Friday, January 30, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Golden West Dental Plan Reviews
Where it all came about
I always remember the smell of warm earth that cooks quietly under his feet, a field twice ' years was transformed into the Festa de L'Unità. I do not remember how old I was, 6 or 7 but maybe 5, but it sure does not matter. Matter that was September. A September that did not yet know the water in the sky. Summer Sunday Silence did not exist. It was the first of the season, there was no Sky, who was not football. There was the amplified radio porchemadonne enough to cover those who heard the news of several journalists sent on the football field. It was there that I did not know what to do, because in football I've never failed to thrill. It will be the feet which are not good, because it will be running behind a ball are good even dogs will not because my dad brought me in chicks traipsing up and down, the fact is that I went around the field.
The field was huge. It was not as beautiful today all fields bordered by streets sidewalks walls. Field was the one that begins and ends only if there is a pit. It was field and meadow in the west, was the landing of improbable flights with open arms while running. But it was also the field of sheet metal box with the party that takes its meaning: the box where Winter is playing cards was the good of the restaurant, the one where you hide behind what he did was to piss on the dressing room for orchestras smooth. I lost my wandering around without direction. First among the benches of the pizzeria, then knock on the shutters of ice cream. And meanwhile I heard the screams did not doubt for a goal, a foul. A world that did not interest me. I preferred to go and see what happens to ice rink and then go from there over to the restaurant.
I do not mind how I got to see the stones that run away from my shoes. The burnt yellow grass seems to me a show worthy of interest. I do not want to move from the runway, not because someone skating, but because with the heat on my brother told me that if we ever burn helmets if you do not pull up immediately. He says that tomorrow we cook an egg like that of Terence Hill, only that there are no ostriches in Italy. Tomorrow I hear my mother if we cook an egg from the big lies, who knows how sfriggola lover on all those big red mattonellone who knows how much they weigh. Then I look at the post of the speaker, what he calls the numbers on the wheel you win the hams and bicycles, but that's hard, I pull up to a week. And the speaker is turned on even if it is afternoon. I must close my eyes if not, the sun burns them to me and my mother gave me because he told me to be careful of. As I like the red flag, I like red, and then there is peace all pretty attached to the pole. But do not fly that lacks the wind. I feel fry the speaker. Who knows who to call. Because the day you turn only to call people to lend a hand to those who are preparing to eat.
And here you have me tell you one thing. Because otherwise I will not understand why has run a nail on the head.
Since small, but small, and since me from back home from the hospital, I was at the silence I've never used. To make me feel good I put the radio station in the background and I was quiet. Scacacciavo even when not crying, not even starvation. I stood in closed fists and open eyes. Silent but awake. Then I am slowly grew just enough to be able to do two things: The first
, scaccolarmi
The second Spippola get to the radio. After I washed my hands.
an old transistor radio Grundig, one of those laptops with the false roots made of plastic. Understand that a knob off the voice and the other scratching the change during the transition was crucial. I realized after the red line moves to the right or left according to the big knob, but was not essential. Rather than being a closed fists I could remove voice Gianni Togni insisted that it was as simple as kicking a can in favor of chrome motorcycle racing at night in summer. And those guys were in there command. Fantastic. But then the radio started to crackle always, my mother suffered from migraine and could not keep it lit so much depending on the day and even a little. The fact is that music in my house do not even entered pigiarcela. There were records, but there was no turntable, and then even if there was not I would have said, because the disks are delicate, not kid stuff. Car Audio nothing. In short, no music, except that of spectacles of Rai. But I could not turn the knobs, and I did not like. And so I came to the camp with his speaker and sfrizzoli momentary silence created by the lack of swearing.
wait for the voice of Bartolini call someone at the restaurant, that is to put the chickens on the grill. I am little and told me that if I'm the Blonde d'takes me around to me on the grid because a chicken is about as big as me. To me I do not think so, but we're in a hurry that I can put it to me. Instead, the Bartolini says nothing. But something slowly part. It is not clear, but it's not clear even the numbers of ham. We must be firm and lift a hand to the ear of the shell around like they do in the movies. Russians and Americans together, or icché us? it is not clear. The thunder, I am not surprised. Boh. Here here, raise the volume, you see the games are over. He also feels no hands around the ears. And I found myself
listen to this song
Party plan, then goes high and then come up, and there is a piano and an instrument that makes a sound like singing with your nose plugged. It does not end. That is when it slows down it always ends the song. But this continues. I do not understand what is the next to get to drive, because my father is sitting, not lying down. But I like it. And then he said slowly, slowly now beats slower hello how are you. You see he was ill. But I think now is better. Expect no fear tomorrow. Beautiful, beautiful m'è your liking. Do I feel if I put Bartolini tomorrow.
I did not know who made a box to put in the background during the hours of absolute nothingness prior to smooth. "Songs for Peace" had called. There was in De Andrè, De Gregori, Guccini, Jackson, John Lennon. Do not seek it in official channels, the classic casket was made at home. But then as long as the party me and I felt happy. Yes ok, it was like turning the knobs, but wow, could be heard at high volume. And then it was still music. Not allow you to feel alone. Then the feast of the drive ends and no music.
Skip a few years. In the meantime, comes the first Walkman, the litter box is copied into the house and Lucio Dalla begins to have a face and shoulders above all hairy even for me. It happens to the global casino of Caruso. Pavarotti, who pushes all in this song crannies as possible. Then came the Queen, the Crash Test Dummies with MMMMMMMMM, André De discs that now I can put on the turntable because they are grown. And the music usually starts to take me a bit 'more closely. However, I feel that I miss something without knowing how to read write. I want to learn to play an instrument. At the middle school classes in the afternoon of piano damage. In the meantime I've heard Bohemian Rhapsody I say that the plan is right for me. Top of the lessons and I do buy a keyboard (a Nashi 505). But that's not what I thought, after four months late lessons and how to hold your keyboard clothes. The music still continues to accompany me. The stereo in the house is always on the afternoon since my mother works (but the headache follows the faithful as Snoopy), and so comes the Live After Death Iron Maiden, Nannini, The Dark Side of the Moon. Now I'm used to the idea of \u200b\u200bthe listener, in fact, I just need the drumming of the fingers on the table.
And then comes the tram as usual just when you turn to look out the window.
Tired of cassettes and vinyl I put the radio. I hold down the + and the frequency rises. I still see it as a symbol of the stereo. Radio Blue Boh, who knows what damage the afternoon. From the speaker says. Forte, I like it, we hope to give ballerina, so much that I do not hear. No, fuck is a live 10 years ago. DallAmeriCaruso. The live versions do not like. Then you hear that introduction. Change now. No no, I know, wait. Futura. As a child I thought that you were hurt. Bean that I was. Who knows who knows tomorrow ... we do not sing, what pisses me off is that the songs live. But you hear the guitar as it turns out, beautiful. In the original it is not. Bella. Hark, he seems almost to cry. Beautiful, is now behind Lucio. He looks like a mandolin. Now jazz is growing. Feel like entering 'gnorante with distorted. But Lucio presses on the item, great shooter, but the guitar makes him the shadow. Bella. It 's like a second voice, a second skin. Loved the game with the volume after they made love .....
And so on December 31 of 1995 I went to buy a classical guitar to start with. I am the mother, mindful of the keyboard arreggi clothes, he said, "Spendici little that long to hold two days I find the shirts." I never stopped playing. Yamaha that I still have it today, although now it's pink python, and the company are 6 other guitars. Futura I never learned why we can not put God to break with the scalpel of a score. I have never felt mature enough to express all those emotions with my hands on the keyboard. Were others who had the misfortune to be cut: the funky Prince, riffettoni ACDC-Zep-Queen of the Italian rock Ligabue Vasco and etc etc.
But for me, Ricky Portera remains unapproachable Prometheus of my mad passion for the guitar.
If today I'm lucky to have a group and with it a further family, thanks to the guitar when I met people, places, past crises, I know that everything started from a guitarist who has made me realize how much heart you can put balanced on a guitar neck. And so, for having improved the lives contagion with this wonderful disease, I thank him. I will never be as good as him, but this does not detract from the joy that gives me the slightest sound. Thanks
Ps: Homework: Buy DallAmeriCaruso ascoltatevi and the No. 10, Futura. 
I always remember the smell of warm earth that cooks quietly under his feet, a field twice ' years was transformed into the Festa de L'Unità. I do not remember how old I was, 6 or 7 but maybe 5, but it sure does not matter. Matter that was September. A September that did not yet know the water in the sky. Summer Sunday Silence did not exist. It was the first of the season, there was no Sky, who was not football. There was the amplified radio porchemadonne enough to cover those who heard the news of several journalists sent on the football field. It was there that I did not know what to do, because in football I've never failed to thrill. It will be the feet which are not good, because it will be running behind a ball are good even dogs will not because my dad brought me in chicks traipsing up and down, the fact is that I went around the field.
The field was huge. It was not as beautiful today all fields bordered by streets sidewalks walls. Field was the one that begins and ends only if there is a pit. It was field and meadow in the west, was the landing of improbable flights with open arms while running. But it was also the field of sheet metal box with the party that takes its meaning: the box where Winter is playing cards was the good of the restaurant, the one where you hide behind what he did was to piss on the dressing room for orchestras smooth. I lost my wandering around without direction. First among the benches of the pizzeria, then knock on the shutters of ice cream. And meanwhile I heard the screams did not doubt for a goal, a foul. A world that did not interest me. I preferred to go and see what happens to ice rink and then go from there over to the restaurant.
I do not mind how I got to see the stones that run away from my shoes. The burnt yellow grass seems to me a show worthy of interest. I do not want to move from the runway, not because someone skating, but because with the heat on my brother told me that if we ever burn helmets if you do not pull up immediately. He says that tomorrow we cook an egg like that of Terence Hill, only that there are no ostriches in Italy. Tomorrow I hear my mother if we cook an egg from the big lies, who knows how sfriggola lover on all those big red mattonellone who knows how much they weigh. Then I look at the post of the speaker, what he calls the numbers on the wheel you win the hams and bicycles, but that's hard, I pull up to a week. And the speaker is turned on even if it is afternoon. I must close my eyes if not, the sun burns them to me and my mother gave me because he told me to be careful of. As I like the red flag, I like red, and then there is peace all pretty attached to the pole. But do not fly that lacks the wind. I feel fry the speaker. Who knows who to call. Because the day you turn only to call people to lend a hand to those who are preparing to eat.
And here you have me tell you one thing. Because otherwise I will not understand why has run a nail on the head.
Since small, but small, and since me from back home from the hospital, I was at the silence I've never used. To make me feel good I put the radio station in the background and I was quiet. Scacacciavo even when not crying, not even starvation. I stood in closed fists and open eyes. Silent but awake. Then I am slowly grew just enough to be able to do two things: The first
, scaccolarmi
The second Spippola get to the radio. After I washed my hands.
an old transistor radio Grundig, one of those laptops with the false roots made of plastic. Understand that a knob off the voice and the other scratching the change during the transition was crucial. I realized after the red line moves to the right or left according to the big knob, but was not essential. Rather than being a closed fists I could remove voice Gianni Togni insisted that it was as simple as kicking a can in favor of chrome motorcycle racing at night in summer. And those guys were in there command. Fantastic. But then the radio started to crackle always, my mother suffered from migraine and could not keep it lit so much depending on the day and even a little. The fact is that music in my house do not even entered pigiarcela. There were records, but there was no turntable, and then even if there was not I would have said, because the disks are delicate, not kid stuff. Car Audio nothing. In short, no music, except that of spectacles of Rai. But I could not turn the knobs, and I did not like. And so I came to the camp with his speaker and sfrizzoli momentary silence created by the lack of swearing.
wait for the voice of Bartolini call someone at the restaurant, that is to put the chickens on the grill. I am little and told me that if I'm the Blonde d'takes me around to me on the grid because a chicken is about as big as me. To me I do not think so, but we're in a hurry that I can put it to me. Instead, the Bartolini says nothing. But something slowly part. It is not clear, but it's not clear even the numbers of ham. We must be firm and lift a hand to the ear of the shell around like they do in the movies. Russians and Americans together, or icché us? it is not clear. The thunder, I am not surprised. Boh. Here here, raise the volume, you see the games are over. He also feels no hands around the ears. And I found myself
listen to this song
Party plan, then goes high and then come up, and there is a piano and an instrument that makes a sound like singing with your nose plugged. It does not end. That is when it slows down it always ends the song. But this continues. I do not understand what is the next to get to drive, because my father is sitting, not lying down. But I like it. And then he said slowly, slowly now beats slower hello how are you. You see he was ill. But I think now is better. Expect no fear tomorrow. Beautiful, beautiful m'è your liking. Do I feel if I put Bartolini tomorrow.
I did not know who made a box to put in the background during the hours of absolute nothingness prior to smooth. "Songs for Peace" had called. There was in De Andrè, De Gregori, Guccini, Jackson, John Lennon. Do not seek it in official channels, the classic casket was made at home. But then as long as the party me and I felt happy. Yes ok, it was like turning the knobs, but wow, could be heard at high volume. And then it was still music. Not allow you to feel alone. Then the feast of the drive ends and no music.
Skip a few years. In the meantime, comes the first Walkman, the litter box is copied into the house and Lucio Dalla begins to have a face and shoulders above all hairy even for me. It happens to the global casino of Caruso. Pavarotti, who pushes all in this song crannies as possible. Then came the Queen, the Crash Test Dummies with MMMMMMMMM, André De discs that now I can put on the turntable because they are grown. And the music usually starts to take me a bit 'more closely. However, I feel that I miss something without knowing how to read write. I want to learn to play an instrument. At the middle school classes in the afternoon of piano damage. In the meantime I've heard Bohemian Rhapsody I say that the plan is right for me. Top of the lessons and I do buy a keyboard (a Nashi 505). But that's not what I thought, after four months late lessons and how to hold your keyboard clothes. The music still continues to accompany me. The stereo in the house is always on the afternoon since my mother works (but the headache follows the faithful as Snoopy), and so comes the Live After Death Iron Maiden, Nannini, The Dark Side of the Moon. Now I'm used to the idea of \u200b\u200bthe listener, in fact, I just need the drumming of the fingers on the table.
And then comes the tram as usual just when you turn to look out the window.
Tired of cassettes and vinyl I put the radio. I hold down the + and the frequency rises. I still see it as a symbol of the stereo. Radio Blue Boh, who knows what damage the afternoon. From the speaker says. Forte, I like it, we hope to give ballerina, so much that I do not hear. No, fuck is a live 10 years ago. DallAmeriCaruso. The live versions do not like. Then you hear that introduction. Change now. No no, I know, wait. Futura. As a child I thought that you were hurt. Bean that I was. Who knows who knows tomorrow ... we do not sing, what pisses me off is that the songs live. But you hear the guitar as it turns out, beautiful. In the original it is not. Bella. Hark, he seems almost to cry. Beautiful, is now behind Lucio. He looks like a mandolin. Now jazz is growing. Feel like entering 'gnorante with distorted. But Lucio presses on the item, great shooter, but the guitar makes him the shadow. Bella. It 's like a second voice, a second skin. Loved the game with the volume after they made love .....
And so on December 31 of 1995 I went to buy a classical guitar to start with. I am the mother, mindful of the keyboard arreggi clothes, he said, "Spendici little that long to hold two days I find the shirts." I never stopped playing. Yamaha that I still have it today, although now it's pink python, and the company are 6 other guitars. Futura I never learned why we can not put God to break with the scalpel of a score. I have never felt mature enough to express all those emotions with my hands on the keyboard. Were others who had the misfortune to be cut: the funky Prince, riffettoni ACDC-Zep-Queen of the Italian rock Ligabue Vasco and etc etc.
But for me, Ricky Portera remains unapproachable Prometheus of my mad passion for the guitar.
If today I'm lucky to have a group and with it a further family, thanks to the guitar when I met people, places, past crises, I know that everything started from a guitarist who has made me realize how much heart you can put balanced on a guitar neck. And so, for having improved the lives contagion with this wonderful disease, I thank him. I will never be as good as him, but this does not detract from the joy that gives me the slightest sound. Thanks
Ps: Homework: Buy DallAmeriCaruso ascoltatevi and the No. 10, Futura.
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