Uncle are born, not made that 
Three weeks of vacation. Many or few, a matter of points view. On my return I brought back a suitcase full of yawns
. Sleeping was certainly not the most practiced activities. Three weeks of vacation. My notebook is full of notes, to tell stories and facts that perhaps it is better not to be advertised too. In front of the white sheet, a mixture of anxiety and pseudo-literary creative euphoria, I wonder where to start, what memories into words. I do not have to wait long. Wednesday, August 18
. A lifetime ago, but I think many more - will be the holiday and summer air we breathe throughout the year in Zurich.
Ibiza, carefully chosen destination with the intention to relax after twelve days of crazy parties in Tel Aviv.
Ibiza town, a destination chosen carefully with the intention to put something in the stomach and then jump on the track, on your hands until eight o'clock in the morning. For those who do not know or had recently done with a front Frecciarossa, temporarily losing the use of the left hemisphere of the brain,
Ibiza and Zurich are not exactly similar . In Ibiza you speak English - or Catalan - there is the sea and times are typical Mediterranean dinner that is nothing before eleven and a half. In Zurich, however, should be something that speaks a language, even though, in my humble opinion, looks more like a series of guttural spitting, the sea seems there is not and times are typical of Swiss German, that is, to bed without dinner after nine and a half, even if you did a good boy all week. In fact, here we sit down to half past midnight while we order in a typical French restaurant in the wine list has only the English. Globalization. You ask, here we are sitting who? As you know, however, the names of friends, in my post, do not reveal anything, not as a matter of privacy, but simply because they know a person who writes stuff like that is already cause for shame, better not continue - that is evil - with the media pillory. You just know that the company is
one of the best and most patients , since tolerance to a week of my jokes continue. Poor, I love you. About two, gorged, we raise our real asses and decide to go drink a crap, what we do without too much effort, not without first having passed through the city's gay area
, full of nice people dressed up as Martians latex who like to take the ass whipping
of bold young hopefuls. The poop
still aches. Finished drinking and chatting, we are ready for the real purpose of our pilgrimage night:
find tickets for Amnesia , a temple dedicated to the dance - Or rather, random movements induced by abuse of doping that only occasionally for special astral conjunctions, reflect the name they are called - with thousands of followers. The event is called La Troya
- no reference to the respective industry professionals - and is internationally known because at six in the main hall, who wants to does not wash for weeks and can take advantage of the excellent service
foam shot in Chile by a couple of guns. In short, intellectual stuff. So, for us not miss our morning dose of Badedas, we begin to search for the Holy Grail of clubbers. What we find, by switching between the various local pre tunz tunz the town. Indeed, noting the typical attitude of the explorer, I am approached by a guy from Lombard accent.
Young: "Italian?"
Me: "Yes"
G: "Oh, where?" I
: Milan "
G:" Ah, Milan, tantarrobba! "
is a topos. I also find in the dictionary, "
Milan, definition: tantarrobba . Until there is.
G: "I am in Cinisello". What they do not go to Milan? "No, I Milan? Ever seen. I do not have the stamp to enter. " On the other hand, is always a problem. "Oh, no, I wanted to, but I stamp the passport has expired."
Me: "We are looking for bilgietti Amnesia"
The future Nobel prize - for the way it gives tantarrobba - beckons us to follow him down the stairs next to the room and screams like a fishmonger in the stout, bearded guy sitting behind a counter:
"
Oh, uncle, I'm sending down five uncles, friends are, from tickets for Amnesia "
I've thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that it is nice to be uncles. The
ziitudine is an important property and makes us all brothers. Being uncles makes us brothers even if doing so makes us brothers, not by force of his uncles. For example, you said that your uncle is an uncle. Maybe, instead, your cousin is. And uncles like Milan because there tantarrobba. Bella uncle. And so, we five uncles, we went, we made the purchase, we drained five shot by his uncle offered but only because we are uncles, we reached the car, we started off in the direction of Amnesia, we found the parking lot of uncles
we entered and left us to go through the entrance to the private room
because his uncle had seen that we were uncles and when he realized that we were coming from London must surely have thought "tantarrobba.
And inside, so that there was, of stuff. Tanta. Dancing with micro bikini sculettando left and right. I tried to understand, to no avail, if they were aunts. Maybe not. Then, when people on the track has finished washing, we headed to the other side of the private. From there he dominated a completely different track. Full of great men and big inflated with compressed air and half naked. Perhaps they were uncles. When I saw them, however stuck with all the languages \u200b\u200bthat swirled wildly, I realized that there was little of his uncle, aunt's much more. At seven and a quarter goes out the music and the lights are on. As if to say, go home, that is better.
Awakening, six hours later, has something traumatic. I crawl to the bathroom, piss, and I look in the mirror, his face gaunt, dark circles, matted hair and looked very dull. Profoundly stupid.
At my age my father had two degrees in his pocket ee two children at home, I have just one big headache after drunk. Then, however, still looking, it started to change something inside of me. I began to understand. And in the end, like a bolt of lightning rips the sky, the light has come: "Shit," I said to myself "
but how can I be so uncle? ! ". Good week, uncles, and tantarrobba!
ps: a special greeting to the tenants of Ibiza, it was a long time that I did not laugh so much. By the time I went back to follow Italian politics ...
L L & L goes . Abandon us. Destination London. No more chocolate, grated potatoes and cuckoo clocks, waiting for the fish and chips, porridge and Big Ben. So we must celebrate , and that is what we do. In our way. Friday night we home of L & L L the other. At dinner, to begin with. The quartet is full: L & L L L L & L, K and I. Giving us a hand, M and E, a cute pair of Merano, and H, crazy German that fits the climate vaguely demented group. The kitchen is L-L & L is, as always, a boon for the palate and pasta overflowing from the pot there is no longer even a memory. As a side dish, five bottles of wine they are emptied to the last drop. Eat, drink and ride. Meanwhile, the bottle of rum and vodka waiting patiently. Not for long. The alcohol level begins to rise, dramatically. M and E, drank energy drink, thank you, say goodbye and leave, having already planned everything in detail. We continue in marathon alcoholic until the finishing line of empty bottles that always bring profound sadness. Tears. Then someone pulls out the red box infernal sound effects generator. From there begins the delusion that the ending ... or maybe he never had an epilogue? In short, while L & L L, or maybe K, hit the button that plays the sound of a spring - BOING! BOING! BOING! - L L & L, the other part with a series of jumps by record type astronaut on the moon coming soon imitated by the group. We jump on the floor, on couches, on the bed. Someone jumps dinner, but I do not know who he is. The nice tenant downstairs, the one that swept much of the half pulled the ceiling in a Swiss reproduction of Morse code, which means roughly I have broken my balls is in shock and was taken away today firefighters who have found it again with the broom in hand, catatonic and drooling. Partly satisfied benefit from kangaroo, L L & L, the harmonic sound of the spring begins to blow up pictures, mirrors, vases Ming Ming in a meat bones a bit 'musty, smelly, bombs and firecrackers that I quickly grabbed the fly with prodigious technique, drunk Catcher in the Rye. We laugh have fun, even if the landlord down copious cold sweat. Equipped with even the minimum mastery of neuronal we sense that this is the case of leave the apartment before creating a small apartment building in Beirut. All Amber to dance! All except H, which is fun but as you can have fun when you go to the zoo to see the howler monkeys. This escapes me, but I wanted to put his howler monkeys because they make me laugh. Ah ah ah! Please, will make available its services to taxi driver. Before mounting in the car, the grand finale of the spring, which sees The L & L Fosbury jump with perfect technique and sink into a hedge, then immediately route the other L L & L and myself. Some arm hanging inert, otherwise we are still alive. The trip to the disco is a paroxysm of alcohol : chants, cries, barks, soft jumps. H is having fun and much, but as you can have fun when your plane is plummeting and then, miraculously, the pilot manages to land it. Once is enough and you remember forever. Amber arrived in front, I hear stuff like 'saltiamole on the hood', which is the first page of the manual 'The hundred ways to go immediately to the disco and jump the queue'. Never mind, even if the idea had its charm. Perverse. We try to give us an attitude and catapult us to the entrance. The bouncer looks at us and I do not know if terrified by the look of the four psychotic or simply because it sniffs out big business at the bar, we are part. Immediately. Not even a second of waiting . Incredible, no human had ever happened, even when we arrived with brandy in hand, declaiming, in a perfect English accent from Oxford, the complete works of Shakespeare. Or maybe just 'Can we enter?' I do not remember. Before you change your mind, we accept the kind invitation and we sneak into the club. From that moment on ... You know the film Hangover (Hangover)? It is the story of four friends - coincidentally - who decide to celebrate the bachelor party of one of them in Las Vegas. If you have not already seen, do it. What has happened to me is very similar, apart from the tiger in the bathroom and the Chinese in the trunk of the car, but only because I have a car. Amnesia total. The big black hole. The last thing I remember is the entrance fee, 25 francs without consummation, thieves! And a sandwich, in the middle of the night, desperate to regain consciousness. The human. Now, crossing the testimonies, I have tried to fill that period of time consigned to oblivion, and that forces me to switch from real to you. Grand master of ceremonies, the conditional. We were saying, it seems that, after leaving their jackets in the wardrobe ... but I'll tell the next episode, because there is still a Saturday that deserves to be told . As usual, good week! 
Three weeks of vacation. Many or few, a matter of points view. On my return I brought back a suitcase full of yawns . Sleeping was certainly not the most practiced activities. Three weeks of vacation. My notebook is full of notes, to tell stories and facts that perhaps it is better not to be advertised too. In front of the white sheet, a mixture of anxiety and pseudo-literary creative euphoria, I wonder where to start, what memories into words. I do not have to wait long. Wednesday, August 18 . A lifetime ago, but I think many more - will be the holiday and summer air we breathe throughout the year in Zurich. Ibiza, carefully chosen destination with the intention to relax after twelve days of crazy parties in Tel Aviv. Ibiza town, a destination chosen carefully with the intention to put something in the stomach and then jump on the track, on your hands until eight o'clock in the morning. For those who do not know or had recently done with a front Frecciarossa, temporarily losing the use of the left hemisphere of the brain, Ibiza and Zurich are not exactly similar . In Ibiza you speak English - or Catalan - there is the sea and times are typical Mediterranean dinner that is nothing before eleven and a half. In Zurich, however, should be something that speaks a language, even though, in my humble opinion, looks more like a series of guttural spitting, the sea seems there is not and times are typical of Swiss German, that is, to bed without dinner after nine and a half, even if you did a good boy all week. In fact, here we sit down to half past midnight while we order in a typical French restaurant in the wine list has only the English. Globalization. You ask, here we are sitting who? As you know, however, the names of friends, in my post, do not reveal anything, not as a matter of privacy, but simply because they know a person who writes stuff like that is already cause for shame, better not continue - that is evil - with the media pillory. You just know that the company is one of the best and most patients , since tolerance to a week of my jokes continue. Poor, I love you. About two, gorged, we raise our real asses and decide to go drink a crap, what we do without too much effort, not without first having passed through the city's gay area , full of nice people dressed up as Martians latex who like to take the ass whipping of bold young hopefuls. The poop still aches. Finished drinking and chatting, we are ready for the real purpose of our pilgrimage night: find tickets for Amnesia , a temple dedicated to the dance - Or rather, random movements induced by abuse of doping that only occasionally for special astral conjunctions, reflect the name they are called - with thousands of followers. The event is called La Troya - no reference to the respective industry professionals - and is internationally known because at six in the main hall, who wants to does not wash for weeks and can take advantage of the excellent service foam shot in Chile by a couple of guns. In short, intellectual stuff. So, for us not miss our morning dose of Badedas, we begin to search for the Holy Grail of clubbers. What we find, by switching between the various local pre tunz tunz the town. Indeed, noting the typical attitude of the explorer, I am approached by a guy from Lombard accent. 
on the train again, back to Zurich. It will be on Sunday, but today I feel particularly sad. And I miss Milan. More than usual. I know there are a thousand reasons to hate her, maybe more, but this thing barely pump blood in my body cares. In a few days, when my trusty spear bearing the alcoholic rum and cola , descend on the battlefield in single combat ready, think about something else. Today, however, so. Last Friday I turned 34 years . There will be no more forever, but I have friends who know more than twenty years ago and this impression. At least a bit '. And stiff neck that I had as a birthday gift was not a breath of optimism. So what has happened this year? In part, you know, if I've been following the madness of Monday: business trips, booze epic, many miles in the pool, and then never called popular girls, girls call and I never received a reply, new friends, books I made dream, angry, thinking, music played, played and thought, good intentions remained closed in the tray; money unnecessarily squandered, stupidly, laughter, tears, joys, disappointments, pain and fleeting happiness that still accompany me. The list is quite long, but I will not bore you too much. Someone is gone . It is said that such is life, but in this there is nothing I find comforting. It is said that the time is the remedy, but I will consider it the most vicious serial killer ever . The time will bury us all, and instead of being so much to understand how and why the judge let us do so by an international tribunal. No mitigating circumstances. And me? I've changed? Difficult to answer. Probably yes, but I do not know what does. More pessimistic , it can be. I lost faith in many things and sometimes it seems to me that nothing of what we live, remain, but slipping away, like when you take the sand grains in the hand and begin to leave, one by one, then all together, until it is nothing. For the rest, I feel the usual idiot ever . Just today, just before leaving home, I called my grandmother. "So, when you find yourself a girlfriend?". Yeah, when? The bride is not a requirement. Growing up, then, I have become much more selective. Sometimes I think it will be easier to achieve peace in the Middle East. Sure, sometimes I feel lonely and would love to have someone at home speak. I think I'll buy a parrot , at least not suffer from the syndrome of the feet hibernated. And then? And then, tomorrow is another day, another day it will end and tomorrow will be another and so on. Meanwhile, I continue to daydream and wonder what I'll still be great. Yeah, but when you grow up? Maybe when I stop to ask that question, although it is more likely that day will not be great, but just an old man inside a coffin. Strange, for someone who was once thought to be immortal, but then discovered that the immortal in this world, there is only Silvio . All in all, despite my pessimism cosmic love life, and I'd rather be alive than dead although I admit that, in death, you have some advantages, how to stop paying taxes and not be harassed by the programs of the De Filippi. I, for one, I love breakfast and this seems to be dead is much more complicated. I know it's stupid, but in the morning when I wake up, I'm happy because I know that in ten minutes I'll sit in front of a nice cup of milk and cornflakes, biscuits, jam and delicious butter cookies with Belgian chocolate. And in that moment I'm happy. So what is happiness? Where is the meaning of life? I do not know, maybe a biscuit with butter and chocolate chips or, in the words the philosopher Bertrand Russell, in fact to go twice daily to the body, regularly. I never expected to be so happy! So, let's enjoy our finitude and let's enjoy again and again. Meanwhile, you enjoy the fact that this post has come to an end. I'm sorry to have you disappointed you expected something more pleasant. Be ', today I did it, but I promise you that next Monday I will try again to snatch a few smiles. I leave you with a very beautiful poem an author I particularly like that. The author is my father and the poem is written on the occasion of my birthday as now, by custom, a lifetime ago. Good week all! 
.jpg)
