both, I can say that Golf is much easier than Archery. I still prefer shooting arrows...afterall I'm not a traitor. (?)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6443762143050250508?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6443762143050250508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6443762143050250508' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6443762143050250508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6443762143050250508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/snake-in-grass.html' title='Snake in the grass?'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6599866444948420806</id><published>2008-09-03T00:20:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T00:21:11.667+02:00</updated><title type='text'>revival</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Some friendships are rare, some are unique. Despite living in two different towns 650 km from each other for 5 years, R and I are still best friends.&lt;br /&gt;And today we managed to spend a day together, remembering when we were eating cherries from the tree and then having a competition on throwing the cherry stones in a small hole that there was in the window of the neighbor.  The hole is still there, as well as the neighbor.  We were having fun with small things.&lt;br /&gt;We were always playing outside and in class we used to play with erasers: it was nice to build hurdles with pens and pencils and then make the rubbers jump them. When the teachers discovered how we were spending time in class, they didn’t allow us to seat next to each other anymore.&lt;br /&gt;She was the only one with whom I liked to play with Barbie. She had many of them and we liked making clothes with whatever we happened to find.&lt;br /&gt;We talk almost every day on the phone. We always have so many things to say that we manage to talk for a good hour.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third year of elementary school: a new girl came to our class. Nobody wanted to play with her because she was from south. I have never cared about the opinions of my classmates, always teasing me for my round shape and basing all their criticisms on prejudices. Children are mean. (Sometimes really mean.) I just asked her to come and play with me after school. She was cool. She became my best friend. And she has been my best friend for 16 years. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6599866444948420806?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6599866444948420806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6599866444948420806' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6599866444948420806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6599866444948420806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/09/revival.html' title='revival'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-7434535803701456128</id><published>2008-08-29T21:08:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-29T21:13:05.487+02:00</updated><title type='text'>OLCELLA FOLK PARTY</title><content type='html'>-May I bring my dog there? Anyways it is an outdoor folk party, I think he will not bother anybody. I will tather him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-well, you could, but I hope he is not going to run after the geese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-7434535803701456128?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/7434535803701456128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=7434535803701456128' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7434535803701456128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7434535803701456128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/olcella-folk-party.html' title='OLCELLA FOLK PARTY'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4532701448360899117</id><published>2008-08-25T21:16:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T21:44:31.764+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Hidden Treasures</title><content type='html'>Sometimes, even for a messy person, tiding up becomes a necessity. Sometimes, the necessity becomes fun and you end up discovering things that you didn't know you had.&lt;br /&gt;I found, in our library, many old books including:&lt;br /&gt;-my grandpa's french schoolbook&lt;br /&gt;-a book of economic policy written by Pareto, in a copy dated 1909&lt;br /&gt;-a catalogue of chickens (1912)&lt;br /&gt;-a cookbook (1919) in which there are recepies on how to cook grasshoppers! (Cucina Italiana!)&lt;br /&gt;WOW!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and the artist's drawings and sketches take a third dimension. Sweetness with hard cover.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4532701448360899117?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4532701448360899117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4532701448360899117' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4532701448360899117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4532701448360899117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/hidden-treasures.html' title='Hidden Treasures'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-361933113820497045</id><published>2008-08-19T08:17:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T08:27:59.273+02:00</updated><title type='text'>post graduate trip</title><content type='html'>- my friends from uni and I are thinking of going for a long trip after discussing our thesis.&lt;br /&gt;-oh, really?! where are you thinking of going?&lt;br /&gt;-well, so far there have been several proposals. For example, one of us has been thinking of going to Australia, another to India..&lt;br /&gt;-sounds nice. Have you also been thinking of going to south America?&lt;br /&gt;-of course. Somebody has being trying to convince the others to go to Colombia, but we all have been wondering about the safety, you know.. Then the last proposal consinsts of taking the trans-Siberian and...&lt;br /&gt;-well, I knew that you guys that study Economics and Social Sciences are a bit communist!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-361933113820497045?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/361933113820497045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=361933113820497045' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/361933113820497045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/361933113820497045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/post-graduate-trip.html' title='post graduate trip'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3572756338385388382</id><published>2008-08-18T20:47:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T21:39:29.838+02:00</updated><title type='text'>"age of steam"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerry_Mulligan"&gt;all the morning in my hears&lt;/a&gt;. My shoes soles are complaing for the kilometers I make them walk with me.&lt;br /&gt;Funny day today. First, when getting out of home, I could not find the tram stop where I usually took number 3T/3B. Am I blind? Or has the stop been removed? I must admit that I was quite dazed and confused, this morning.&lt;br /&gt;Walking around, downtown and noticing small changes, a new bakery, a new shop. But somewhere else, the same faces or the same corners give a good vibe to the nostalgic me.&lt;br /&gt;Helsinki sometimes feels like a second home. Today it did.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3572756338385388382?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerry_Mulligan' title='&quot;age of steam&quot;'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3572756338385388382/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3572756338385388382' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3572756338385388382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3572756338385388382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/age-of-steam.html' title='&quot;age of steam&quot;'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-218369769392685892</id><published>2008-08-12T16:01:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T16:25:03.920+02:00</updated><title type='text'>superstars!!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>It is always nice to watch the olympics, but it is fantstic when you have friends that participate. Four years ago, during Athens 2004, I was in an hotel room in Japan and when I swithced the TV on (one of those rare occasions in which I watch tv) I saw my friend Marco shooting in the final for the gold medal. He won the olympics!&lt;br /&gt;Now I am in Connecticut, whithout Tv, but with &lt;a href="www.archery.org"&gt;Interne&lt;/a&gt;t...and I see that my friends MARCO, MAURO &amp;amp; ILARIO won the silver medal in team!!!!!!! Marco has been for me the mate of 1000 adventures during junior cups, world and european championships. We started by winning the Mikey Mouse national trophee in 1996. Now: he won already a gold and a silver at the olympics and I have quitted. Ilario has been a sort of spiritual father during the competitions with the senior team. He is the eldest of the team, but the craziest. This is his 6th olympic game. Iremember him totally drunk of KOFF after winning the european championships in OULU. I hope Beijing will be a cause of celebration for him also in the next days!&lt;br /&gt;And Mauro, the youngest...During my last year in the junior team he was the youngest and he has been my spiritual son. I am so happy that his first olympics have been a success!!!&lt;br /&gt;GRANDI RAGAZZI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pictures on www.archery.org or www.corriere.it&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-218369769392685892?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/218369769392685892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=218369769392685892' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/218369769392685892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/218369769392685892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/superstars.html' title='superstars!!!!!!!'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-1861050065930593755</id><published>2008-08-11T04:22:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T04:32:43.793+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Lyme</title><content type='html'>Quite a cute name for a tiny old village. I would say it reminds more of a lime custard cake than of an old lyme. It is sweet being here.&lt;br /&gt;Before leaving, I would like to climb on one of the secular trees than inhabit the garden of the mansion where we are staying and read a book up there, maybe with a glass of wine and a panino al salame. I could read the book we found in one of the countless used-book-store we visited: Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day after tomorrow is time to leave the US. I wish we could stay, from the arrows far away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-1861050065930593755?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/1861050065930593755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=1861050065930593755' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1861050065930593755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1861050065930593755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/old-lyme.html' title='Old Lyme'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3933989099101557373</id><published>2008-08-08T17:08:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T17:15:35.010+02:00</updated><title type='text'>on the road again</title><content type='html'>New York was absolutely fantastic. The last evening there consisted in a picnic and a movie at Bryant park, followed by a short walk in broadway.&lt;br /&gt;Then Boston. Quite pretty. We stopped in Cambridge to see how Harvard and MIT look. Not quite like Disneyworld, but nice. Now heading to Cape Cod and Old Lyme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversation after eating a greasy Hamburger:&lt;br /&gt;-I feel so bad, I have a horrible Nausea!&lt;br /&gt;-Are you pregnant?&lt;br /&gt;-I don´t think so.&lt;br /&gt;-well, I could have a beer.&lt;br /&gt;- ....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3933989099101557373?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3933989099101557373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3933989099101557373' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3933989099101557373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3933989099101557373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/on-road-again.html' title='on the road again'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-2725415864815850021</id><published>2008-08-03T16:31:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T16:39:17.801+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I LOVE NY</title><content type='html'>NY is great and New Yorkers are fantastic. A guy insisted to guide us in the Grand Central Terminal railway station just because he liked us.&lt;br /&gt;It would be great to live here. Maybe in Brooklyn!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing that has a perverse effect on my intestine is the coffee, that in that sense is like the finnish coffee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-2725415864815850021?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/2725415864815850021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=2725415864815850021' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2725415864815850021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2725415864815850021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-love-ny.html' title='I LOVE NY'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4335853979255522726</id><published>2008-08-01T17:11:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T17:22:48.150+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The sunshine state</title><content type='html'>Fort Lauderdale Airport, waiting for the boarding for our NY plane.&lt;br /&gt;So far, adventres include:&lt;br /&gt;-getting tanned and releasing a baby sea turtle found at the beach&lt;br /&gt;-getting burned and using a FOILLE lotion that expired in 1989&lt;br /&gt;-trying rock n roll roller coasters and towers of terror at DisneyWorld&lt;br /&gt;-staying in a hotel called GAYLORD&lt;br /&gt;-meeting a finnish cousin turned into a redneck, that has two sweet daughters that want to play with me and show me how cute their dog and cat are&lt;br /&gt;-meeting cheerful people&lt;br /&gt;-driving on endless highways&lt;br /&gt;-trying the launch simulator at the Kennedy Space Center&lt;br /&gt;-teasing my boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;-teasing my mom and her boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;-feeding squirrels in the garden&lt;br /&gt;-baking scones&lt;br /&gt;-shopping and spending 1 hour and 35 minutes at the Abercrombie store&lt;br /&gt;Time to go now, next adventures available in New York City&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4335853979255522726?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4335853979255522726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4335853979255522726' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4335853979255522726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4335853979255522726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/08/sunshine-state.html' title='The sunshine state'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5796454013036975273</id><published>2008-07-19T17:31:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T17:46:41.333+02:00</updated><title type='text'>rock the casbah</title><content type='html'>I have changed the frame of my glasses. It gives me a nerdy-vintage look that I love.&lt;br /&gt;Everytime I wear those glasses and happen to glance at the mirror, my vintage-self sings these songs:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIZpF111Ojw"&gt;knocking at your back door (deep purple)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MzZ1N9IuzJM"&gt;police on my back (the clash)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5796454013036975273?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5796454013036975273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5796454013036975273' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5796454013036975273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5796454013036975273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/07/rock-casbah.html' title='rock the casbah'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-7949231418999778604</id><published>2008-07-12T22:06:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T22:43:21.170+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Almost transparent blue</title><content type='html'>While being angry for the past three days with the teacher of monetary policy for his squalid sadism, I spent some time in the blue of my transparent thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you spend a lot of time abroad, then your friends get used to it. I think most of my friends are used to the fact I am always away. And even if now I am here, living 1 km from their place, I see them less than ever before.&lt;br /&gt;Those friends who travel a lot are instead always crazy about a gipsy meeting, randomly organized. The big thing is staying together, not the place where we are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people find other people interesting because of their problems. The counterparts like, on thier side, to make themselves interesting just by enumerating the problems of the moment because there is nothing else interesting to say. Gossip is selfish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nowadays, it is important that the others like us. For this reason, everything we do and say has always to be "politically correct". There are not too many people that say what they think, no matter what. Strength comes from being liked and disliked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is what it is, now I just would like to take my car and go. Go somewhere nice and on the way just drive absent mindedly, see the yellow fields surrounding the way and think of those days when I was reading a book sitting on a branch of the cherry tree that there is in our garden.&lt;br /&gt;I love those roads of centre-south Italy, where it seems like driving in a fairy tale, surrounded by antique feelings. Desiring nothing but lie down under the olive trees, at dusk, with the company of crickets and a nice bottle of red wine, with the one you love and those friends that appreciate bucolic occasions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-7949231418999778604?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/7949231418999778604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=7949231418999778604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7949231418999778604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7949231418999778604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/07/almost-transparent-blue.html' title='Almost transparent blue'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-2989693224385452518</id><published>2008-07-07T22:02:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-07T22:15:20.350+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Olympic fever</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I read on a newspaper that &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dara_Torres"&gt;Dara Torres&lt;/a&gt; won the US trials and she is going to participate to Beijing Olympics. She is 42, she has had a baby, she has graduated, she has been suffering from bulimia...and she is a swimmer.&lt;br /&gt;I am 24, I am graduating from a master of science, and I am not a swimmer, but an archer. Shall I try London 2012?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-2989693224385452518?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/2989693224385452518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=2989693224385452518' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2989693224385452518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2989693224385452518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/07/olympic-fever.html' title='Olympic fever'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-1245703310557003271</id><published>2008-07-03T23:36:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T00:03:43.060+02:00</updated><title type='text'>everything but studying</title><content type='html'>There is nothing worse of having a boring exam and a lot of temptation that prevent from studying.&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I spent a day at the seaside with my mom and grandma. It has been great, with my mom and grandma talking about old memories.&lt;br /&gt;At the evening, I could not say no to a birthday party invitation. The friend of mine that grerw older was in my class at high school. After graduation, he confessed his mom that I have been letting him copy all the latin tests for 3 years. Yesterday, we remembered of when he forgot his glasses and he could not see my paper from far away, so I lended him mine: too feminine to be his own, but the teacher was too sleepy to notice anything.&lt;br /&gt;So many good memories came out. Time helps to forget the bad and remember just the nicest memories. So true. But T. and I have always been good friends. I remember going to his place to study and his father making cookies for us. They are a nice family: they all love eachother without being too clingy.&lt;br /&gt;Only once a funny thing happened. My mom came to pick me up and T.'s mom started to talk about high school friends and asked: "for example, do you know a guy called G.L.?" "Ow, yeah!...." answered my mom and I in chorus. We were going on, explaining that the guy is actually my uncle, but she interrupted us saying: "that Idiot!...imagine that..bla bla bla..." From that moment on, my mom's surname became secret!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-1245703310557003271?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/1245703310557003271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=1245703310557003271' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1245703310557003271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1245703310557003271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/07/everything-but-studying.html' title='everything but studying'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-144782527583160132</id><published>2008-07-01T23:09:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T23:54:56.420+02:00</updated><title type='text'>choices</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I think that I like living in Italy, despite many things.&lt;br /&gt;After staying in Finland and spending all the last summer there, I can say I even like the hot weather here. It is so warm that it is impossible to think of eating anything else than icecream and melon, but it now does not bother me.&lt;br /&gt;University is finishing, it is time to make choices. Those choices that matter. What to do afterwards? And where? I am so used to always have a suitcase with me; however, it is time to settle down and shack up, no?! Am I going to have time to start again the sport I love?&lt;br /&gt;It seems yesterday when I finished high school and I enrolled to Uni, making the wrong pick (hobson's choice). &lt;br /&gt;Ok, I still can spostpone the questions after my thesis is finished (even if it still needs a beginning and a supervisor) and think about the holidays, that are coming soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-144782527583160132?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/144782527583160132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=144782527583160132' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/144782527583160132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/144782527583160132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/07/choices.html' title='choices'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3855166563941364199</id><published>2008-06-23T20:42:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T20:53:09.025+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A girlfriend for my (hopeless) uncle</title><content type='html'>Some time ago I read a book that  Truman Capote left undone.&lt;br /&gt;The protagonist (a want-to-be writer that ends up being a gigolo and massage therapist) becomes the body guard of a great woman. If I am not wrong, the two characters are in Saint Moritz, at a certain point.&lt;br /&gt;This weekend I had the chance to go there, too. It is really great. I would have never imagined such a beautiful valley, green and blue and windy. I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My uncle came with my grandma for a sunday visit. When he jumped out of the car, I could not believe that he was wearing a TIE! No way to make him change his mind: we went hiking with him wearing grey pant suit and tie.&lt;br /&gt;I know that it is not in his intentions to get a girlfriend, otherwise I would imagine him to be hopeless. My mind at full gallop ended up imagining his ideal girlfriend: a woman that is hairy because she did not discover the existence of &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epilator"&gt;epilators&lt;/a&gt; .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3855166563941364199?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3855166563941364199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3855166563941364199' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3855166563941364199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3855166563941364199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/girlfriend-for-my-hopeless-uncle.html' title='A girlfriend for my (hopeless) uncle'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5156257441213407870</id><published>2008-06-20T10:44:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-20T14:38:57.765+02:00</updated><title type='text'>How to spoil two weeks diet in a day (with no regrets)</title><content type='html'>I spent a wonderful day with my friends in Milan. We all had an exam and things to do, but at 3 we managed to meet in the bar close to University. We order a Pina Colada after another, scaring the waitress.&lt;br /&gt;Who cares?! We had such a wonderful time together, fantasising about a post-graduate trip :)&lt;br /&gt;None of us would like to live in Italy anymore. I wonder where we will all be in 10 years.&lt;br /&gt;I love them and our weird adventures, such as the exploding toilets in the 4th floor of the library building :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5156257441213407870?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5156257441213407870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5156257441213407870' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5156257441213407870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5156257441213407870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/how-to-spoil-two-weeks-diet-in-day-with.html' title='How to spoil two weeks diet in a day (with no regrets)'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-7552975141233038310</id><published>2008-06-17T22:14:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T22:17:32.173+02:00</updated><title type='text'>HerO</title><content type='html'>Actually, it now came to my mind this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the name of the female protagonist of "much ado about nothing" is HERO. Do you know what Shakespeare meant by that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her-O, and by O meaning the female genital organs.  The much ado  about nothing was in fact about the virginity of Hero. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-7552975141233038310?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/7552975141233038310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=7552975141233038310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7552975141233038310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7552975141233038310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/hero.html' title='HerO'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-9140476975136924123</id><published>2008-06-17T22:13:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T22:14:16.484+02:00</updated><title type='text'>much ado about nothing</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I wonder why some people cannot “take it easy”. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is it possible that the majority of people has to make big deals out of ordinary life happenings? Probably, life is not exciting enough and there is an urge to complain about everything.  Or probably, somebody does not have anything to think about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quote on of my mom’s best sentences: those who get offended have nothing to think about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-9140476975136924123?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/9140476975136924123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=9140476975136924123' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/9140476975136924123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/9140476975136924123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/much-ado-about-nothing.html' title='much ado about nothing'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5108971021113124529</id><published>2008-06-17T22:11:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T22:12:18.004+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I wrote this on sunday</title><content type='html'>Rainy day, AND  rainy thoughts&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I was too devastated by monetary policy to be able to make other synapses happen in my brains. I just went with the flow and enjoyed my friends company for shopping and partying.&lt;br /&gt;I also heard the story of a veterinary that went for dinner to the huge villa of a friend.  It was the first time he went there, so the friend’s wife begun to show him the place.&lt;br /&gt;The place was wonderful and rather posh. The vet started to become suspicious: in his eye’s corner, he noticed that in the dining room, there were to stuffed lions, male and female.  He preferred not to say anything, but the lady noticed his pause and thought he was interesting in those. “Oh, that is Arthur’s passion!”  and then made him follow in the dungeons of the house.  The place was full of stuffed trophies: a polar bear, a bear, and countless other animals. Ok, the guy was a hunter. The embarrassing thing was that, during the dinner, the two dead lions were staring at him.&lt;br /&gt;Somebody cures animals, somebody else prefers to kill them and keep the corpses at home.  What is entertaining about hunting?  Why do people like it? I have never understood. It is an index of insensitivity.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5108971021113124529?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5108971021113124529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5108971021113124529' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5108971021113124529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5108971021113124529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-wrote-this-on-sunday.html' title='I wrote this on sunday'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-2561559997384640372</id><published>2008-06-09T23:17:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T23:17:57.216+02:00</updated><title type='text'>P.S.:</title><content type='html'>PS: concerning monetary policy.&lt;br /&gt;1) the exam is on SATURDAY - brunch time. Everyone is invited ;)&lt;br /&gt;2) I quote some of the sentences of my professor:&lt;br /&gt;"When I grade the exam, I just follow the instinct."&lt;br /&gt;"Is this a philosophical question? No, this is public umiliation?!"&lt;br /&gt;"This happens in a civilized country, not in Italy."&lt;br /&gt;"This is a PhD level class. You have to break your head on these things. If you need psychological council, write me an email. Any questions?"&lt;br /&gt; "But the 31st of May is in the future...and the agenda is endogenous."&lt;br /&gt;3) PROMISING, ISN'T IT?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-2561559997384640372?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/2561559997384640372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=2561559997384640372' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2561559997384640372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2561559997384640372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/ps.html' title='P.S.:'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5287239318554276971</id><published>2008-06-09T22:22:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T23:16:58.095+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Punctuation abuses</title><content type='html'>Reading the handouts of monetary policy, I noted that my teacher has the same tendency that I had when I was writing my paper. My colleagues noted that I used the semicolon for a countless number of times. Same with those notes written by my teacher. By reading them, I noticed how long the sentences were. I wonder if our italian origin make us use that mark so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was then thinking how much the punctuation in a written message changes the impression that the reader gets.&lt;br /&gt;I have noticed this especially by reading sms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ciao! = the person is enthusiastic /happy/ would like to see you or tell you the last happenings. On the other hand, too many exclamation marks make the messages become slicky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ciao. = the person is not in the mood to send you a sms, but she has to because of the circumstances / the person is in a bad mood. The fullstop might seem a bit strict in sms, but let's not forget that it does not leave anything unclear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ciao... = the person cannot decide and you have to guess her state of mind. Usually her/his message goes on: "...if you want....i am going downtown..../ i am downtown...."&lt;br /&gt;When I get these message I always wonder if the person would like to see me downtown or then if she/he just wants to let me know that she is going there and maybe something is going to happen. The abuse of ....... is probably the most irritating that there can be because it is ment to keep the suspence, but it is just a matter of fashionable punctuation (especially among teenagers or among "seasoned people"). I usually prefer to think that the phone has a chicken pox.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best messages are those written by my grandma: no punctuation at all, because I haven't taught her to use all the buttons of her cellphone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5287239318554276971?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5287239318554276971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5287239318554276971' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5287239318554276971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5287239318554276971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/punctuation-abuses-and-monetary-policy.html' title='Punctuation abuses'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8190628349329896000</id><published>2008-06-02T22:56:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-02T23:03:16.621+02:00</updated><title type='text'>diet always starts tomorrow</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I decided: diet from tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;This morning, I had just fruits for breakfast, but at 10: ring-ring...&lt;br /&gt;My grandma has brought here a huge &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krapfen"&gt;bombolone&lt;/a&gt; alla &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nutella"&gt;nutella&lt;/a&gt; for my breakfast.&lt;br /&gt;Good start of a diet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8190628349329896000?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8190628349329896000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8190628349329896000' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8190628349329896000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8190628349329896000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/diet-always-starts-tomorrow.html' title='diet always starts tomorrow'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5234441626567622228</id><published>2008-06-01T23:17:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-02T00:05:03.748+02:00</updated><title type='text'>My dirty secrets</title><content type='html'>When you go out totally scruffy, without make-up and maybe with horrible dark rings around&lt;br /&gt;your eyes, you end up meeting someone you know. Isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of days ago I was in a rush to go to the dentist. I had to wake up really early, and of course be there on time. Of course, I woke up too late to have a decent shower. Ok, nevermind. I managed to grab the worst combination of random clothes from my wardrobe, whisk away my bike and notice that the back tyre was broken, take a jacket that made me sweat all the way.&lt;br /&gt;Without being too concerned about my wild mane and my pale face without the minimum sign of make up, I was pedaling really fast not to arrive late, and there I meet her, one of the chattiest friends of my mom.&lt;br /&gt;"Ciiiaaaooo, How are youuu??"&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;"mmm"-yawning- good, I am sorry but I am in a hurry..."&lt;br /&gt;"ooowww, but where are you goooiiing, so early in the morning???".&lt;br /&gt;If there is something I don't like, is inquisitive people.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm going to the dentist, I woke up early and I look like a ghost."&lt;br /&gt;"ooowww, I hate going to the dentist, not because it is painful, but because he puts his hands in my mouth..and don't say you look bad, you are always so beautiful!".&lt;br /&gt;OOOOHHHHH another thing I hate is people that tell lies just to please you.&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, I managed to get rid of her and arrive to the dentist almost on time. On the way there, I was thinking of all the unpleasant situations that happen with some people that are not my friends and that make me feel un-confortably numb.&lt;br /&gt;First, there came to my mind the sentence that some like to tell me: "HAVE YOU LOST WEIGHT?". Presupposition: my weight has been the same for the past 10 years (apart from an exception). The most irritating thing is when the questioner insists, after I have answered with a clear NO. Probably fashion makes me look thinner or then people scann me every time they see me. But, even if I lost weight, I find the question quite intrusive. What if I were anorectic or I had to loose weight for some medical reasons??&lt;br /&gt;Second sentence that arises a bit of disconcert is: "THAT SKIRT/DRESS/SHOE/NECKLACE/SHIRT IS NEW". Probably, people always see me with the same clothes. It makes me think that I give the perception of being always wearing old filthy clothes.&lt;br /&gt;Then, since I am not a good liar, I always hate when people are asking my opinion about something I don't like, but they are enthusiastic about. I always try to find some way to escape the question. For example: "How, this dress is wonderful, don't you think?". And maybe, the person in question is fighting with the zip in order to close it. I guess I should learn to be more diplomatic.&lt;br /&gt;I hate, detest, loathe (::) the situations in which people treats me as if I was incapable to look after myself. Therefore, it is really embarassing when I am forced to eat when I am not hungry, put clothes when I am perfectly fine, being scanned when I eat something that I am not expected to like, being looked like a blond bimbo if I wear something a bit out of the ordinary.&lt;br /&gt;Rebel rebel, put on your dress....rebel rebel..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I understand why I always walk barefoot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5234441626567622228?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5234441626567622228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5234441626567622228' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5234441626567622228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5234441626567622228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-dirty-secrets.html' title='My dirty secrets'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4872614462867400598</id><published>2008-05-29T17:07:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T17:19:54.646+02:00</updated><title type='text'>on the road again</title><content type='html'>Rainy day. I have given back the keys of my appartment.&lt;br /&gt;It was so empty and so different after I moved all my stuff.&lt;br /&gt;But it is time to move, time to change.&lt;br /&gt;I will miss my 25 sqm humble abode, with the smashed blue sofa and the little ladder leading to my 1 m tall bedroom.&lt;br /&gt;"Leaving is a bit like passing away" (Italian common saying). So true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4872614462867400598?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4872614462867400598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4872614462867400598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4872614462867400598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4872614462867400598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/on-road-again.html' title='on the road again'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-741601658518725051</id><published>2008-05-25T21:39:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-25T22:01:18.780+02:00</updated><title type='text'>What I have been missing</title><content type='html'>When I was in Finland, people were asking what where the things that I missed more from Italy.&lt;br /&gt;While I was rallying with my bike on the traffic of the small town where I was born, I thought that when you are abroad, you always remember the good sides of your country and you tend to forget the tricky ones. I guess this happens because you tend to get used to things that do not work too efficiently, but when you go abroad, you get used to things that work...mmmm my reasoning might be complicated, but whatever.&lt;br /&gt;It is so weird to be here and understand everything that people say- sometimes I wish I could not-. I am mixing up languages and sometimes cannot find the right words in my mothertongue. Embarassing, especially when you go to the local &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gelato"&gt;gelateria&lt;/a&gt;. Everyone stares at me because I don't wear stockings now that it is 15°C. For my friends it is really cold, considering that it is the end of may. For me is really warm, considering that I have been living 3 months in the windy Helsinki.&lt;br /&gt;Just to answer the question, I can say that I have been missing my family, my friends, my house, the weather. Even if it has been raining since I came back, I cannot complain.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-741601658518725051?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/741601658518725051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=741601658518725051' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/741601658518725051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/741601658518725051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/what-i-really-missed.html' title='What I have been missing'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3861156427896563911</id><published>2008-05-20T18:30:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T21:57:28.365+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Revival</title><content type='html'>Back again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I was emptying my suitcase and, at the same time, my mamma was keeping me company just by cleaning her wardrobe. "Do you think this is still fashionable?".MMMM...she was showing me a black silky bodysuit decorated with airy yellow and red roses. "Uh, ya, it is good to put it on at carnival, if you want to look 80's."&lt;br /&gt;I love those moments in which we are so honest to each-other that we can make comedy out of it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3861156427896563911?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3861156427896563911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3861156427896563911' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3861156427896563911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3861156427896563911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/revival.html' title='Revival'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8842696528859902274</id><published>2008-05-13T16:46:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T16:54:05.735+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to a student life</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Even if for this week I am still in Helsinki, I have started to study for my university exams.&lt;br /&gt;I was reading my notes from last year. I HAVE TO quote these:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" For some scholars, nominal rigidities are not close to the real world. Thus, it seems that introducing them is a bit like cheating :) ".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Neo-keynesians say that nominal rigidities are pervasive. For instance, the price of a newspaper remains the same. We could argue that, OK, the price remains the same, but the number of pages ↓ . It then becomes a matter of quantity and quality :) , but anyways...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, my notes are not always like these.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8842696528859902274?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8842696528859902274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8842696528859902274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8842696528859902274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8842696528859902274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/back-to-student-life.html' title='Back to a student life'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-1763418388908816001</id><published>2008-05-12T19:14:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T09:02:43.012+01:00</updated><title type='text'>women?</title><content type='html'>It is amazing how active feminists are in nordic countries.&lt;br /&gt;Swedish feminists have achieved a remarkable result:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SCiuJ9tP5YI/AAAAAAAAAEI/_rdfr0ihn08/s1600-h/1135236036391.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199597256005641602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SCiuJ9tP5YI/AAAAAAAAAEI/_rdfr0ihn08/s200/1135236036391.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.hs.fi/maailmanihmisia/artikkeli/Suojatien+kulkijasta+tulee+Ruotsissa+nainen/1135236036103"&gt;http://www.hs.fi/maailmanihmisia/artikkeli/Suojatien+kulkijasta+tulee+Ruotsissa+nainen/1135236036103&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finnish feminists of course noted that a proper feminist or anyways a real woman should have instead trousers and short hair.&lt;br /&gt;Should she also have a penis, to be respected?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, I am not a swedish taxpayer, otherwise I might be quite disappointed in seeing how government money is wast...hem, used.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I like to interpret that traffic sign as: women are incapable to drive, and especially to park their car. That's why only women cross the street.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-1763418388908816001?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/1763418388908816001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=1763418388908816001' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1763418388908816001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1763418388908816001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/women.html' title='women?'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SCiuJ9tP5YI/AAAAAAAAAEI/_rdfr0ihn08/s72-c/1135236036391.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-877783112333365615</id><published>2008-05-10T18:44:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-10T18:48:39.390+02:00</updated><title type='text'>arrivederci!</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I wrote this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m so emotionally moved. So happy. So sad. So drunk.&lt;br /&gt;My paper has been published, all the documents have been signed. I left a huge plate of salame di cioccolato in the kitchen of my workplace and went for lunch with my research unit. The food was excellent, the restaurant was cosy. But the company was really special. I really think that now I can consider them “my workfriends”.&lt;br /&gt;Last night I had a dream: I was in an archery competition as a spectator. It was a really “big” tournament, but obviously I could not participate because I did not have enough training. I clearly remember that in the dream I said: “this is like suffering of diabetes and being in a candy store”.&lt;br /&gt;At lunch, my work friends have revealed that they decided to hire me for an internship because when I sent them my CV, they saw that I had being doing archery. According to them, that means “hard work, concentration, willingness to pursue your objectives”. Indeed, it has been a gym for life. But working here, in this research centre, has been the best experience I could hope for. Even the guy of the team that usually torpedoes everyone has had nice words and nice tips for me. I will miss them. When I wrote my report, I thought of all the things that I have learned in these three months and what a nice opportunity this has been for me. The only thing I could say to them when they gave me a present (a book - Books are always my favourite present, I will explain why in the next post) was: “thank you”. I wanted to say so many other things, but everything and nothing came to my mind, at the same time. In this period, they have started to know me, so I guess they know that I am shy - sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;Back from lunch, I went upstairs for a coffee. The guys there made me a small party. We chatted a bit, drinking some soda mixed with some strong alcohol that they took from behind a door. I had a feeling that I did not want to go away, but I had to let them work, so I went back in my office. And there came some other work friends, some giving presents, some hugging, some others shaking hands. Even those that I would have never expected.&lt;br /&gt;By the way, my salame di cioccolato was so successful…all the women in the office asked the recipe!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-877783112333365615?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/877783112333365615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=877783112333365615' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/877783112333365615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/877783112333365615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/arrivederci.html' title='arrivederci!'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-2620526150699883727</id><published>2008-05-08T10:43:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-08T13:30:16.499+02:00</updated><title type='text'>goodbye</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;The weather is not hostile anymore and it is difficult to go away from &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Helsinki&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt; and from its sparkling and airy spring. The proof reader just came in my office to make the final decisions. The paper is not a draft anymore. I have a funny feeling thinking that this is the last day of work.&lt;br /&gt;“How many copies would you like to have for yourself?” I don’t know. I look outside: the sun shines. I say five. The streetlamp seems a teeter-totter&lt;/span&gt; hanging between my office building and the one on the opposite side. I remember when a couple of months ago it was hit by the snow and by the cruel wind. Now, even an object like that seems cheerful. “After I send these to print, I go away. So, have a nice summer!”. And she goes. Summer is so close, indeed. &lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;And there comes my supervisor. My research unit invites me for a nice lunch tomorrow. And I am wondering which cookies I should bake for my goodbye. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-2620526150699883727?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/2620526150699883727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=2620526150699883727' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2620526150699883727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2620526150699883727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/goodbye.html' title='goodbye'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6989770227488904434</id><published>2008-05-05T17:31:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T09:02:43.395+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Funland</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SB8qgwcUHeI/AAAAAAAAADg/B-jqlgoxyFY/s1600-h/IMG_0336.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196919237256682978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SB8qgwcUHeI/AAAAAAAAADg/B-jqlgoxyFY/s320/IMG_0336.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SB8qhAcUHfI/AAAAAAAAADo/u061QRtaqj4/s1600-h/IMG_0318.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196919241551650290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SB8qhAcUHfI/AAAAAAAAADo/u061QRtaqj4/s320/IMG_0318.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6989770227488904434?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6989770227488904434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6989770227488904434' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6989770227488904434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6989770227488904434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/blog-post.html' title='Funland'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SB8qgwcUHeI/AAAAAAAAADg/B-jqlgoxyFY/s72-c/IMG_0336.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6786193117282183549</id><published>2008-05-04T20:02:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-05T12:02:51.143+02:00</updated><title type='text'>so, we spent the weekend at the country side</title><content type='html'>At the country side, the weather is even nicer than in Helsinki. There is no wind and the surface of the lake is like a mirror on which shadows and sunrays like to play together. The lake always makes my thoughts calm and my eyes drunk with a beautiful sunset. The summer cottage is one of my favorite places. The peace it is possible to breath here is really rare and it is hard to imagine how nice the sauna is here if you don’t try it. When you are in, you chat of many things and you feel your body getting rid of all the negative load that it carries. When you are out, you are naked in the nature. You feel pure, as if a rite of purification has been done .. so then that it is possible to talk with the trees. Anyone could get wonderful inspirations from it.&lt;br /&gt;I would really like to try once to roll myself in the snow after sauna, in winter time. Somersaults in the snow. I am sure it is worth trying it, at least it does not sound as extreme as making a hole in the ice (that covers the surface of the lake) and then plunge into it, like a hot cookie in cold coffee…;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From the magicside, with love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6786193117282183549?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6786193117282183549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6786193117282183549' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6786193117282183549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6786193117282183549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/so-we-spent-weekend-at-country-side.html' title='so, we spent the weekend at the country side'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6540529889140434413</id><published>2008-05-04T19:54:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T19:55:15.735+02:00</updated><title type='text'>post vappu</title><content type='html'>And then, Friday, my project gets finally finished. I have just one week left at my workplace. It is sad that the  12 weeks there have gone so fast. On this Friday, the workplace is desert. I miss the footsteps in the corridor. It is quite funny that now I recognize the footsteps of the people that passes. Someone is more silent that someone else, somebody is light and quick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6540529889140434413?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6540529889140434413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6540529889140434413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6540529889140434413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6540529889140434413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/post-vappu.html' title='post vappu'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-2921571853881519797</id><published>2008-05-04T19:53:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T20:01:25.073+02:00</updated><title type='text'>vappu</title><content type='html'>My mamma has been in Helsinki last weekend. I enjoyed her visit so much, I was finally able to show her my second home, but unfortunately the time has passed too fast.&lt;br /&gt;After that, the week at work went smoothly, between one celebration and another.  It has started with three cakes at three o’clock to celebrate the successful doctorial dissertation of one of my colleagues.  Then there has been a quite informal birthday party that made me a bit tipsy, so that I got some good ideas to write for my project. And then VAPPU!&lt;br /&gt;Vappu-eve:  Helsinki got a beautiful weather as a gift. Rivers of people going towards&lt;a href="http://fi.wikipedia.org/wiki/Havis_Amanda"&gt; Manta&lt;/a&gt;  . Every year a different student union has the duty to put on her head the &lt;a href="http://fi.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ylioppilaslakki"&gt;white cap&lt;/a&gt; that every Finn gets when graduating from high school. At six o’clock, punctual, the statue gets the hat and all the people start to wear it. From then on, the city gets full of people in a party mood that lasts till the evening of the day after.  University students wearing pimped overalls, grandpas whose hat is now yellow. Somebody wears funny sunglasses, most of the people have a drink in their hand and children get balloons. It almost seems carnival. Then, on the actual Vappu day, trams that go towards the park in Ullanlinna get packed. In the morning, the park is already filled with people that gather for a picnic.  I would list it as one of my favorite party occasions. It is really a moment in which it does not matter what you do in your life. Everyone is equal; everyone enjoys staying on a picnic blanket with family and friends, tasting good food and drinking sparkling wine. Babies and grown up. Sometimes you spot someone you know, you offer something at your picnic place. Some other time, you go for a walk and you happen to see some of your friends. Someone plays guitar or trumpet, somebody the radio. The park is so colorful that it seems the Woodstock concert.&lt;br /&gt;I have been asked how we celebrate the first of May in Italy. Mainly I guess that those that have a garden organize a barbecue, but in general I do not know too much. For sure nothing like here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-2921571853881519797?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/2921571853881519797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=2921571853881519797' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2921571853881519797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2921571853881519797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/05/vappu.html' title='vappu'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4018238937974718051</id><published>2008-04-28T20:17:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T20:20:10.063+02:00</updated><title type='text'>suspicious breakfast</title><content type='html'>Besides the skin colour, I again shocked my mamma. How can I eat a sandwich filled with feta, olives, salad and onion for breakfast? The worst thing is that it was with caffé latte.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4018238937974718051?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4018238937974718051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4018238937974718051' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4018238937974718051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4018238937974718051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/besides-skin-colour-i-again-shocked-my.html' title='suspicious breakfast'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4016984489251766433</id><published>2008-04-27T09:17:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T09:20:26.251+02:00</updated><title type='text'>sun and skin</title><content type='html'>I am sure that my lovely mom brought the sun here. Days are so beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;This morning we were comparing our skin colours and she said: "you are turning Finn, look how white you are!!!"&lt;br /&gt;Indeed, I need to find a way to get a little bit tanned :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4016984489251766433?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4016984489251766433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4016984489251766433' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4016984489251766433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4016984489251766433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/sun-and-skin.html' title='sun and skin'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3191823320506483271</id><published>2008-04-25T09:06:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T09:10:43.684+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Brain Drain</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Italy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;, the country where nothing works, but where everything works, at the end. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;This is what they say abroad, about my country.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;When yesterday I read on the newspaper that the government has decided to give a 300 shiny million Euros gift to Alitalia, a company that looses approximately 1 million every day, I was not disappointed. I was pissed off, indeed. Why didn’t they give instead the same gift to researchers or research centres? 300 million Euros! For what? For the corpse of an airline that has been raped for ages by the influence peddling of politicians, unions, recommendations. I hope that at least this gift would give Alitalia a good funeral. But why is the system protecting losers, instead of encouraging winners? There is nothing left than passion. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;The passion that makes people do what they like, no matter what. And everything works, at the end.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3191823320506483271?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3191823320506483271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3191823320506483271' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3191823320506483271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3191823320506483271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/brain-drain.html' title='Brain Drain'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-1006882934987047197</id><published>2008-04-24T12:25:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T15:29:13.577+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The dark side of the moon</title><content type='html'>I was afraid I was going to behave as Charles Bukowsky character in "tales of ordinary madness". &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;In the book, the guy is a poet and he is going to make a public reading of his best works to a group of students. The day before the event, he goes partying and gets wasted drunk. Obviously, the day after, he is super-hangover and he can barely stand. Of course, before the reading, he pours all the content his whiskey flask into the coffee thermos. And he gets drunk again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Fortunately last night I went to a party, but I was totally sober, so today at the presentation of my paper, I was awake and I did not have any Bukowsky moment. Quite a surprise. I had more fun than at last night’s party. At least here people do not suffer from &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Napoleon_complex"&gt;Napoleon Complex .&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/span&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;I don’t want to sound polemic or snobbish, but I am really glad that my studies encourage me  in using my intellect. I do not have too much to share with those who need to display their appearances, the same people that need to be rude to be cool. I am sorry. I am glad that I am having my first work experience in a research institute, where people are really trying to make the world go round and do not speak just for their voices sake. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. Just to show the mean side of me, I report here some of the thoughts that flashed in my mind last night:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;1)&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;It would be nice to apply a volume-control knob to some people, whose voice can cover the music in a club, but never make it when they have to say hello.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;2)&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Some women have a case of Napoleon Complex. Maybe having a sausage between their legs would make them feel better.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PPS. I feel sorry that I have just two weeks left at my workplace. I have learned a lot and I have been lucky to be offered such a wonderful experience. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;PPPS. Congratulation to Emma Marcegaglia, voted with 103 votes out of 105 disposable as president of &lt;a href="http://www.confindustria.it/Conf2004/hpENG.nsf/hp?readForm&amp;amp;menuEspanso"&gt;Confindustria&lt;/a&gt;. Some would say: that woman has balls. I wonder: what they would say if she was a man: that guy has tits!?!?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-1006882934987047197?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/1006882934987047197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=1006882934987047197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1006882934987047197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/1006882934987047197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-was-afraid-i-was-going-to-behave-as.html' title='The dark side of the moon'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4629590988556192538</id><published>2008-04-17T13:29:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T18:07:05.602+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The pink panther strikes again</title><content type='html'>&lt;span lang="EN-GB"&gt;There is a guy from &lt;?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;Belgium&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt; that works in the upstairs of the company I work for. We sometimes drink coffee together and the others have fun in teaching us the most futile Finnish words that they figure out. Today we were peacefully having coffee in the kitchen and having a competition on our pronunciation skills. Imagine. We were repeating lyjytäytekynä and having fun of each other, with our Finnish friend judging on who the best was: “Lyjy!” “No no no, repeat again: LYJY!!!!”…Suddenly, a guy from the next-door room whispers to us: “hey guys…could you please go and drink coffee somewhere else?” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB"&gt;They were recording an interview for a radio. And our voices are in the background for the first 2 minutes. &lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4629590988556192538?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4629590988556192538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4629590988556192538' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4629590988556192538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4629590988556192538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/pink-panther-strikes-again.html' title='The pink panther strikes again'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5078298338030070606</id><published>2008-04-16T14:39:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-16T14:41:28.050+02:00</updated><title type='text'>RAMBLE</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Milling around, tired. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;This has been my day, so far. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;I wonder when the spring comes here, waking things up from this long lethargy. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;I miss the joy of feeling the warm wind blowing on my clothes while I descend some hills by bike and sunrays are not yet burning. Those late afternoons after an intense study session, in which my mind can flow, freely. In those occasions, there are always so many things in my mind that it seems there is nothing. Spring. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;In the crowd of my cogitation sometimes something prevails: for a second, I am happy because the Italian communists have received a nice kick in the teeth and are now out of the parliament. Later, I try to figure what I could do on Friday night, besides going to the modern art museum to delight my eyes and my palate. Then I have noticed that every time my hair is messy, my clothes are just taken randomly from the wardrobe and my eyes are nicely framed by deep dark rings, I meet my pinpoint colleague, 1.80 tall super slim and I cannot avoid associating my character to the one of Bridget Jones. I remember the time I went to &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Brussels&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt; for my first job interview in an important pharmaceutical company: flight (Alitalia) one hour late, then I arrive there and the door handle of the main entrance remains in my hand. What is more Bridget than that? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;I would like to go home, but home is so small that I would feel like a snail. Actually…in the recent movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, the latter actor asked an interesting question about snails and Buddhism. I recommend the movie, even if I consider it a more entertaining version of &lt;i style=""&gt;The&lt;span style=""&gt; Barbarian Invasions &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;of Denys Arcand (2003). Uff, the citation brings me back to reality and makes me think that it might be better to go back to work instead of just making my brain a ballroom. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5078298338030070606?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5078298338030070606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5078298338030070606' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5078298338030070606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5078298338030070606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/ramble.html' title='RAMBLE'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6439916789230877927</id><published>2008-04-15T21:00:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T09:02:43.913+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Melancholy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAT8yAOubII/AAAAAAAAADE/VxItLleYvVY/s1600-h/night.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189550606623075458" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAT8yAOubII/AAAAAAAAADE/VxItLleYvVY/s200/night.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes at nightimes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel withering&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;like a flower whose seed &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;came with the wind&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;in an ill place. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6439916789230877927?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6439916789230877927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6439916789230877927' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6439916789230877927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6439916789230877927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/melancholy.html' title='Melancholy'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAT8yAOubII/AAAAAAAAADE/VxItLleYvVY/s72-c/night.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-7530047971946330049</id><published>2008-04-15T16:10:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-15T16:14:18.144+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;“Is the Italian population &lt;b&gt;NOISE&lt;/b&gt;inking?”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: courier new;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;“Drinking???”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;“No! &lt;b style=""&gt;Shr&lt;/b&gt;inking…mmm….declining!!!”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Ah, ok. I might have seemed dumb, but I really did not hear what my colleague was asking. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: georgia;" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I was ready to explain that, differently from here, Italians don’t drink to get drunk. They in fact enjoy a glass of wine because it tastes good with food, or then they might have a pint of beer just while chatting with friends and having pizza (WINE + PIZZA: never). I was ready to say that I first tasted wine when I was around 3 and still I have never been drunk, that I can freely buy alcohol at the supermarket, that I have always had pizza and beer since I was a teenager, but I am not an alcoholic. However, the discussion touched other issues concerning migration, birth rates and so on.&lt;/span&gt; Indeed, I should go and test my hear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-7530047971946330049?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/7530047971946330049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=7530047971946330049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7530047971946330049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7530047971946330049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/is-italian-population-noise-inking.html' title=''/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-7694495972591768277</id><published>2008-04-13T13:17:00.011+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T09:02:44.529+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Finally sure about the destination of our summer holidays&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188703918245178482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH6uQOubHI/AAAAAAAAACw/QwmEYp4An6k/s320/american-flags-selective-color-lowres.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH5_wOubFI/AAAAAAAAACg/y1Zy14m5ttg/s1600-h/road.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188703119381261394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH5_wOubFI/AAAAAAAAACg/y1Zy14m5ttg/s200/road.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188701783646432306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH4yAOubDI/AAAAAAAAACQ/8oC5tSZx2D0/s200/bags.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH37AOubBI/AAAAAAAAACA/J6S9hTCWOwU/s1600-h/pink_cupcakes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188700838753627154" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH37AOubBI/AAAAAAAAACA/J6S9hTCWOwU/s200/pink_cupcakes.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH5iQOubEI/AAAAAAAAACY/oAtEaczp1Kc/s1600-h/23512370.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188702612575120450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH5iQOubEI/AAAAAAAAACY/oAtEaczp1Kc/s200/23512370.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH5iQOubEI/AAAAAAAAACY/oAtEaczp1Kc/s1600-h/23512370.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH6cwOubGI/AAAAAAAAACo/vNFxfpRUSWo/s1600-h/american-flags-selective-color-lowres.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH5iQOubEI/AAAAAAAAACY/oAtEaczp1Kc/s1600-h/23512370.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-7694495972591768277?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/7694495972591768277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=7694495972591768277' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7694495972591768277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7694495972591768277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/summer.html' title='Summer'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/SAH6uQOubHI/AAAAAAAAACw/QwmEYp4An6k/s72-c/american-flags-selective-color-lowres.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6263456894572721117</id><published>2008-04-12T14:49:00.011+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-12T22:47:15.389+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Lucky bastard!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;These are the words that the rock n roll granpa told my boyfriend last night. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;NOW: saturday night, but no fever.&lt;br /&gt;Rewind: Nice friday. After dining in the drunk neighborhood of Helsinki, we manage to grab a tram towards downtown. It feels like riding a dragon with hiccough. I look at the driver and I understand why: women driving!&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&gt;We meet a rockstar. I am the only one who does not recognise him. He starts to talk to talk to one of us and he sits with us. He is famous finnish guitar player, but he introduces himself, shaking our hands and asking where we are from. He tells us he just comes from a gig, that his wife has lived 20 years in Rome and it would be nice if I could meet her. He asks what brings me here and I say: "love". He looks at my boyfriend and he says: "you, lucky bastard!". It is nice to observe the guy and listen to him. His eyes are sensitive and sly and his tapered hands take the beer glass every now and then. He loves alcohol -he drinks beer and wiskey at the same time- and he tells us the magic story of when he knocked at the door of REMU (the voice of the Hurriganes) and the guy gave him a blue jacket 5 sizes less than the appropriate one as a sign. He is one of the guys. Every time one of us say something that he likes, he smiles saying: "now you are talking!". He blurts some secrets about some other guitar player of some other famous bands: "Yee, that guy wears a wig!". Time passes, time to goes. He walks out with us, then finally greets us saying: "tomorrow I will sweat in my hungover. But, hey, let's meet sometimes..I mean..we don't have to agree on anything, but I live nearby and I often come here for a beer... and you should definitely meet my wife."...then he staggers away.&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&gt; saturday, sunny saturday. I got angry cos in a bar I ordered a beer and they asked my ID. Do I look like a teenager?&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&gt;evening. After a series of gags exchanged with my boyfriend about finnish girls, I understood why he is a lucky bastard.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6263456894572721117?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6263456894572721117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6263456894572721117' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6263456894572721117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6263456894572721117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/lucky-bastard.html' title='Lucky bastard!'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-2555622199896587839</id><published>2008-04-09T10:34:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-09T10:43:41.545+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Working out...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Georgia;" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;My knowledge of English is quite good, but this does not save me from  awkward gaffes.  &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Georgia;" lang="EN-GB"&gt;We were having a tea and these friends started discuss about having babies. Then they started to talk about “&lt;b style=""&gt;working out&lt;/b&gt;”. In my dirty mind I thought that “&lt;b style=""&gt;working out&lt;/b&gt;” meant something related to the “process” of making kids, so when they said: “well, lately we did not have too much time &lt;b style=""&gt;to work out&lt;/b&gt;, since we are so tired in the evenings” or “we are going to visit out parents, so there we cannot &lt;b style=""&gt;work out&lt;/b&gt;”, I got a little suspicious. They were talking about it so naturally…“it is so nice to &lt;b style=""&gt;work out&lt;/b&gt;! It makes you sweat so much..” . Then, in a song of &lt;a href="http://www.husky-rescue.com/"&gt;Husky Rescue&lt;/a&gt; I heard about a “summertime cowboy….&lt;b style=""&gt;working out&lt;/b&gt;…for me…”. Some days after this perplexing conversations, we went for breakfast. Again this &lt;b style=""&gt;working out&lt;/b&gt; thing. They invited us to go with them. I must confess that I got really suspicious.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Fortunately, it turned out that &lt;b style=""&gt;working out&lt;/b&gt; means exercising at the gym!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-2555622199896587839?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/2555622199896587839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=2555622199896587839' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2555622199896587839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2555622199896587839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/working-out.html' title='Working out...'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-7064446109281886174</id><published>2008-04-06T13:43:00.008+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T09:02:44.677+01:00</updated><title type='text'>parody ?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R_kyRWpTvaI/AAAAAAAAABY/PRHZJ3xwcrI/s1600-h/caricatura.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186231719611841954" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R_kyRWpTvaI/AAAAAAAAABY/PRHZJ3xwcrI/s200/caricatura.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe it is to early to draw conclusions, but still, I would like to draw some sketches of my life into finnish shoes. Well, I think I do not belong to here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. Clothes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I look pregnant with every shirt or dress I try. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.Shoes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Actually impossible to find a decent pair, unless I want to look like a granny. High heels are not for girls that want to kick men's asses.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.Military service&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ok, equality is important. Why then military service is mandatory for man and voluntary for women? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.Hunting&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Apparently, all the energy that girls have is used to chase a boyfriend (usually in bars). Once the chicken is plucked, he has to clean, iron, cook, stay home. Then he is accused of being a pussy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.Drinking&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wonder how certain people can wasted drunk, wear a miniskirt and not feel embarassed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.Shopping&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How can girls go shopping if shops close everyday at 6...and on saturdays before 4? No wonder they drink. Bars are the only places open.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.Accompanied male friends&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If a single girl is out and sees a friend, she hugs him pretending not to see the girlfriend, or then she acts as if she wants to be her best friend, in reality making her total body scan without missing a detail. But this happens everywhere. ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-7064446109281886174?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/7064446109281886174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=7064446109281886174' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7064446109281886174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7064446109281886174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/parody.html' title='parody ?'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R_kyRWpTvaI/AAAAAAAAABY/PRHZJ3xwcrI/s72-c/caricatura.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6486471941290556212</id><published>2008-04-03T14:52:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-04T12:04:47.426+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Abbreviations/2</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;How is it possible that in my paper I have to quote somebody whose first name initials are &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faggot_%28epithet%29"&gt;F.A.G.&lt;/a&gt;? The last name of the guy is also interesting, not to mention the colleague with whom he worked: Cock. Is it a joke?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6486471941290556212?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6486471941290556212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6486471941290556212' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6486471941290556212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6486471941290556212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/abbreviations2.html' title='Abbreviations/2'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6505287695661351701</id><published>2008-04-03T14:51:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-03T14:52:16.243+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Abbreviations/1</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Yesterday, talking about Finnish student unions, I could not come up with the abbreviation for the Helsinki School of Economics one. I remembered it started with K, so I just said the first abbreviation beginning with K that came to my mind: &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/KFC"&gt;KFC&lt;/a&gt;! I apologize with KY. But at least, the conversation with the colleagues became entertaining! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6505287695661351701?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6505287695661351701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6505287695661351701' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6505287695661351701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6505287695661351701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/abbreviations1.html' title='Abbreviations/1'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4418941057411522686</id><published>2008-04-02T09:48:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T09:56:45.094+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Shortcrust pastry hands</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Sun shines. I feel the spring warming my senses.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;This morning, in a couple of hours, I managed to: &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;- Transform my breakfast spoon in a catapult. Result: breakfast all over the place and an astonished &lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;boyfriend wondering how I can always be so messy.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;- Wedge one of my high heels in the pavement porphyry…the shoe remained there. Huge effort to pick it up.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;- Once at office, write a complaint to the &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Helsinki&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt; public transportation: some &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Smurfs"&gt;smurffit&lt;/a&gt; made me miss the train.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;- Pour a cup of green tea on the book I borrowed from my boss. The book does not look too ok. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;- Back in the kitchen: some idiot cut the milk pasteboard in a weird way. I noticed it when all the milk was already on the floor and not in my cup.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;-While cleaning all the mess, notice that someone put some cute colourful little candies in the Iittala bowl next to the coffee machine. Why not taking a small handful? Good. I bet they were the  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jelly_Belly"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jelly_Belly"&gt;  &lt;/a&gt;in disguise and I managed to pick the vomit, booger and earwax flavours! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Bright day! It is only a quarter to 11. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4418941057411522686?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4418941057411522686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4418941057411522686' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4418941057411522686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4418941057411522686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/shortcrust-pastry-hands.html' title='Shortcrust pastry hands'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-7839896855845223937</id><published>2008-04-01T20:57:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T21:08:36.045+02:00</updated><title type='text'>british summer</title><content type='html'>Two sunny day have been a really nice gift. Not too warm, though. Like a british summer, as the librarian today told me.&lt;br /&gt;Weather. A safe conversation topic. The thing I talk about with all the colleagues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been asked: Is it true that finns are cold?Is it true that it is difficult to get close?&lt;br /&gt;I think it is the same everywhere. No matter where you are, but it is always not too easy to meet new people. And if you meet new people, with how many of them you go beyond the weather conversation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUzgToWoA-U"&gt;you've got a friend&lt;/a&gt;....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-7839896855845223937?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/7839896855845223937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=7839896855845223937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7839896855845223937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7839896855845223937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/04/british-summer.html' title='british summer'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-2522355246215088809</id><published>2008-03-29T11:24:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-29T11:31:01.258+01:00</updated><title type='text'>caper</title><content type='html'>It is so difficult not to laugh when you go for lunch with your boss and while he is talking about some serious business, you notice that something funny is hanging from his nose...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-2522355246215088809?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/2522355246215088809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=2522355246215088809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2522355246215088809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/2522355246215088809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/capper.html' title='caper'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5816273697224789654</id><published>2008-03-28T16:30:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-28T16:11:23.975+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Subprime - a lesson</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;For 15 years, from 1992 to 2006, the World Economy has grown thanks to the demand of the United States. The 18 million new jobs that Europe has created between the last half of the 90es and now would be much less if the USA did not grow with such a quick rithm. In these years, the USA have imported anything: not only goods and services, but also people -officially 16 million immigrants-. No wonder why: the USA have been the country for which the average time in which an immigrant can buy a house is smaller: less than 10 years. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;Obviously, also thanks to the immoderate ease with which the banks granted loans, and today some of those immigrants will loose their house, but if they remained in Europe, the dream of having their own house would have remained such: a dream. &lt;br /&gt;When we complain about the effects that the american crisis has on our growth and on our savings, we should not forget the benefits that we had gloated. Anyway, to grow more rapidly than the rest of the world, the United States have accumulated huge impalances: the crisis of these months is the violent way in which they are coming back. The first is the huge difference between the volume of import and export, that has caused a rapid growth of the american foreign debt. Today this imbalance is reabsorbing thanks to the fall of the dollar. The weakness of the american currency is not the effect of the current turmoil in the financial markets: to restore the  balance of payments USA, the dollar will have to remail weak for a long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only thing that Europe can do is to remove the bareers that impeede the growth and that limit the consumptions and the investments: more growth in Europe accelerates the correction of the american deficit and means less years of weak dollar. The second imbalance is represented by the house prices that, from 2001 till now, in US, as in Great Britain, Spain and Ireland, has been dragged by a speculative bubble. On the wave of the increase in the value of their house, many american families have got into debt and increased their consumption. But, again, before claiming the financial system that has allowed them to do so, let's not forget that whithout those consumption, our economies would have grown much less rapidly. Today, the decline of the price of the houses put into trouble those families and who has lended them money. The problem is serious, but limited. In the balance sheet of Bear Sterns there were 33 billion of loans, but only 2 billions of subprime loans. A further decline of 20% in the huse prices (up to now, prices have fallen more or less just 10%) would put other 10 billions of those loans: limited numbers if we consider the dimension of the balance sheet of Bear Sterns.&lt;br /&gt;So..why on sunday the bank has almost gone bankrupt? Not because it was inslvent, but because it was illiquid. It had a urgent need for liquidity, but nobody wanted to buy its loans, not even those with low risk, not even at lower prices.&lt;br /&gt;This reminds the situation in which, at the market place, there come the news that within the oranges sold by some vendor there is some bad fruit: under this uncertainty, nobody approaches that vendor, even if the majority of those fruits is good and the shop is willing to sell at lower prices. The asymmetric information is a typical case of market failure, that implies the intervention of the authorities. Not because the central bank or the government are better able to recognise the good loans from the "rotten" ones, but because only the authorities take into account the costs that a failure of a huge bank would entail. And to avoid it, they are willing to run the risks that a private agent is not willing to take.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;p&gt;This explains why the FED, sunday night, has insured all the loans of Bear Sterns. It is Responsible Capitalism, non the end of capitalism as somebody would like to interpret. If the FED has made a mistake, it is the one of waiting too long, repeating the mistake made in september by the Bank of England.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But if the caution of the FED can be explained institutionally. In the United States, since 1934, there is a sharp division between commercial banks and investment banks. The FED can borrow to the commercial banks, not to the investment banks: on exchange, they are not under its control. This is another reason why the FED has made an intervension through a commercial Bank: JP morgan. From sunday, that separation has disappeared and the new rules issued by the Federal Reserve of New York open the way to go over the crisis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The European model of universal bank does not distinguish between commercial banks and investment banks, so it is ready to grant liquitdity: this maybe explains why in the euro area there have not been such critical cases. Saving Bear Sterns trough Jp Morgan, the Fed has given a nice present to the shereholders of JP morgan, whose price in the stock exchange has grown 20% in two days.  In London in September, Gordon Brown, facing a similar situation, decided to nationalize Northern Rock: "id the State runs a risk, it has also to exploit the potential advantages". The Nationalizaiton of Bear Stearns was one of the option on the table in Washington, but the Buch administraiton has rejected it. It is Interesting to know if a democrat president would have chosen otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div id="rectangle" class="right"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p&gt; Thank you &lt;a href="http://www.igier.uni-bocconi.it/whos.php?vedi=403&amp;amp;tbn=albero&amp;amp;id_doc=177"&gt;prof. Giavazzi&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5816273697224789654?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5816273697224789654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5816273697224789654' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5816273697224789654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5816273697224789654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/subprime-lesson.html' title='Subprime - a lesson'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-7328626112935505960</id><published>2008-03-26T19:39:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-28T15:21:33.218+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Mario</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I like my workplace. I like the idea of having the keys and coming and going whenever I want. It is quite late today, I have had quite a lot to do: papers and papers and presentations and papers..my eyes have the consistency of two baked meatballs.&lt;br /&gt;There is just me and the blond guy that eats bananas. No, not &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSEYQvEplbo"&gt;the Andy Warhol one&lt;/a&gt;(Mario), but my nextdoor-office neighbour. First I thought he was a woman, since I had the chance to see him just from the back. Well...seeing just his long silky blond hair is a bit misleading. He is in fact quite masculine and he loves bananas. He has this huge bunch on his desk...and every time I look inside his office he is eating one.  No no, I don´t work in a Zoo, but sometimes it is interesting to observe the population of this company. It stimulates my fantasy, especially for creating nicknames.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-7328626112935505960?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/7328626112935505960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=7328626112935505960' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7328626112935505960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/7328626112935505960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-like-my-workplace.html' title='Mario'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6327299369859287153</id><published>2008-03-20T10:26:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T09:02:44.916+01:00</updated><title type='text'>&lt;&lt; Rewind</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R-FgBmpTvVI/AAAAAAAAAAs/aNVtrkUtLUw/s1600-h/02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179526627122724178" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R-FgBmpTvVI/AAAAAAAAAAs/aNVtrkUtLUw/s200/02.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Lhasa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R-FflZ8bw9I/AAAAAAAAAAk/7nc0cx5hpP0/s1600-h/tibbet1951.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179526142676943826" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R-FflZ8bw9I/AAAAAAAAAAk/7nc0cx5hpP0/s200/tibbet1951.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lhasa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1951&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6327299369859287153?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6327299369859287153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6327299369859287153' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6327299369859287153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6327299369859287153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/rewind.html' title='&lt;&lt; Rewind'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R-FgBmpTvVI/AAAAAAAAAAs/aNVtrkUtLUw/s72-c/02.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-8704397458462527698</id><published>2008-03-19T20:35:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-20T10:41:18.196+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Voting in Italy</title><content type='html'>When one party failed in government, the other one should take advantage, and make good counterproposals, in order to gain more votes. Namely, it should try to please more responsive voters, instead of making an ass of itself.  No NO No, they never learn the lesson, these immortal politicians! After all, it does not matter too much who you vote. Left right, right left….they are so similar that they remind butt cheeks: butt cheek left, butt cheek right. Unfortunately the ass is always the one of the citizens.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-8704397458462527698?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/8704397458462527698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=8704397458462527698' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8704397458462527698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/8704397458462527698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/voting-in-italy.html' title='Voting in Italy'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-4982461334129245993</id><published>2008-03-16T17:15:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T09:02:44.935+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Il puzzone</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_573-0vpCcp8/R91OYp8bw7I/AAAAAAAAAAU/KZpTzzDAvA4/s1600-h/bjd.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I ususally don't like to sit in the first rows. This happens at school, at the gym..at joga classes. However, today I learned that for spinning lessons is better not to sit in the last row, if you want to survive. As a matter of fact, I could not see anything but a fat pair of butt cheeks, whose owner reminded me some old german acquaintance that had never used soap or deodorant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only thought that made me survive concerned &lt;a href="http://www.bettybeauty.com/"&gt;fun betty&lt;/a&gt; , and I could not help laughing. Fortunately!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-4982461334129245993?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/4982461334129245993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=4982461334129245993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4982461334129245993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/4982461334129245993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/il-puzzone.html' title='Il puzzone'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-3779237911464222274</id><published>2008-03-13T21:17:00.007+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T18:09:46.975+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='youtube video'/><title type='text'>while waiting....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ba7lNTuPPXQ&amp;amp;NR=1"&gt;I hate myself for loving you&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-3779237911464222274?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ba7lNTuPPXQ&amp;NR=1' title='while waiting....'/><link rel='enclosure' type='' href='http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ba7lNTuPPXQ&amp;NR=1' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/3779237911464222274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=3779237911464222274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3779237911464222274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/3779237911464222274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-hate-myself-for-loving-you.html' title='while waiting....'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-6476315092240440016</id><published>2008-03-11T15:11:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T15:11:44.537+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Horde of the rings</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-GB"&gt;Since my job contract is temporary, I occupy the office room of somebody who is absent for some months. Obviously, I also have inherited his phone number extension. It happens quite often that somebody calls me searching for Petteri. The nice part is that, when I answer, people ask: “Petteri?!”! That makes me wonder. Either my voice is SLIGHTLY masculine or the guy is temporary away for a surgery in &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Casablanca&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt;. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-6476315092240440016?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/6476315092240440016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=6476315092240440016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6476315092240440016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/6476315092240440016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/horde-of-rings.html' title='Horde of the rings'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8499557725876532690.post-5255374896108598518</id><published>2008-03-10T20:51:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T21:06:29.462+01:00</updated><title type='text'>self portrait</title><content type='html'>When you are about to move with your boyfriend, and your boyfriend lives abroad, you can barely hold your excitement back.&lt;br /&gt;At least, that happened to me, a month ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the story begins here, with me wearing high heels when the roads are full of watery snow and moon boots when the pavements are clean. Yea, I live in my own yellow world and sometimes I forget to look out of the window to check if the day is iron grey or ash grey.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8499557725876532690-5255374896108598518?l=my-whereabouts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/feeds/5255374896108598518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8499557725876532690&amp;postID=5255374896108598518' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5255374896108598518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8499557725876532690/posts/default/5255374896108598518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://my-whereabouts.blogspot.com/2008/03/self-portrait.html' title='self portrait'/><author><name>Fran</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08592058685520213170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
