I remember the summer looking into my glass. Drunk in the airplane shots of port and whiskey, dodger burning everywhere, the nights in his underpants on the stone terrace to watch the stars slowly sipping beer or white wine or red, sand and cigarette butts sunken in, skin browned in a swimsuit, barbecues in the garden in the yellowed grass, as we burned the houses white and blue uniform on the sky and Orthodox churches that smell the incense, the days at the beach to swim to the buoy and to read a pair of speakers on a napkin, the fireworks the marina, cocktails and beer and whiskey and ice we buy in bags at night to refresh and boat trips to dive into the clear warm water from the bow or stern under the dodger and still restless legs to stand still in the sea with the gentle roar of the water against the rocks, the white wine with lunch and blast waves and rocky coves with sand-colored and transparent water and benches sand, sun glasses and immovable Stereo Love at full power everywhere we go and the little car that we travel the island and its roads full of dust, screaming, playing cards and stupid information on Greek television with the sound muted and nights in the club with the bottles stolen, even more than usual laughs and fights almost exploding and girls, always French, and the shouts and deafening ash and baffles Dry martinis and badly proportioned and then the brunette with short hair, curly and mouth in wry sailor, just before leaving, reluctant, decision, she said, who changes his mind very quickly when I kiss her and me draws running toward the beach where we sleep together and then Peter and his air of wet dog and the smile of Claire when she's happy and Dorian, drunk, dancing while wearing a chair Malcolm and rolling joints we smoke slumped in chairs and car chases in the supermarket with trolleys full of booze and tomato and cucumber tzatziki, the football games ridiculous on the beach, and the last drops of beer which boil in the sun on raised wooden tables next to chairs at 4 euros in the afternoon and again and then Love Stereo views of the ferries in the morning drinking coffee on the terrace and candles the calm blue sky and water and mine, and sunscreen in the back braces and delicious fall and then return sad, and yet more drinks on the plane.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Kate Playground Without Panties
web browser Google Chrome topped the annual ranking BIT9 of the more dangerous for companies in respect of an account security vulnerabilities.
Originally scheduled for the fourth quarter of 2010, Chrome OS will finally "a few months late," says Eric Schmidt, told the conference The Web 2.0 in San Francisco. However, one wonders a little about the problems Google has faced since the release candidate (0.9.78.1) was unveiled in mid-October.Google semble donc vouloir prendre son temps pour sortir un produit solide. Ou peut-être se concentre-t-il plus sur la prochaine version d’Android, pour les mobiles ? Bref, il faudra encore attendre quelques mois, probablement début 2011.
Nous savons aussi que Google est entouré de plusieurs partenaires, comme HTC, qui pourrait quant à lui dévoiler une tablette sous Chrome OS. Même si jusque là, Google semblait préférer les netbooks, avec un clavier physique, qui paraissent plus adaptés selon Eric Schmidt.
Rappelons aussi qu’un ingénieur de Google avait dévoilé non-officiellement Chromoting, un utilitaire pour Chrome OS qui permettrait d’accéder PC applications from the browser. A notion which had been ousted from the introduction of Chrome OS in November 2009 ...
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Premium Bonds Draw Dates
I think I've ever talked to one of the sexiest things I do. Namely running, I never wrote about it all. I almost never done in Lille, I had to go out twice, but I had an excuse, the sport was compulsory, so I was football. I have not always been bad at football, like quite good, but that's another story.
Prior to live firing on the dissolute, I did athletics club when I was in second, then a little at first, but I made only half a year, I went skiing in qualifying. With my constitution and atavism, aka my father, I managed my first and only season of cross country.
It was really my cam. Ca, ie mud, cleats, shorts ras balls and trees and coastlines and everyone who walked on to make his mark at the outset, it must be taken as soon as possible to out of the ground, where pull on an arm or two is reasonably successful, to rise and be the best, roughly, and then also still hitting the slopes arms back and run like hell in the last lap without worrying about the condition of his lungs.
is the story of the coup beforehand, but it's also a story of intelligence and take / ed, as in everything. I better finish when I was within ten or twenty at the outset that when I was leading after two turns. But then, a year racing in the legs, it was just for the blazes, to say with my fags and my weekly training I could get the big boys. I was already con at the time. But I was a brute. They called me the metronome, because with one lap I turned always on time, no watches or anything. It was a little problem too, because, suddenly, I was a hare perfect. You know, the hare, who is leading the race for a leader to jettison history competitors and then finished 8th. How the con.
Here in MTL I run a gym inside, I know it's even more stupid as to run outside, run around from point A to point B, so we could go in a straight line, but the next athletics track I am very pleased, even if it is not really blue and tartan, and she is inclined to the corners on the outside lane and it's pretty cool, for reasons of speed. I always run as a kid, too fast from the start, then I Crame, I slowed down, I stop, I see, I stretch, I drink, then I take a stitch in the side that wants to be more bar and heavy legs and I ended up doing sprints and collapsing to the ground. Own. The time when I was in the top 10 regional ranking is far enough for me to laugh. (And meanwhile I finished at 200 at France, completely amateurish).
The thing that people not understand is how much running is a matter of pleasure, enjoyment, and absolutely not boring. Swimming is boring, yeah. You got everything already on the topo I go where my feet are when you run out, and it is not negligible, you can do it running fast ok, or bike, but the idea is qu'en courant, t'as toute l'histoire de ta putain de semelle qui cogne et qui glisse, élastique, avec ton pied dans tes Pegasus qui se déroule, du talon aux orteils avant de rebalancer un coup de fouet, t'es toute cette mythologie de la communion avec le sol parce que courir c'est pas taper dessus mais c'est finalement une histoire de rebondir dessus, enfin bref. C'est pas une histoire d'être le plus fort, c'est une histoire de porter ses couilles, parce que quand tu vas courir, personne t'oblige à continuer après un point de côté. Personne est sur ton dos, et t'façon, ça marche pas avec moi, je courrais que quand on m'encourageait. Mais y'a les endomorphines mec, et elles viennent pas au même time for everyone but when they arrive is when you run the music and you feel the wind and you literally shiver of pleasure and you run faster and life becomes totally is the most enjoyable thing the world, because you're inundated with pleasure and it's just a fucking drug, when you feel in your cheeks and your fingers and eyes and chest and groin the fucking fun of the race, and it is not even fun, it's just the race itself, a kind of two where you float in the ether and the light and nothing can happen to you, because yeah, you walk on water, and go channels to the fullest.
So yeah, run to it and for all the masochism that goes with it to keep running while you're hurting. Yeah because it is in these moments that you reach a point just above you, kind of unconsciousness and superconscious of you because that ignoring all signals of pain, makes you cry to stop you overtake you and you see these signals in fact it's fucking bullshit and it's you who decides when your body continues or stops, you're the leader, brothel, and the school of pain is always and still the best, simply for the reminder of lucidity, the point of potential, everything is always a story of guts. I run to remember that power, I have plenty to be better. Even if, in the meantime I crazy or anything I can not, I always do that for reminding me.