În vreme ce Öreatul era încă parţial bulversat şi parţial euforic, prinţul Sior nu pierdu vremea ci, profitând de atmosfera tulbure din capitală şi de toxiinfecţia alimentară suferită de principalii ofiţeri ai imperiului, în urma ingerării de ciuperci în hanul Lucrătorul ostenit, îi destitui pe toţi aceştia, întocmind şi actele de trimitere a lor în judecată, pentru crimele de înaltă trădare şi uneltire împotriva ordinii de Stat, agravate prin asocierea în vederea săvârşirii de infracţiuni. Concomitent, avansă câţiva gradaţi felieni şi arkadios în gradul de general, reorganizând Armata, Poliţia şi reînfiinţata Siguranţă, efemerul Serviciu Imperial de Informaţii fiind dizolvat.

- Vă arăt eu, futu-vă-n gură, să vă faceţi afacerile voastre şi mie să-mi povestiţi cine cu cine s-a mârlit şi care fufă s-a mai siliconat!...

Din cele trei instituţii restructurate se găsiră câţiva ofiţeri care să-şi prezinte demisiile de onoare, dar, spre dezamăgirea acelora, Sior le acceptă pe toate.

- Ia mai mergeţi voi şi la lopată, îmbuibaţilor! – îşi zise prinţul, încoronat, între timp, împărat de către marele preot al eternului Pioris.

Sorian, încă năuc, fu eliberat din temniţă şi numit sfetnic imperial alături de Photine şi de câţiva aristocraţi arkadios, iar Şarama fu oficial proclamată carte revelată, rânduindu-i-se un cult de venerare.

Tânărul împărat reţinu, însă, şi câteva idei ale grupului de ofiţeri care încercaseră lovitura de stat, astfel că-şi însuşi Fondul Libertatea, utilizându-l pentru dotarea corespunzătoare a celor trei instituţii fundamentale restructurate. Ulterior, introduse ca monedă siorul, sorienii putând fi schimbaţi timp de trei decade, la un curs de 12 la 1 (pentru doisprezece sorieni primindu-se un sior).

Pe când încă se mai petrecea în regatele care-şi proclamaseră independenţa, trupele de sperieni, grumi, felieni şi arkadios interveniră, înăbuşind în râuri de sânge toate tendinţele centrifuge, răzvrătiţii fiind nevoiţi să recunoască autoritatea Öreatului, să jure credinţă împăratului şi să se angajeze cu vor tripla birul cuvenit centrului, adoptând quaranta, adică sistemul în care, după treizeci şi nouă de zile lucrătoare, într-a patruzecia zi se puteau odihni activ.

Sub conducerea lui Fawrr se începu organizarea Operei şi a Filarmonicii, instituţii absente până atunci, iar Teatrul fu revoluţionat, în repertoriu incluzându-se, pe lângă autori felieni şi arkadios, Cehov, Gogol, Goncearovski, Usca, Bulgakoff… La propunerea prinţului Ingvar, însă, lui Fawrr i se asigurară condiţiile ca, în locul minunatei sale voci de tenor, să dobândească o minunată voce de soprană, spre a putea interpreta cu succes Orfeu de Gluck. Sirona se întristă iniţial, împăcându-se mai apoi cu ideea. De altfel, cei doi nu-şi mai vorbiră vreodată.

…

Toate aceste reforme trecură aproape neobservate pentru vulg, acesta prelungindu-şi euforia revoluţionară. Într-un echilibru precar, Tio intră în salonul Lucrătorului ostenit însoţit de gloobusul avocat al apărării, devenit prieten conjunctural.

- Adică… bă! Sunt nişte chestii… Tinerii? Bă! Te speli, faci o şcoală… După aia… În pula mea!

Vrăjitoarea Oriana privea concentrată jocul reflexelor de griuri de pe un samovar.

- Ăsta nu-i personaj de-al tău? – se interesă scunda Alizee.

- Ba da… - murmură tenebroasa vrăjitoare, privind mai intens samovarul.

- Dar, în Şarama nu era aşa grobian…

- Ei… Literatură… Parcă Filomela e mai brează?...

„Mda!” – îşi zise interlocutoarea. „Decupăm, colăm, fardăm, exagerăm, omitem, născocim… Asta suntem toţi, nişte trişori!”…

- Important este ca cititorului să-i placă! – făcu, împăciuitoare, Elfa cea roşcată da’ vopsită. În definitiv, viaţa este suficient de nasoală…

„Iar voi, cu gazetăria voastră, o faceţi de-a dreptul irespirabilă!” – îşi zise Vrăjitorul, zâmbind condescendent.

- Băi, piele! – strigă avocatul către ospătar. Nişte băutură la domnii!...

- Ne pare rău – ripostă acesta -, dar nu servim clienţi în stare de ebrietate!

- Da’ ce are? – răcni Tio. Vrei să-ţi fut una? Acum e libertate, nu ne mai comandă nimeni!... Adică, bă!

Un echipaj al Poliţiei restructurate interveni, conducându-i pe cei doi către beciurile Sar’a’labei.

- Libertatea e relativă – medită Vrăjitorul -, singură Dreptatea este absolută. Cel puţin, aşa, ca concept…

- Ca concept… - pufni Alizee. Iar eşti beat! Mă mir că nu te-au săltat şi pe tine…

- S-or fi prins că n-am ajuns la a treia bere… - persuadă el.

„Persuadă… Ce termen! Da’ de sfiorare ştie să facă mişto!” – cugetă Oriana, îmbufnată.

„O, Pioris, nu-i lăsa pe ăştia doi să se încaiere din nou!” – se rugă Elfa.

Well guys since I've said that i love reading books, so here i am with a book called The Namesake.

This book is written by a well known Pulitzer Prize winning Author; Jhumpa Lahiri. This book is something which gives a nostalgia to the people of Kolkata who are living in other foreign countries.

The book depicts the life of a person who was named Gogol after a renowned Russian writer, by his father Ashoke Ganguly, who is a professor at MIT.

The language of the book is easy and captivates the readers, from beginning to the end. It shows how a grown up kid in America finds difficult to understand his Indian culture when he come to India with his family for his vacations.

The books has some Glimpses of the Gogol's story called ' The Overcoat'.

If you like reading and want to have a nice book in your READ list then try this one out........

I've ranked this book 4/5. Which i rank very rarely............. a great book for the people of all origin whether Indian or non- Indian.

The namesake has got many snetences which will make you to love the book, that compel you to follow what's written........ in short that will appeal to you.

The lines that appealed to me are....

" You are young and free, do yourself a favor, before its too late, without thinking too much about it first, pack a pillow and blanket and see as much world as you can. You will not regret it. One day it will be too late"

Well readers enjoy the book...... it tells the pain of being away from your native country and the familiar yet strange connection with the foreign country... which is now your home..... :)

Nein, sie leben nicht mehr, die toten Seelen, dennoch wird ihre Leistung weiter besteuert, selten ihrer gedacht, stetig ihr Erbe verbraucht. Und nahezu täglich werden sie angerufen. Seit letzter Nacht sind sie ihrer letzten Habe beraubt, ihrer Fähigkeit, einen Freistaat im freien Fluge zu beherrschen.

Danach erschien eine Rothaut in Machenschaften, ein Vertreter des harten Anfassens, ein Mann des gebrochenen Spanisch. Saludos Amigos, sagte er und verschwand. Danach erschien und blieb geraume Zeit ein weißer Mann, der sich vereinsamt eines Tages im Dickicht des Münchner Hauptbahnhofs verlor.

    From Testpicture

Am Weißen übten sie Verrat und kamen selber an die Reihe. Ein Niederbayer und ein Franke, beide wenig zornig. Vom Himmel, aus dem der Große Blitze warf, kamen Bonbons. Das Rauchverbot und auch der Plan, das Steuern eines Autos erst nach dem Genuss von zwei Mass Wiesenbier gesetzlich vorzuschreiben.

Sie wollten koalieren. Pfui, sagte der schwarze Wähler, und trauert weiter um die tote Seele und um seinen roten Kopf.

We settled on the house Friday with a surprise $50 increase to our mortgage.  That swallowed, we went looking at carpet and found something we both liked for the stairwell and two small bedrooms.  The man installing our carpet (a friend of my dad's) stopped by and measured everything and even offered to give us a lawn mower free of charge.  Things were starting to look up and the men got a lot done over the weekend on the electrical and drywall work in the laundry room.  Aunt Carmela did a great job jump starting the painting by applying the first coat in the guest room (which is the gorgeous SW Blissful Blue) and Mom busted ass removing all of the wallpaper.  I spent most of the weekend acting as manager, mudding holes in the walls, and cutting in around the sockets and window sills.  The gold paint for the library gave me a little shock Sunday evening, but I was determined to make it work.  Even finding out that our carpet choice was out of stock and would have to be altered, I kept an optimistic outlook.

But by Tuesday, having spent some grueling hours reading Gogol's St. Petersburg Talesand working, I was in no mood to focus on the house or face the fact that I'd screwed up on my paint choices.  It was ok that I didn't like the SW Classical Gold in the library and wanted to change it, but when I started applying the SW Compatible Cream to the hallway, I felt the overwhelming urge to crawl in a closet and cry. 

For a long time now I've looked forward to the day that I could paint my own house the colors I want.  No more plain and boring white walls.  I would be adventurous and use all my knowledge gained from years of watching HGTV and reading Better Homes and Gardens.  I would push against my fears of such colors like yellow and red.  So when I picked SW Compatible Cream it wasn't without careful research and confidence.  I had viewed the pictures of other armature decorators' walls done in the very same color.  I'd read wonderful reviews on it.  I felt certain this shade would be great for the living room and halls.  I was dead wrong.

The color was too yellow.  Staring at the paint swatch and the color I'd just applied to the wall, I felt completely stupid.  Sure, on a small swatch the color was lovely, but what was I thinking applying this to a huge space in my house.  I've never liked yellow--in fact, a yellow house would drive me freakin' bananas like the narrator in the beautifully written and creepy short story The Yellow Wallpaper. 

And to add to my embarrassment, my parents and Mike's dad were making faces at my paint choices.  Mike, on the other hand, was trying to talk me out of changing the colors.  So, by this time I was ready to pull my hair out and my usually steady hand was failing and getting paint on the pergo floor.  I wasn't psycho, but I was probably a good runner up for one of those reality shows that thrives on female stars going batty on the screen.

Needless to say, I accomplished nothing last night except for a sore pride and a shoulder of guilt.  Mike took me home and reassured me that everything would be fine and it was only three gallons of paint that would be wasted if we changed our minds.  He even sat down and helped me pick new colors for the walls. 

To play it safe, I went back to the swatch that had SW Smokey Topaz (the color for our master bedroom) on it and chose lighter shades in the same hue.  Various shades of tans throughout the house will look much cleaner and professional than wacky shades of yellow.  The tans will mix well with the other colors we chose too.  I originally wanted SW Gingery for the kitchen, but my dad talked me out of it because we can't change the cabinets any time soon and Gingery is too close in color to the wood in that room.  I had full intentions of painting the cabinets white, but Dad and Mike disagreed and suggested I wait until we can afford brand new cabinets instead.   So I chose SW Svelte Sage instead.

This morning, feeling a little better about the whole thing, I asked Dad to pick up SW Bagel for the basement, SW Interactive Cream for the living room and library, and SW Biscuit for the halls.  These are all on the top of the swatch card for the Smokey Topaz brown.  Biscuit is almost a white and Interactive Cream is kind of a light skin tone.  I really hope these work.  You always read about how painting is the cheapest way to redecorate your home, but those $30 a gallon really add up when you realize how many gallons you need per room.  What a huge undertaking.  And when you see the original color scheme of the house, along with the note that all the ceilings suggested the previous owners were smokers, you'll understand what I mean.

I'll stop back later in the week with some pictures of our home renovation adventure.

Inform yourself on Google Bordello (even NPR thinks they're the best)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMuCVOM0mvw (Harlem in Tuscany)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZOnw2EXAaQ&feature=related (with Madonna, strange but great)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbgC3qw_OlM&feature=related (Think Locally, F Globally)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQSaYgAp2lw&feature=related (60 Revolutions - more mainstream, but great)

Cuando se piensa en literatura rusa , uno suele imaginar a personajes trágicos como  Ana Karerina o Raskólnikov,  presa de enormes dudas existenciales que buscan su redención en un mundo injusto para ellos.

No vamos desencaminados en esta idea pués gran parte de la literatura escrita en Rusia es afín a esta corriente trágica.

Pero junto con estos movimientos literarios de largo aliento, arquitectos de universos cerrados donde los personajes deambulan perdidos, existe una corriente literaria que marca otra manera de entender la vida, nos referimos a la sátira.

Esta línea artística que podemos ver iniciada con Gógol desarrollada de forma magistral por Chéjov, tendrá su culminación curiosamente en la época del "paraíso soviético"  con escritores de la talla de Bulgákov y del que nos ocupa Voinóvich.

Vladimir Voinóvich nació en Tayikistán en 1932 fue carpintero, pastor,mecánico y soldado del ejército rojo. Trabajó como periodista , excesivamente crítico con el poder y se relacionó con movimientos disidentes dentro de la URSS que le llevarían al exilio . De estos sucintos datos biográficos no quiero dejar de resaltar que fue Voinóvich el encargado de sacar de la Unión Soviética , el manuscrito microfilmado de para muchos la mayor epopeya escrita sobre el estaliismo "Vida y destino" de Vasili Grossman. Este hecho sin duda ya sirve para poner a Voinóvich en la história de la literatura. Pero nuestro hombre posee un lugar por si mismo gracias a su novela "Vida e insolitas aventuras del soldado Iván Chonkin".

El argumento de la obra es el que sigue. Poco antes del comienzo de la Segunda Guerra Mundial un avión soviético realiza un aterrizaje forzoso en una remota aldea rusa. Un soldado despreciado por todos en su regimiento, nuestro Chonkin, es enviado a custodiar el avión hasta que se decida que hacer con él. De esta forma el protagonista se introduce en la vida del pueblo y vive aventuras divertidas con sus habitantes hasta que una delación cuando estalla la guerra , hará que la maquinaria estatal soviética mande a un destacamento para detenerlo por desertor.

La novela considerada por muchos la obra maestra del autor no pudo ver la luz en Rusia hasta la llegada de la perestroika, pués su afilada crítica al poder soviético no podía dejar indiferente a nadie.

Dos son los vértices de esa crítica. Por un lado el éjercito garante de la Revolución que para Voinóvich está compuesto por ineptos que bajo el escudo del comunismo buscan su ascenso a costa de la delación y las influencias. Por otro lado los Koljóses donde los dirigentes tratan de sobrevivir en medio de una burocracia incompetente que solo quiere resultados.

En medio de todo esto se encuentra el pueblo, en traje de soldado como Chokín o de campesina como su amada Niura que tratan de sobrevivir a base de sentido común y procurando de evitar cualquier relación con un sistema que cree que lo controla todo cuando en realidad hace todo lo contrario.

La estructura de la novela en capitulos cortos ayuda a su lectura pués de esta forma se suceden las situaciones hilarantes donde la importancia de lo orínico subraya la busqueda del humor y las contradiciones de la sociedad soviética.

Pero no nos engañemos no estamos ante un  catalogo costumbrista de la vida bajo el estalinismo,  pués conforme avanza la novela, se tejen situaciones que nos encaminan a su final donde la sonrisa queda teñida de tragedia.

Los últimos capítulos  nos mueven a la risa incómoda, pués junto con los desternillantes que pueden ser algunas de las escenas ( genial la del interrgatorio) se trasluce un final, que muestra la auténtica cara del régimen. Donde el terror y el miedo es el resultado del absurdo sistema que rige la vida soviética.

Y este es el gran acierto de la novela, el empleo del humor y la sátira no ocultan al lector la terrible realidad que se escondía bajo el estalinismo, donde una palabra dicha en lugar equivocado o una situación ajena a uno mismo podía llevar al destierro o la muerte. En la novela se explican varios casos pero dejo al gusto del lector el descubrirlos pués no pretendo negar a nadie el placer de su lectura.

Todo lo relatado anteriormente sirven para considerar "Vida e insólitas aventuras del soldado iván Chonkin" como una de las mejores novelas rusas de los últimos tiermpos, pués nos muestra como algo tan serio como el humor es un arma eficaz para criticar los regímenes totalitarios.

Shostakovich kanske aldrig blir lika älskad, men han kommer alltid få både proffs, finsmakare, amatörer, strölyssnare att både lyfta på både ögonbryn och hatten. Bland det jag uppskattar mest är hans förmåga att skapa melodier där inga finns, och för hans tidigare nämnda humor. Men också för sitt mod att göra som det honom lysste, att när han blev stoppad hitta en ny väg mitt i det klassiska Men det finns också något bekant över hans musik, och det var därför jag valde att jämföra honom med Dôv-Ante. (Lyssna gärna och jämför med Dôv-Ante efter andra jazzsvitsvalsen.) Att Shostakovich blivit förhållandevis populär i Sverige är inget annat än en kärleksförklaring till vår gamla hat-kärlek Ryssland:

Kära Ryssar, Putin och ni andra: Lyssna inte på FRA, lyssna på oss andra: Vi tänker på er, vi behöver er, vi älskar er!

Taking that into consideration, I'm just going to assume that you've already read the book, and you can't wait for more, ok? As you know, the book's protagonist is named after the Russian author, Nikolai Gogol. And the book begins and end with a character reading Gogol's short story, The Overcoat.

So why not read The Overcoat yourself? Not only is an amazing story (though I hear it's better in the original Russian), but it may also help you sound smarter at the book discussion.

You can read it online, under its alternate title The Cloak, or in print from an anthology in our collection called The Art of the Short Story. Happy reading!

-Dea

"One barrel of wine can work more miracles than a whole church full of saints" - Italian Proverb

"If you live with wolves, howl like them" - Russian Proverb

"The mouse dreams dreams that would terrify the cat" - Armenian Proverb

"He who tells the truth will be chased from five villages" - Turkish Proverb

"If you wish to tell the truth, keep your horse near the door and one foot in the stirrup" - Russian Proverb

"I told the truth but no one would believe me, so I took to deceit" - Mikhail Lermontov

"I love my country, but with a strange love: my reason cannot fathom it" - Mikhail Lermontov

"Passion cannot be beautiful without excess; one either loves too much or not enough" - Blaise Pascal

"If you had a bite, played your fish, and the line broke, don't waste your time asking questions" - Nikolai Gogol

"Why is it the bird, and never the bullet, that is stopped in mid-flight?" - Vladimir Vysotsky

"A job is not a wolf; it won't run off into the forest" - Russian Proverb

"Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are" - Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

"Stranger, here you will do well to tarry; here our highest good is pleasure" - Epicurus (via Seneca)

"Let nothing be done in your life which will cause you to fear if it becomes known to your neighbor" - Epicurus

"Ty chto mumu yebyosh?" - Russian Drinking Toast (transliterated from the vulgar)

Student wyczytuje z książek to, co chce wyczytać, wbrew wszystkim i wszystkiemu. Czyta je całym sobą, chłonie każdym swoim nerwem, każdą swoją cząstką. Dopiero teraz, 8 lat po studiach, nabrawszy dystansu do wszystkiego jest w stanie wyraziście dostrzec całą swoją łatwowierność i nabożność w stosunku do literatury. Cóż z tego, że prawdziwość świata wyłożył Dostojewski w jego ulubionym "Idiocie" czy "Białych nocach", skro on i tak czytał je na opak, tak aby się łudzić i pielęgnować świat wyobrażony, świat, którego nie ma, i przecież tak naprawdę autor go nie zwodził, nie dawał złudzeń. Dopiero dziś zaczyna rozumieć, że - jakby paradoksalnie to nie brzmiało - ten cały zawiły świat przedstawiony nadziei jednak nie odbiera, a wręcz przeciwnie, on ją z czytelnika wydobywa, ale wymaga od niego przede wszystkim pełnej, bolesnej, posuniętej do granic wytrzymałości świadomości Rzeczywistości. Jakby chciał powiedzieć - nie trać nadziei, ale nie miej też złudzeń, bo jeśli będziesz miał złudzenia stracisz i nadzieję. Świat własny, wymyślony, wymarzony, wyidealizowany nie istnieje, nie szukaj go w książkach, ucz się z nich prawdy aż do bólu, ale nie trać wiary i nadziei. Niekończąca się łatwowierność doprowadzi cię do obłędu i odbierze wszystko.

Cóż z tego, że Turgieniew w "Pierwszej miłości" przedstawił obraz młodej, pięknej i szlachetnej kobiety kochającej mężczyznę - ojca bohatera powieści - który w jednej z opisanych scen (podejrzanej przez młodego bohatera) uderza ją po rękach szpicrutą, a ta go kocha jeszcze mocniej. To przecież patologia, owszem w jakiejś części świat istniejący i prawdziwy, ale przecież nie wyczerpujący całej złożoności rzeczywistości. Cóż z tego, że naiwny student zetknął się z podobnym obrazem miłości wiele razy, to przecież nie może być regułą. Ale ta tajemnica miłości jest wciąż - już nie dla studenta - prawdziwą tajemnicą i zagadką.

American Wedding by Gogol Bordello, probably the most refreshingly new sound I've heard in a long time. They just played at Lollapalooza in Chicago this last weekend, and apparently, they are one of the best live acts around. I believe it.

El día 10 de julio escribí en Mi Siglo sobre Hoffman y la  mágica invención. Comentaba "El puchero de oro" y me refería a 1813. Veintidós años después, en 1835, el escritor ruso Nicolás Gógol  publica La nariz dentro de los Cuentos de San Petersburgo (en donde también aparece  su celebérrimo El abrigo) y  da un salto imaginativo enormemente audaz, adelantándose más de un siglo a las aperturas fantásticas de un García Márquez.  Hoffman lograba la mágica invención en la literatura alemana  y Gógol  la conseguía  en la literatura rusa. El relato de Gógol es sencilla y simplemente la desaparición súbita de una nariz.

    " Iván Yakovlevich, por razón de decencia - escribe Gógol -, se puso el frac sobre la camisa y, habiendo tomado asiento a la mesa, echó sal, preparó dos cabezas de cebolla, tomó el cuchillo y, después de hacer una mueca significativa, se dispuso a cortar el pan. Una vez que hubo partido el pan en dos pedazos miró al centro y, con asombro, vio algo que brillaba. Iván Yakovlevich lo limpió cuidadosamente y lo examinó con los dedos.

     ‑¡Está duro! ‑se dijo‑ ¿Qué podrá ser?

     Metió los dedos y se quedó helado: ¡una nariz!...; sus manos se apartaron, empezó a frotarse los ojos y a tocarla: una nariz, en efecto, una nariz, y hasta le parecía que fuese de un conocido. (..) sabía que la nariz era del asesor colegiado Kovalev, a quien afeitaba los jueves y domingos."

Y Gógol, tras describir cómo el asustado barbero Iván Yakovlevich se desprende de la nariz arrojándola al río, pasa a contar con toda naturalidad lo que le sucede a su vez al mayor Kovalev, que se ha quedado sin nariz:

     "Así el lector podrá juzgar ya la situación de este mayor cuando se encontró en vez de su nariz, bastante aceptable y regular, por otra parte, con un estúpido sitio liso y plano.

     Como, por desgracia, no hubiera ni un cochero en la calle y se viese obligado a ir a pie, se envolvió la cara en su capote, y, con el rostro cubierto con el pañuelo, al verlo daba la impresión de que tenía sangre.

     “A lo mejor me lo ha parecido a mí así: no es posible que haya perdido la nariz tontamente”, pensó, y de modo intencionado penetró en una confitería con objeto de mirarse en un espejo.."

Y Gógol prosigue impertérrito describiendo las andanzas del mayor Kovalev por la ciudad:

    " (...) De pronto se halló como enterrado a la puerta de una casa; en sus ojos tuvo lugar un fenómeno inexplicable: ante un portal se detenía un coche, se abrió la puerta y saltó fuera y se inclinó un señor vestido con uniforme, subiendo con presteza las escaleras. ¡Cuál no sería el terror y, al mismo tiempo el asombro de Kovalev, cuando se dio cuenta de que era su propia nariz! A la vista de ese espectáculo extraordinario le pareció que todo daba vueltas ante sus ojos; sintió que apenas podía tenerse en pie; pero se dispuso a esperar su vuelta al coche, pasara lo que pasara, aunque temblaba como febril. Dos minutos después salió la nariz, en efecto. Iba con uniforme bordado de oro, con el cuello levantado, llevaba pantalones de gamuza y una espada al costado. Por el sombrero podía deducirse que tenía el rango de consejero de Estado. Podía suponerse que iba de visita. Miró a ambos lados y gritó al cochero: “¡En marcha! ". Se sentó y partió."

Esto está escrito en la primera mitad del siglo XIX, como también en esa primera mitad del siglo escribe Hoffman su mágica invención. Gógol se explaya aún más : cuenta cómo esta nariz se pasea en carroza por la ciudad de San Petersburgo con uniforme de gran funcionario. El consejero Kovalev trata en vano de convencer a la nariz para que vuelva a su sitio pero no lo consigue. La audacia del escritor ruso es asombrosa y  admirable. Nabokov, en su estudio sobre Gógol (Littera), recuerda en este escritor  "el leitmotif nasal a lo largo de toda su imaginativa obra y resulta difícil -dice -  encontrar a cualquier otro autor que haya descrito con tanto entusiasmo olores, estornudos y ronquidos (...) Las narices gotean, las narices se mueven de forma nerviosa, a las narices se las toca cariñosa o groseramente; un borracho intenta serrar la nariz de otro; los habitantes de la luna (así lo describe un loco) son Narices. El hecho de si "la fantasía engendró la nariz o la  nariz engendró la fantasía" no es esencial. Considero más razonable olvidar que la exagerada preocupación de Gógol por las narices se basaba en el hecho de que la suya fuese anormalmente larga y tratar el olfativismo de Gógol  - e incluso su propia nariz  - como una estratagema literaria relacionada con el amplio humor de las fiestas en general y con el humor nasal ruso en particular.Nosotros estamos alegres de narices o tristes de narices. El despliegue de alusiones nasales que tiene lugar en una famosa escena del Cyrano de Bergerac de Rostand no es nada comparado con los cientos de proverbios y dichos rusos que giran en torno a la nariz. Gógol había descubierto nuevos olores en la literatura (que llevaron a un nuevo "escalofrío"). Como reza un dicho ruso, "el hombre con la nariz más larga ve más allá"; y Gógol veía con sus narices".

De cualquier modo, un ejemplo más de que la mágica y prodigiosa invención en la literatura se remonta siglos atrás, camino arriba de las novelas y de los cuentos y que en absoluto es propiedad del siglo XX. 

(Imágenes: Marc Chagall, "Homenaje a Gógol".-moma.org/retrato de Gógol.-centros5.pntic.mec.es/ representación teatral de "La nariz"/ escena de "El inspector", otra de las obras de Gógol.-escenicas.univable.edu.com)

  Anyways my parents were glad and happily enjoying the ten years of wedding and a naughty boy totally unaware of entrance of another bundle knocking their door steps. As its now clear that I was an unplanned joy as my mum believed strictly believed in single child norm specially after Sanjay Gandhi's preaching. No name was in mind and for a long time I was called as Baby, gudiya, bittoo and all those banal Indian names that grannies used to call just any kid around. Well finally I was christened as Anu considering the fact it means Atom- the smallest component as I was the youngest. Finally time came to send me to school to avoid my constant chattering and non stop questions. When the principal asked my name to be written on the admission form..my mom out of the blue said - Mehak. And similar to my birth my name was also christened - OUT OF THE BLUE. From playschool to 2nd grade my name slip on every book/notebook/drawings sheets was labelled as Mehak Srivastava. It was bit difficult for me to learn the spelling thanks to my long surname. Well when I came in grade three technological changes reflected on my name as well as Papa took out printouts of names to avoid writing again and again. A bad spelling mistake (there was no spell check in those days) made my name Mahak Srivastava and I continued with it. School was changed in grade 4 and here too my name went as Mahak Srivastava on the admission form. But my teachers continued spelling it as Mehak Srivastava in the attendance registers and report cards. When I was in grade tenth my name went as Mahak Srivastava as the name was directly copied from the admission register. Poor me - had to remember myself everytime to spell it as Mahak while adding my name in answer sheets. Well grade 12 was a different story as by then I had already requested CBSE to spell my name as Mehak Srivastava. So my 12th marksheet beared this spelling only.
I got admission in Uni and enjoyed the life there not until that day when a numerologist suggested my mom that I should drop an extra A in the end of my surname to get good grades in exams!!!!!!! I had to give up vainly in front of my mom's logic as she was already affected by the success of her other daughter -Ekta Kapoor by then (she loved her serials till infinity). So in Uni I was christened as Mehak Srivastav.
Time moved yet again and I was happy somewhere knowing this is the end now. But no - I had to get my passport made and submit my credentials with it. The rude lady in the passport office told me my spelling is wrong- it should be MAHAK SRIVASTAVA as this is what was on grade 10 credentials and Passport authority take that certificate as valid birth certificate. I screamed out loud when I came out of there and gave Papa a quick call and told him how his simple silly spelling mistake is bugging me. I was pissed off completely and kept gritting my teeth whilst I filled second form. Time passed and I got my passport - it bore my name- MAHAK SRIVASTAVA and I showed the passport to Papa's photo on the mantle and told him that this name is now gonna be symbolic and I drew parallels with Gogol in The Namesake. I wasn't upset with him that day because I knew somewhere it meant something deeply. Mom consulted that numerologist once again as I was about to get married and she was quite disturbed with the Mehak and Mahak spelling. The numerologist quickly did the calculations and told her that the combination of Mahak Dewan is too good for my future husband and its gonna bring him luck but Mehak Dewan is not a good combination for him. So finally I was christened yet again as Mahak Dewan!

  People here in NZ find it so difficult to pronounce -when I tell them the actual phonetics for my name they get so confused. I don't care what they call me- Meehaak, Mawhawk, Meehawk or whatever -its not their fault.My name is unique and I have so many stories attached with it...

I am now ending this with a quote I wrote in 2002-

Main to Mehak hu fizaaon mein bikhar jaungi,
Saans zara bhee loge to dil mein bas jaungi.

The right way:

Gogol Bordello - Start Wearing Purple

The wrong way:

*Super Adventure Club - Former Ladies of the Cold War

(*so, why have I watched it three times already? O_o)

This has been a public sevice announcement from Nuclear Powered Kittens. Thank you.

"Spero che la sinistra ritrovi la bussola perchè anche noi abbiamo bisogno di una buona opposizione".

(Il Presidente della Regione Sicilia al Corriere, dopo il trionfo PDL alle amministrative sull'isola)

What I meant to talk about was books; the mention of brilliant thoughts (of which I would like to have one, someday) was meant to lead into me telling you all the books I've read this summer, which ones you should read and which were only decent. The best has been Gogol's Dead Souls. I love his of telling a story, with the narrator so obviously there and as much a part of things as the characters who are running around being ridiculous the way people generally are. It's like the story is a silent film and the narrator is standing up by the screen talking while you both watch the action together, and since he's merely describing what's happening as he sees it happen, he says some hilarious things in a matter-of-fact way that makes them especially funny. Gogol's great, really; I don't do him justice. You might want to go ahead and stop after volume I, though. He intended to write three volumes, but we only have the first and part of the second, which is interrupted too frequently by annoying lacunae and then eventually trails off into incompleteness. Maybe that's appropriate, though. Read The Nose first, one of his short stories. Hilarious.

That's some decent filler, I think.

Notte passata a parlare con Sna, e ridere insieme per gli articoli della Nonciclopedia - a letto alle 4 e sveglia alle 10. Doccia e poi appuntamento con Salvatore, una delle persone che aiuto con l'italiano: incontro la moglie, Donna, signora davvero bella ed elegante.
Mi portano a mangiare in un ristorante esclusivo, che scopro essere uno dei migliori di Columbus (i prezzi sul listino sembrano confermare): il cameriere, oltre che oltraggiosamente carino, si rivela simpatico e loquace senza scadere nell'invadenza. Ci fa compagnia, consigliandoci i piatti più buoni
e quale vino preferiamo. Quando scelgo un Bardolino Rosato, si blocca per un attimo nel sentire la mia pronuncia, poi corre via, torna con un blocchetto appunti e mi guarda adorante.

- Siete italiani vero? Posso chiederti la differenza tra un macchiato e un cappuccino? E poi cosa signifca la frase 'forte come un toro'?

... rispondo pazientemente, senza menzionare il fatto che Sal e Donna non sono i miei genitori e non sono italiani - immagino possa sembrare tale la situazione, dal di fuori.
Chiacchieriamo amabilmente fino alle 1:30pm, poi Donna deve tornare al lavoro; mi offrono il pranzo e poi Sal mi porta a casa.

Cambio veloce, e appuntamento al salone Aveda per fare i capelli... parappapà!
Nerissimi - e splendidi (check out le foto sotto1 :D)
Sono estremamente soddisfatta, ora sì che sono uguali a quelli di Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction :D

Alle 5 esco da Aveda con 56 dollari in meno e torno a casa: mi preparo e rilasso un po', poi cena con Henry. In programma c'e' un gruppo a me sconosciuto, i Gogol Bordello!
Nella rock house di Newport, un pienone: gente dappertutto, alcuni che conosco e si complimentano per i capelli - e musica gitana in sottofondo. Verso le 9:30 inizia lo spettacolo vero e proprio: un tripudio di musica indiavolata, ritmo colori e luci, movimento. Sna adorerebbe questo gruppo.

Alle 11:30 ritorno a casa, piccola chat con Sebastian e poi nanna... grazie a Sal ed Henry per aver reso questa giornata speciale! :D

E ora, le foto!!

(Raggiungo livelli di deficienza non indifferenti negli autoscattI)

Lo sé, es un poco extraño esto de juntar música gitana con punk, pero a estos tipos les sale bien. Son de NY, un lugar más que optimo y oportuno para crear tan rara mezcla.

En temas como "Ultimate", el primer track del disco, se deja sentir inmediatamente todo el power del disco entero, con quiebres que te llevan directo de eso gitano al punk en un sentido puro, pero con mucha pretensión musical, violines y acordeón de por medio.

Otros como "Zina Marina" son temas simplemente alegres, en su tónica musical, te hacen mover la cabeza y el pie. Aunque, claro, para ser punk, tiene que tener algo de irreverente o contestatario. Y lo hacen con frases como "First time I had read the Bible, It had stroke me as unwitty, I think it may started rumor, That the Lord ain't got no humor..."

Un buenísimo disco, de muestra un botón, o dos:

Ultimate en vivo:

y Wonderlust King

Gogol Bordello - Super Taranta!(2007) Torrent