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Ricatapultata (with a lot of nostalgia and jet lag)

The fact is that this morning I woke up at 5 as were the 11, who has crossed the 830 the city half asleep for 12 hours to go the film festival (where Viggo Mortensen has combined a horrible red shirt with the words "Hungary" to a black dress and then wrapped in the flag of his favorite team) and then find myself finishing a piece for another paper at this time could be called the fast track out of a week in paradise. The output preferential means automatic ejection. And hopeless.

I was in the Seychelles, yes. Mea culpa. I stroked the white sand with his hands as a kind of hourglass, I put the iPod headphones to make room for the sea and wind noise in the ears accustomed to the urban casino. I swam with a turtle by the hand, I drank a drink "molecular" and I made human surfing in the crystal. I did the salute to the sun dipped into the jungle just as I thought it would make Christy Turlington (ok, come on, I did a little 'worse), I had a butler and I woke up at dawn to enjoy a show that is a few times see, I am immersed in a bath of stone decorated with candles, enjoying the privilege. Maybe save this page and see her tomorrow calmly, I tell myself. Why have I not told anything of my days in Mahé and anyone who reads will not understand anything. Then I think tomorrow I will not have time and there is little to say, you have to take it and go. Not a 5 star resort, maybe. But as with the blue sea and white sand it feels the same rich people.

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I had to survive the side of Fashion Week antiglamour

Since last post to date has been a hurricane called Fashion Week. I could spend rivers of words to describe this subsystem delusional world called fashion. Which is made of super conventions to supermagre elderly, gays, Russians, the Japanese and is headed by a perfect little lady that will be great as Polly Pocket (Anna Wintour). But it would be too long. The fashion week would describe it as a kind of oxymoron: a tour de force that a person should try to live the best of his ability. If you do not mind, at least aesthetic. Very well to say since the first show is at nine o'clock in the morning and ends on the last cocktail, if all goes well, at ten o'clock. On the other side of Milan, of course. And in the meantime one should also work by writing romantic How long the woman Armani, how beautiful Cate Blanchett, as are high heels by Prada and the losers are the models that we have to walk on as a kind of heron.

And here it is impossible to be triggered as you should. The week pulls out of fashion, dissects the antiglamour that is in every normal person. I did things like changing profoundly anti-glamor-heeled shoes in front of the parade, eating a cake walk straunta from a showroom to another, move in procession to parade with the railway, to get to travel all disheveled because Versace I was late and I wanted to accompany a taxi driver from the Cathedral in Piazza Vetra because "the course is too short, I will smeno. I attached a PC to the power of the big screens of national chamber of fashion writing a piece sitting on the floor sull'orrida carpet, I refused appetizers "but this young lady and black rice rolled in grape leaves mini!" because the sixth day of miniassaggi not do more, I've been to three in an evening cocktail, made three three-smiles talking to three flute of champagne with three strangers in different, differently, do not give a damn. And then, on the seventh day I rested. Not like God, do not worry.

I had to survive. Why was my goal today. Today is Thursday. And if for some is the day of meatballs or soup for me is the day of Veronica. His face is retouched by photoshop: it is so plastic. But I like her Veronica: You came to do audience at a conference organized by his daughter. And I also said "thanks for saying it her. "What Barbara is proud of his vocation and feel-good, not that she married an idiot.