Call barring

FYI…your slippers are too small.

Guiebre:condannati a 15 anni 4 mesi Guiebre:condannati a 15 anni 4 mesi 2009-07-16 17:33:00

(ANSA) – MILANO, 16 LUG – Sono stati condannati a 15 anni e 4 mesi i due baristi milanesi, padre e figlio, per l’omicidio del diciannovene Abdoul Guiebre.

I baristi li inseguirono, ne nacque una lite e al termine Abba fu colpito con una spranga.

Fonte: www.panorama.it

TREVISO (16 luglio) – La visita delle Fiamme Gialle al Centro Commerciale di Crocetta ha colto quasi tutti di sorpresa.

Una sorpresa aumentata via via nell’apprendere che il centro massaggi posto al secondo piano dello stabile, e sottoposto ieri mattina a sequestro preventivo dalla Guardia di finanza di Padova, celava in realtà una fiorente attività a luci rosse.

Al bar del centro commerciale non si parla d’altro, anche se i gestori dell’esercizio cadono dalle nuvole: «Non ci siamo mai accorti di nulla ­osservano­ soprattutto perchè chi sale al piano superiore, dove ci sono uffici e una palestra, può utilizzare una diversa entrata, indipendente dalla galleria dei negozi.

Alcune ragazze, quasi tutte dell’est, erano così avvenenti da far girare la testa, e dai vestiti che indossavano si poteva capire che non erano di sicuro delle commesse di qualche negozio.

Fonte: www.gazzettino.it

via Revista Conceito A

Mais móvel bem bolado, que pode ser encomendado a qualquer marceneiro.

Pode dizer ao seu cliente que a ideia foi sua. Juro que não conto para ninguém!

Sedici file da 150 metri e una pianta (erano meli, ma chiamarli alberi è troppo) ogni metro. Fanno 2400 piante a cui togliere paletto, legaccio e gancio a mano. Per tagliare i rami secondari ad altezza uomo, una ventina di colpi col forbicione pneumatico ci vogliono tutti, e sono 48 mila tagli. Poi bisogna sdraiare le piante e per la parte alta altrettanti colpi non bastano neanche,  ocio facciamo centomila sforbiciate e  morta lì. Arrivi all’ultimo e ci scappa la foto.

Dopo aver tolto ed arrotolato due chilometri e mezzo di fil di ferro, rimangono i tronchi degli alberi, i pali di cemento e le ancore lungo le testate e anche qualcuna in mezzo alla fila. Per i tronchi presto fatto, tre tagli di motosega a pezzo e con 7200 ce la si cava, li si carica  e una quindicina di carri si riempie come niente. La quarantina abbondante si ancore non sembravano un grosso problema, non pensavamo che fossero sotto di un metro, con la pachera del mio amico muratore italocalabrese però non vengono su, bisogna usare il muletto del trattore.

I pali di cemento, 31 per fila più altri sparsi in giro, saranno stati almeno 450. È mio personale motivo d’orgoglio essere riuscito ad estrarli tutti con la pachera  senza aver fatto del male a nessuno, ricevendo anche dei complimenti che secondo me erano la reincarnazione degli scongiuri. Sembra fatta, ma ci sono ancora le zocche (le radici e la parte emersa del tronco fino a 30 cm., che quasi sempre presenta il gnoccone dell’innesto).

A cavare una zocca son buoni tutti, il problema è che per farlo bene devi lasciarle il minino di radicette e di terra attaccato, anche per non rompere eccessivamente i coglioni a chi le deve caricarle sul carro, e sopratutto  tenendo conto del fatto che quel qualcuno è più che probabile sia te medesmo.  Estraendole e roteandole, all’ultima zocca mi sono quasi rammaricato che nessuno mi abbia chiesto di accendere un cerino con la benna della pachera, forse ci sarei anche riuscito. Quando l’ultima zocca è sul carro il lavoro è finito.

D’altronde, il contratto verbale parlava chiaro:  al bar,voi piantate le patate e quello che volete nel pezzo di terreno vuoto e in cambio mi liberate quello occupato dai pomari entro fine novembre.. Legna, pali, e tutto quel che trovate in giro sono vostri e vi faccio piantare le patate anche l’anno prossimo. 

Avreste solo dovuto vedere la faccia di Claudio, il  mio socioconcorrente , quando a due giorni dall’inizio lavori mi ha visto con la mano ingessata

Setting
Auch wenn in der Zwischenzeit anderen Ausgehviertel hinzugekommen sind: Das Niederdorf bleibt unangefochtenes Zentrum der Nachtschwärmer. Ab Donnerstag ist hier jeweils eine ganze Menge los und Freitag und Samstag gibt es fast kein Durchkommen mehr. Läuft man die Niederdorfstrasse vom Central her entlang kommt schon bald auf der linken Seite die Tasca Romero. An und für sich ist die Tapas-Bar nicht speziell erwähnenswert. Weder ist sie optisch ein Hingucker noch beeindruckt sie mit einem besonders angenehmen Ambiente. Was die Tasca Romero aber ist: Eine typisch spanische Tapas-Bar, wie man sie auf der iberischen Halbinsel Land auf, Land ab vorfindet.

Karte
Eine kleine aber ausreichende Auswahl an Tapas. In einer Vitrine sind die Häppchen ausgestellt  und lassen sich dort auch gleich ordern. Dazu gibt es das spanische Nationalbier San Miguel. Oder vielleicht doch lieber einen weissen Sherry aus Jerez de la Frontera?

Bedienung
Nun ja, wegen der Bedienung kommt wohl keiner. Nicht unfreundlich aber nie wirklich bei der Sache. Das kann seinen Charm haben, wird aber spätestens bei einem zweiten Besuch zur Belastung.

Preise
Kleine Portionen, kleiner Preis. Wir hatten zu zweit 1 x Tapas (verschiedene Sorten), 1 x Manchego (spanischer Rohmilchkäse) und 2 Stangen San Miguel = 41.30 Franken.

Harrys Tipp
Trotz allem: Wunderbar. Eine Tapas-Bar, die wie eine solche aussieht und dann noch in einem pulsierenden Ausgangsviertel. Da ist Spanien doch sehr nah. Einfach die grossen Ansprüche zu Hause lassen und unbedingt probieren.

Adresse
Tasca Romero
Niederdorfstrasse 37
8001 Zürich
Tel. 044 252 52 90
keine Webseite

When you leave the hotel to go hunt down some pussy, please take your pride with you.  Don’t go to a bar and pick up on skanks by telling them that you play for an NFL team.  For one thing, you look nothing like a football player.  You are fucking 5 feet 8 inches tall and you’re fucking old as cheese.  Not to mention you don’t appear to be in stellar shape, dickwad.  Should you find someone gullible enough to believe this load of shit, please do not bring her back here to play strange sexual games while taking pictures of it.  When she sobers up enough to realize that she just fucked an unattractive middle-aged man who does not play in the NFL, she is going to fucking run out of your room faster than you can say “the clap”.  Leaving so quickly, she will forget about her belongings, which the next day becomes an annoyance to me.  She will call the hotel numerous times trying to get a hold of you so she can get back her camera which she “uses to feed her babies”….WHAT THE HELL?!  WHAT DID YOU BRING BACK AND FUCK?!  After dodging all 15 of her calls, you finally decide you will leave her camera at the front desk for her to pick up…like I even want to touch that shit after last nights escapades.  Thanks for making me deal with your unattractive hooker and her walk of shame the next morning…you FUCKING COWARD.

PS-I hope your dick falls off when you get home.

When I saw that my cousin had ranked “Beck’s Dark” in his top 5 beer list on Facebook, I immediately cringed and offered to take him on an “educational” beer tour.  Saturday night, I also had to ensure he got fed.  So, we headed to The Good Dog for good food and a reasonably-priced, respectable beer list.  As I enjoy stouts, I inquired about the “oyster” stout.  I thought it was just another gitchy name, but the server told me it was made with oysters.  Intrigued, I started with a sample.  Light did not penetrate it and it seemed to have a hint of brine.  Would be nice to see it served at Sansom’s Oyster House.

Not sure why this was not served in a pint glass (ABV 7.5%).

Here is what Flying Fish says about this brew: “Oysters and stout had long been associated in the UK, but the tradition was gradually lost.  Exit 1, an “export style” stout brewed with oysters, celebrates this tasty combination.  The creamy flavor of English chocolate and roasted malts harmonizes with minerals from the oyster shells.  Irish ale yeast adds a bit of fruitiness and a dry crispness.”

I did not get a sense of creaminess.  Perhaps was too focused on the influence of the oysters.

Por Juliana Gomes

} Hoje, dia 23 de Novembro vai rolar On the Rocks @ D-EDGE!

A segunda-feira mais rock´n´roll de São Paulo rola @ D-EDGE. e hoje terá a participação de Adriano Cintra, Pedrinho Dubstrong, Pati Laundry e Rodrigo Marques com a performace da pin-up Lekka.

The game never stops. They started it again by bashing the wine and beverage ratings. First, it was Robert Parker who was THE problem and now is the rating itself again. The beverage ratings are not an absolute system. They are not supposed to be perfect and scientifically accurate. They represent one way of rating wines and beverages so the consumers have some way of comparing quality and price. The wine industry is no different than most industries. It will cheat, lie and steal every time they can. They do not need an excuse but do need an opportunity. The retail shopping system has too many flaws and will never work even well not to mention perfect. Anything that gets in the way of selling products and puts some limit is better gone than kept in place. Ratings are used to evaluate anything that comes in high numbers and takes time and skill to evaluate. Most people who have to make decisions do not have the time to evaluate things very closely and go by some system. Morningstar rates mutal funds and so do many others. Schwab rates stocks and more as many others do. Robert Parker rates wines and so do many others. The rating systems are not supposed to even work well. They are a subjective way of comparing factors against a set of standards to HELP in making decisions. The consumer has to make decisions and will make mistakes without a doubt unless objective systems, such the better rating systems, are in place. The wine industry knows this and once the ratings are removed or turned into useless systems, such as Wine Enthusiast ratings, the industry will be happy. The ratings are not flexible to allow selling of junk easily.

*This post belongs to this week’s edition of Wine by Cush Magazine blog and published early in World of Cush also.

I read a food blog post about a San Francisco restaurant that was caught not selling iced or hot tea to the guests! The dim-witted waitress had explained that tea drinking guests tend to stay for a long time after the dinner thus tea had been eliminated. Our investigative food writer had not only published this in detail as a blog post, on a major newspaper website, but also contacted the ownership to hear their side. They obviously were innocent and the whole thing was a misunderstanding which always is claimed to be. In real life, they only have to defend themselves because they are being crucified by the local press. Isn’t their menu their business? One the strong points of the San Francisco and many other cities food scenes is that establishments don’t have to follow the norms dictates by whomever. They can start a restaurant with a menu of their choice and what if they won’t serve beef or American wine or hot tea? Will they be attacked in the media? People used to be criticized for not serving American beef. That is no longer valid. They are still being criticized for not serving American wine and this is an ongoing issue! Are they going to be criticized for violating the smallest norms such as not carrying tea or serving bottled water or who-knows-what-is-next? Does not a food editor for a major local paper know that such mention of a restaurant will bring them possible back luck? Does this really qualify as a controversy to publish on Monday morning? I give up.

I have read many reviews by the same food writer in which the restaurant does everything right and loses stars by technicalities such as spoon missing, saltshaker taken or a minute mistake.  I guess when doing a good job all little mistakes count as fatal and if doing a mediocre job, much is forgiven.  I kept the writer anonymous so his career is not ruined (Yeah! It is a joke.  Everyone knows who the jerks are.) and he could have made a post with no restaurant name to make his point but do no harm.  But, no once we get one on a technicality, we have to fry them in public, don’t we?

*This post belongs to this week’s edition of Wine by Cush Magazine blog and published early in World of Cush also.

Fotos por Marcelo Fubah

Por Juliana Gomes

} Quinta-feira, pré feriado, rolou “A” Balada Mixta @ Funhouse!

A galera pirou na 6° edição Balada Mixta @ Funhouse. Não tinha quem não dançasse ao som dos DJS  Pedro Beck, Ad Ferreira, Katylene e Laís Pattak, que atacaram com  músicas de Carla Perez a rock 80´s e tudo no meio foi permitido. Todos tiraram o pó das coreografias e se jogaram na pista. Confira as mais fotos no site da Funhell.

Hello again!  Brauhaus Schmitz opened earlier this year and it certainly was a welcome restaurant, given that the semi-ok, but well-tapped, German restaurant, Ludwig’s, had closed.  I believe it was there I discovered Paulaner Hefeweizen.  The reputation / hopes for Brauhaus had spread all the way to Baltimore.  I didn’t give it much thought because, cynic that I am, I sincerely doubted that any American restaurant could have actual liter steins.

But, oh, they do.

As my cousin and I sat at the bar, waiting for a table, I began with a Warsteiner Pils (ABV 4.8), remembering some German hospitality on my flight to Belgium last year and wanting to start with a lighter beer.

It was easy to drink, which generally goes without saying given German purity laws.  Golden in color, but pale and not the full body that I really wanted.  I wish they had had more Paulaner on tap, but I’m sure I’ll be returning.

I wanted to drink out of a stein like my one from the real Oktoberfest:

but, I ordered Warsteiner, so it was served in a smoother, shorter stein:

I had a liter of Warsteiner Oktoberfest (ABV 5.0) for/with dinner.  It was a soft brown, rich caramel color.  It definitely had a sweetness.  Though it was certainly tasty and smooth, I wouldn’t order a whole liter of it again.  By the time I got to the bottom, the beer was room temperature and tasted like medicine.  So, I either need to learn to drink faster or order a beer that is milder and, therefore, easier to drink.  What I really wanted was what I had at Oktoberfest – Lowenbrau.

My cousin and I were seated on the second level, which has a low ceiling, but good view of the two bar TVs.  I had ordered pork with a beer sauce (Schweinsbraten mit DunkelbiersoBe); my cousin had ordered beef rump (Sauerbraten)  in a rich red sauce, which reminded me of cranberries due to the tang.  The meat was definitely tender, but some of it was dry, as if the meat hadn’t been cooked with the sauce, but rather just topped with it.  Same for my cousin, who cleaned his plate and continued to rave about the potato pancakes and apple sauce for the duration of his visit.

As for the venue, I think they need a darker colored bar.  The Ikea-like veneer is just a little too bright. Love the tap selection, loved the potato pancakes (served with a dollop of sour cream) and apple sauce (lots of cloves).  The atmosphere was nice – the openness creates the sense of a beer hall, added to by authentically-dressed waitstaff.

I likely won’t order dinner there (more because of $$ than taste), but I would have some snacks.  The liter steins are just too fun to resist!  Though, they are risky in that you could get stuck with a liter of beer you don’t like.  Luckily, the bar staff is happily willing to provide tastes first.

For some reason, my brain hears “Three Philosophers” and thinks, “yum, cherry and chocolate.”  I think it may be because of the description that it is a “dark” beer. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.  In any case, the tart, dried cherry flavor was not what I was expecting / dreaming of.  It is a beer with its own merits, of course.  A rich reddish brown color, bubbly, strong abv, but just too tart / reminiscent of dried fruit cake for me.  This, of course, is my own fault. And what better way to start a beer blog than with a brain malfunction!

I ordered this beer at Tria with my cousin, who is in town for a conference.  We – mainly he – talked about the definition of “liberal” and its implications in international relations.  Fascinating stuff, really.  He has a life plan: Law school, international relations, public policy. It’s all quite impressive.

Friday night came around and I needed a cocktail in the worst way. Lately, I’ve found myself nearly completely intolerant of the general public without the help of a cocktail. Basically, the only thing keeping me from becoming a 27-year-old recluse is booze.

When Drew came home from work, we decided to be crazy and go to a new bar that just opened on Shepherd called Branchwater Tavern. Part of avoiding the general public is going to places the general public doesn’t yet know about. For us, that pretty much rules out any establishment with a street address of Washington. (For those not from around here, Washington Street near the Heights has been injected with some kind of Miracle Gro. Every day a new bar sprouts up, and every night, like magic, it’s full of guys in popped collars. It’s “If you build it, they will come” except with black lights and bouncers instead of a baseball diamond.) Branchwater Tavern is just off Washington, so we figured we were safe.

We were planning on going out to eat with my sister later that night, so we decided to sit at the bar to order drinks and snacks. We placed an order for pork cracklins and just as I was tucking in to a frosty gin gimlet, a woman appeared in front of Drew and I.

“I just want you to know, it’s OK for you to sit here for now, but we have some people coming in later who are going to be sitting here, so you’ll need to move when they get here.”

I take my cues from Drew in these situations. My judgment simply can’t be trusted. My answer is always for him to punch someone in the face, and he has his career to worry about. He shrugged and the lady walked away.

“Do we really have to move?” I hissed between gulps of gin.

“No. We’re sitting at the bar. You can’t reserve spots at the bar.” Drew calmly went on drinking his beer, and I felt better about the world. It’s nice to have a man who is in control.

Minutes later, the woman appeared again, this time with an authoritative stance.

“Ok, I just want you to know, your pork cracklins are out, and I’ve placed them over there, at the end of the bar. You’ll have to eat them down there because the people who are going to be sitting here have arrived.” I turned my head in the direction where she was pointing to see the dark, gloomy end of the bar. One guy was sitting down there with his head in his hands. Two empty stools waited for us, directly in line with the front door, which was intermittently being opened and shut, sending cold drafts over the stools. I looked at my gimlet, bathed in the warm glow of the lights above the stools where we were sitting.  Why couldn’t I have my pork cracklins unless I left the nice part of the bar? Why was I being sent to the end of the bar? Who was I, Rosa Parks?

While I was getting together coat, purse, and sloshy drink, Drew had already made it to the end of the bar. I heard him yell, “Hey T!  Some a-hole is eating our pork cracklins!”

I looked up to see three tiny men giggling as one of them happily shoved one of our pork cracklins into his gaping mouth. There were no apologies. There was no remorse. Just hilarity at the pilfered pork cracklin. I watched in further horror as the three men sauntered past us and plopped down in the seats from which we’d just been evicted. Not only did they get our seats, but they also got our pork skins.

I saw red.

“Drew! What are you going to do about this?” I demanded. “That mean woman made us take our pork cracklins at the end of the bar, and then those little guys stole them AND got our seats! And they didn’t even apologize! You don’t just steal other people’s pork cracklins! You just don’t!”

Drew shook his head.

“T, what do you want me to do?”

“Make them pay for our pork cracklins! Tell that lady we’re never coming back! I don’t know! You’re the one with the biceps!”

Needless to say, the only thing that happened was I went on a self-imposed hunger strike, because that would show them! If they are going to steal our chairs and our pork cracklins, I won’t eat anything at all! Don’t mess with old T-dawg! The hunger strike did not include a cocktail strike, unfortunately, and so I spent the entire weekend wishing for the Grim Reaper to come and take me.

I used to be able to hang. But now I’m old. And cranky.

No wonder I get sent to the end of the bar.

Lexington
Grab your hat and boots and head out to Austin City Saloon in Woodhill, Lexington’s original country bar and home of John Michael Montgomery. Long time southern rocker and country crooner Larry Redmon has his own place (Redmon’s) downstairs at the corner of Main and Cheapside. New on the scene: the Silver Spur Saloon for a foot-stompin’ good time. If you are looking for a line dancing, bull-riding kind of place, check out Cadillac Ranch on Palumbo Drive. Kenny Whalen and the Travelers play regularly at Music Land in Paris….smoke and alcohol free. For more information, visit the Lexington Destination Guide.

1. Lördagsoutfiten.
Leggings  – BikBok
Höga strumpor – H&M
Oversize linne – JC
Kofta – BikBok
Jacka – H&M
Stövlar – Nilssons

2. Josefina var med i helgen, hon har inte varit med sen halmstad i våras – kul att träffa henne igen. Hon sminkade mig..
3. … och det blev bra som fan. (Här ser man nya öronhängena oxå ^^)
4. Martin 1, Chatrine & Pillan posar.
5. Jag hittade en spegel att posa i ^^
6. Maaaassa sminktjejer.
7. Jag tvingade Anna att vara med på kort.. haha.
8. En bild till på snygga sminket.
9. Martin 2 hoppade denna helgen oxå ^^
10. Han fick med Thomas på ett hörn oxå.
11. Martin 1 blev inspirerad!
12. På kvällen var det jobb i jkpg och på vägen hem blev det lite egobilder medans Carro körde.
13. Självklart kom vi precis lagom till broöppning – dvs 25 minuters extra väntan.. Vi var tillbaka på hotellet runt 7 och gick upp och började jobba igen vid 11.

So as promised by her in the Vertigo 42 review we are going to have a look over what many believe to be the best new cocktail bar in London. To be honest this is already a favourite and has been visited many times and is a great location for a first date, a drink with mates or a Thursday/new Friday. The only prerequisites being you have a taste for cocktails.

Based on Rivington street this is a little turn off Old St and Curtain Rd. With other great places near by such as bar room bar, Mother Bar and Jaguar Shoes it is in an area of high competition. However Callooh Callay draws in the punters throughout the week and is packed by the weekend.

I have been here for a quick one on Monday/Tuesday and it is very quiet, a great time to do some menu sampling.

The name is taken from ‘Jabberwocky’, a true poem of nonsense from the beloved Lewis Carroll.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

The menu continues the theme of Carroll and is intertwined with riddles, puzzles and an excellent cocktail list. From old classics to new twists there really is something for all. Guys cocktails of hard liquor and more Girlified Champagne and fruit filled alternatives.

Inside the decor is just as good as all the other aspects of Callooh. There are parts of the wall covered with old cassettes and albums that you can peruse while in the toilet (always nice to have something to read). When you enter the bar you are greeted with a small room with a range of comfy seating and funky lighting.

The Gramophone is of particular interest – check it out on the menu…

At the back of the bar is a wardrobe that you walk through to take you to the cassette laden toilets and another room. Upstairs there is also a third room available for private hire. The bar extends much further then its meek exterior suggests. The staff are knowledgeable and i talked to one member of the bar staff for a long time about cocktails and she made all that were asked and all were not off the menu. A very friendly and relaxed atmosphere throughout the week and it really picks up at the weekend.

Till 11pm through the week and 1am at weekends this bar is a great spot for some very good drinks and to sit and be removed from the real world for a few hours….