Here is Eddie Murphy. No real explanation is needed for him. Unless you have been locked in the basement for 24 years (too soon?) then you knows who he is.

Here is a picture of who Eddie knocked up and here is who he was with for a little while.

It should be painfully clear that these men (though looks, game, and money) should have the choice of the crème de la crème of the crop. They do, but they chose the box, instead of taking the taking the boat... (think family guy on this one) Here are pictures of their current conquests… here is a simple test… Choose one of the people below that you would chose to go out with… Answers are below…

Now for the answers…

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ANSWERS BELOW... MAKE YOUR DECISION

NONE OF THEM!!! The thing that Eddie and Ronaldo share is their fascination with transsexuals. Yes, all of the people that are shown above are men. The first one from the left is Shalimar, the transsexual that Eddie Murphy famously picked up on the street corner, and the other three are ones that Ronaldo picked up to have a freaky threesome.

International football star Ronaldo had a fight with three prostitutes he brought back to his Brazil motel room after he discovered they were actually men, it emerged today.

Police became involved when an "altercation" happened as the 31-year-old A C Milan striker came to the shocking realisation that the call girls he had paid to have group sex with after his night out were in fact transvestites.

Ronaldo, who is back in his hometown of Rio De Janeiro recovering from a career-threatening knee injury, had left a nightclub in the fashionable Barra da Tijuca neighbourhood on Sunday night with the paid-for company.

Back in the room in the early hours of Monday morning, having discovered their true sex, Ronaldo is understood to have tried to resolve the situation by paying them each off with £300.

It was not clear yesterday how far the group had became acquainted before Ronaldo made his protestations about the fact that the call girls were in fact men.

It is understood that only two of the men agreed to accept the offer of £300. The third is alleged to have hastily hatched a plan to extort a further £15,000 from the footballer not to take the story to the media, police inspector Carlos Augusto Nogueira said.

I guess that I am all for choice, but why are these dudes fronting so hard? In all seriousness, that is a shame when a dude pays for a threesome to work him over sexually and then to find out that they are really dudes must be absolutely horrifying. How far must have Ronaldo gotten if he starts to pony up the cash to keep them quiet? I am guessing that he must have at least taken dome from one or all of them before he discovered the grisly truth.

In Eddie's case, it was a little more above board, because the man that he was with only made it into the car, and not back to the hotel. To end all the discussions and rumors, he allegedly had her assassinated a few years later, to prevent her from talking. S/he was found in front of her apartment, apparently having fallen/pushed 5 stories, after being locked out of his/her place. For more information on s/he click here

(its still a dude, so do not get excited…)

The things that people do still amaze….

Name: Four Barrel Coffee (no website yet, but check out Yelp)
Location: 375 Valencia Street, San Francisco, CA (Coffee served on Caledonia St., off 15th)
Rating: Not Yet Rated

Traipsing down a narrow, grungy, dead-end alley is probably not most people’s idea of how to spend a bright and beautiful Saturday morning. Nevertheless, as I carefully navigated around uneven concrete and broken glass, I couldn’t help but think that this was a damn fine way to spend some quality time with my two-year-old daughter. You see, she and I were trying to locate a loading dock, from where I had heard that one might find superior coffee being slung. If successful, this adventure might rival other hush-hush foodie adventures of mine such as being ushered into the back office/overflow seating area of the former location of Shalimar or smuggling brown bag booze into the (very recently) deceased No-Name Sushi.

Although the morning hadn’t exactly begun well – I had forgotten the address of our destination at home – the Gods were soon smiling upon us. We had made a couple of trips up and down Valencia when my daughter stopped to point out a large pile of spent coffee grounds blocking our path. I looked up and, sure enough, about 10 feet away was the closed-off opening of Four Barrel Coffee. At that moment, a band of 20-something mission hipsters passed us by, the gleam of coffee pilgrimage unmistakable in their eye. Within a matter of minutes, we found ourselves standing before Jeremy Tooker, as advertised, slinging shots of Stumptown coffee from his sporty looking La Marzocco Mistral.

Now, in case you’ve missed the rumors or the hype, Four Barrel Coffee is the latest undertaking of Jeremy Tooker, co-founder and once co-owner of Ritual Roasters, which is just down the street between 20th and 21st. Four Barrel will supposedly be opening in just 3-4 weeks, although when I peered in through the front doors that were slightly ajar, it still looked like there was a lot of detail left to be completed.

From what I’ve picked up in several conversations as well as read on the internet (Coffeed, Eater and 7x7), Four Barrel aims to be something other than a typical café. They’ll offer single origin espressos, a range of single origin and micro-lot coffees and avoid most anything other than coffee and your minimalist line of espresso-based drinks. They’ll do daily cuppings, have no wi-fi and lots of space (3,000 square feet) in which to stand, sit and drink coffee. Jeremy confirmed that there will be not one, but two roasters: a large one for the espresso blends and any big restaurant or café orders, and a smaller roaster for, not surprisingly, small batches. I also heard from someone who heard from someone that Four Barrel aspires to be something of a Stumptown of the Bay Area – a major player offering not only amazing coffees but also serious coffee distribution. If all these things end up being true, then it sounds like Four Barrel's vision might be something closer to a vintner's tasting room rather than wine bar.

Gossip aside, how’s the coffee? Well, Jeremy is currently pulling shots of Stumptown’s Hairbender, which to my reckoning came out wonderful as a macchiato. His curved leaf Rosetta was gorgeous and the drink had great chocolate flavor with notes of bright crisp granny smith apple and sweet pear. I've never been sure if "Hairbender" refers to its mind-altering flavor or its powers of stimulation, but if I had to guess, I'd throw my lot in with the latter. After half a cup, I was already wired. I probably should have stopped then, but my daughter insisted on spooning me mouthfuls of coffee in a way that was just too cute to resist.

Despite my already highly caffeinated state, I ordered a cup of the very limited Columbian micro-lot that Four Barrel was pressing, just to taste. It was bright with lemon and lime and subtle herbal notes that reminded me of matte. While it wasn’t my favorite, it was a very good, complex cup of coffee.

So far, I'm willing to give Four Barrel a four, but that seems premature. The cafe isn't yet open and the coffee this roaster is serving isn't even their own yet. I'd rather withhold judgment for now and let this early review serve more as gossip column than review. But you can bet I'll be back after opening to level a more definitive report and let you know what you can find. Until then, if you’re willing to undertake a little coffee sleuthing adventure of your own, Four Barrel’s loading dock is certainly a memorable coffee destination.

Keep an eye on the comments! There's often good information there. Here is a sample of some of the dialog surrounding the "Scent Notes | Eau de Shalimar by Guerlain" review by Chandler Burr from March 13th. Burr's replies are included below.

"Where do I find the 1925 version? Does anyone have the late 50’s-early 60’s version of the perfume? Thank you!" — Barbara (via email)

Barbara, the toxicology problem is at the heart of your question. The 1925 and 1950s versions contained raw materials that are simply illegal today as they are allergenic. When a material is banned, the perfumers work like dogs trying with alternatives to recreate the original perfume. (And in some cases they are directed by the marketers to quietly update formulas to accord with modern tastes, but that's a different subject. Sometimes they're able to do it, sometimes not, but it's usually impossible to create an identical perfume once a key material is forbidden.

I should add, in defense of Guerlain, that they have a business to run and shareholders to answer to, and I find the original Jicky (for example), which I smelled at l'Osmotheque, the Paris perfume museum, flatly unwearable. It simply wouldn't sell. I'm sure Guerlain would dearly love to keep its classics available, and they wrestle with upset consumers and its own agony at retiring non-performers. Styles not only change every season in fashion, consumers demand it. Styles change in scent as well, but for some reason (and I am an example of this) we want to have our cake and eat it too: I want to be able to smell, and even perhaps own, the 1889 Jicky by the long-dead Aimé Guerlain, but I'm probably going to wear a (this is fantasy, of course) 2010 Jicky created by the young Daphné Bugey. The perfume industry responds to the demand for new scents with new launches. They respond to the demand for authentic classics by, well, struggling.

"I hate what’s happened to Guerlain. Period." — Jen

Jen, many people hate what's happened to Guerlain, and with good reason. While I find Eau Legere a solid, respectable juice, Bernard Arnault, in purchasing Guerlain, had the chance to create his perfume Chanel, a truly sublime, expensive house, and chose not to. Some of the new juices are spectacular (Rose Barbare and others), others are absolute disappointments. The problems Guerlain faces are twofold: the marketing dollars it would take to educate American consumers in appreciating Guerlain's treasures (Mitsouko, Apres l'Ondee, the original Shalimar, etc.) and the toxicology problem.—C.B.

OsMoz Notes:
Top note : Bergamot, Mandarin, Cedar, Lemon
Middle note : Patchouli, Jasmine, Rose, Orris
Base note : Vanilla, Benzoin, Peru Balsam, Leather

Date: 3/3/08 Weather: 40 degrees, clear

Comments: Starts with almost an orange blossom note laced with vanilla. Lemon appears about 2 minutes in. 5 minutes in, incense and spices appear with the lemon and hint of vanilla. Not catching many florals in this one. Within 10 minutes, the incense, benzoin and vanilla begin to dominate. 20 minutes in - vanilla, some leather, the benzoin and a hint of incense. I think the "lotiony" note I'm picking up may be the roses, but I'm not entirely sure. Gorgeous stuff!!!!! A bit of "powder" (maybe the iris?) appears at minute 30. 90 minutes later - settles into a beautiful spicy vanilla. There is a leather note that appears at the 2 hour mark along with the spices, vanilla and incense. Except for the slight lotion note in the heart, I luv this stuff!

Date: 5/6/08 Weather: 70 degrees, evening

Wore this to bed.
SO: You smell good. Like a funky pumpkin pie.
Me:(shoves wrist in face) It's Shalimar.
SO: Smells like patchouli up close.
(20 minutes later)
SO: Not liking it so much now. It's more like a dusty pumpkin pie. I prefer flowers and vanilla. I like vanilla.
We fell asleep before the vanilla portion of the program.

Basenotes
Bois de Jasmin
The Lipstick Page Forums
Tangled Up in L'Heure Bleu
Chandler Burr (scroll down)
Uncommon Touch
Now Smell This

Here, then, ladies and gentlemen (and those of you who fall wildly outside the bounds of either category), in an attempt to rid myself its spell, is an explanation of the basis for my recent silence:

You all no doubt remember the exboyfriend: he of the pitying emails; the (misinformedly, but no matter) disparaging or condescending remarks; the absurd nostalgic reminiscences; the inapt, sesquipedalian, purported compliments gleaned through a reckless and foolhardy combination of thesaurus, ignorance, and overconfidence. If you don't, I do, so fret not.

As stated in an earlier post, he brought it to my attention that not only was he in his reading imbuing my posts with a grave, tragic, and positively Dickensian tone or subtext or metatext that they in no way had while still in my cute little brain or on my even cuter little screen, but also scrutinizing the timestamps of the posts for Clues as to my (grave, tragic) state of mind! Now, I admit to getting a cheap kick out of every flight under the radar I can manage, and the cheaper the flight, the headier the kick, so I had already earned some Skybus miles by changing the timestamp to that of various locales when the fancy struck.

But, dear friends, allow me to say that I really hadn't thought anyone would ever look at that. Really. Sure, there was some amount of 'ambiguation' in there, but that was more than balanced by the sheer girlish fun of being able to click on 'Vanuatu.' Not to mention 'Moosejaw.' When is it not fun to click on Moosejaw? And when, in addition, was the last time you, or anyone in your circle, anyone you can think of, noticed the time a posting was posted on any blog? I have read thousands upon thousands of blog entries on topics from politics to perfume to push-up bras to peacock husbandry, and never once did I notice at what time of day the writer lambasted Bush or Clinton or the dumbed-down Shalimar.

So, we have that problem: the Internet isn't private, so I don't care if the exboyfriend or my mother or current boyfriend or former husband reads it. What troubles me is that there is an ex-something giving it a close, and erroneous, reading. Now, I don't write this in any way like a diary. I may be short on editing, which is a similarity between the two, but if I had a diary, I would never write about either Brigitte Bardot or John Calvin in it. Really. You can trust me on that, as well. That being the case, I don't feel ill that someone out of the past is getting an uninvited and unwelcome view into the depths of my psyche -- because the depths of my psyche are never on here, if I even have any depths in that psyche at all.

It is, rather, that everyone else can read it and 'get' it somehow: laugh along with me, or snort knowingly and superciliously, disagree, and write me a vitriol-laden missive declaring the merits of lobster-buggering, muscle shirts, and Chinese knockoffs of 'Tuscan' furniture -- all the while knowing quite well that I was drying my fingernail polish, not slitting my wrists, while writing it. The only person who doesn't is, regrettably, someone whom I regret dating. I was speaking with a friend at length last night about this, because it is making me angry that I am able to be angered by it, and from that conversation I think that last sentence is the crux of it. Perhaps.

Why? Because I got over it. I was sad, cried a bit, felt a loss, missed the I Love You text messages for a while -- and then didn't. That, gentle reader, should be the end of the story. It was the end of the story, for heaven's sake. Normally, with whatever sort of loss, you feel it, you embrace it, you experience it for as long as it takes, and then you do something else: the Reckoning. Logic steps in and you evaluate everything. You get dispassionate, objective, and forward-looking.

Let's say you just got fired from a great job. The pay was super, you loved the people you worked with, and it was a not-terrible commute. Obviously, that's quite a loss. But after the late-night crying jags, or the whiskey- or pound-cake binges, or whatever serves the purpose in your case, have done their job, you realize you always hated the lighting, that you were never truly challenged, that the color scheme kept you on edge all day, that you are well-rid of Paul and his incessant nose-clearing, and that the benefits package was dismal at best.

And I think once a sane person gets to that stage, not only can he no longer find the former object of affection as charming as before, but he can, moreover, muster only a modicum of interest in the comings and goings and overall emotional state of the ex. A consequence of this reality in my case was that I had no feelings whatsoever about the exboyfriend reading the blog, except the same vague hope as with anyone else that he might find bits of it amusing.

Then came the emails after the gloriously apathetic hiatus. And then came my terse responses. And then came proof of their lack of efficacy.

All of that was enough to make me regret yet more having been involved with this person. That regret was pushed to at least the third power by the tooth-grittingly noxious email iteration of purportedly flattering attributes gleaned from abusing a thesaurus. Then, my dears, after the late-night Scrabble dig (again, erroneous, inasmuch as I didn't even have the program on my computer, nor did my timestamp reflect my correct location), came one more accursed Benediction. And that, although I did write a direct, clear, terse, and explicit email in response, shut me up and shut me down, as far as the blog was concerned.

But why? Because, look (alright, fine, I will get personal), we broke up because he is a child. Somewhere past the point at which I stopped thinking of him and being capable of wishing him either ill or well, he gave birth to a new self that felt the need to wish Peace upon me at every turn. I am well aware that peace is a good thing, and I have friends who close utterly everything with 'peace,' but they are typing it while wearing Birkenstocks and/or a black tab-collar shirt. In other words, they wish everybody peace, and they simply cannot help themselves. There are many more problems with his use of the word in this context than I can go into in an already-too-long blog entry, but another one involves an equally unnerving religious association, and that is that when I read it, I cannot help thinking, not of a normal guy offering normal well-wishes, but of a whole congregation of Methodists or Presbyterians shaking hands at the end of service while in unison reciting 'Peace be with you,' 'And also with you.' It is appropriate then, most particularly so if heartfelt, but the idea of shaking hands with a boyfriend, lover, or husband, before going to sleep, or upon waking, or as we leave for work, and uttering that -- well, it makes me grimace every time. And I cannot wrest this image from my mind.

Gratuituous Pretty Thing, because this is tooooo long:

(MMMMM, sparkly...)

(Yet filled with REAL HUMAN HAIR!)

Nor can I forget the condescending tone in which he first began to wish me Peace. The later versions may have been less wordy and less patently offensive, but they are still no less incongruous nor less unnecessary, unwarranted, or unwanted. For there are two problems: one is the very easy 'We Were Done and I Was Done with the Getting-Done Part so I Am Done with My Tangly Feelings about You so I Am Well-Stocked on Peace, Thanks All the Same' and the other is that, for all my overblown rhetoric and ability to conjure verbal storms over a chipped nail or newly-wobbly heel, I simply have had a sufficient number of sufficiently harrowing experiences to have vast, vast reserves of equanimity upon which to draw: I do not need anyone, even if he is not an exboyfriend, munificently to bestow it upon me in order to dwell in it, because I have seen things that are serious, and therefore I can tell when things are not.

However, it does get a bit more prickly once we consider the fact that he is an exboyfriend. And he is an exboyfriend whom I am no longer with for various reasons, none of which reflect well on him. And, as stated earlier, I was many months ago past the point where rekindling glowy feelings was possible: I am in the 'objective' phase that, once having been attained, sticks with one forever. Things, therefore, that might have seemed nice at the time cannot help but be tinged with the overall regret about the whole thing. For lack of a better word, the whole thing seems decidedly icky (apologies to everyone), and knowing what I know of him now I cannot but see that him doing the things that the 'old' him I cared for was doing at the time.

And that him, with its various caprices, neuroses, insecurities, insincerity, cupidity, avarice, and mendacity, was the reason I said No and left. And for that him to unctuously wish me 'peace' as though he were my priest, or as though such a damaged psyche had any to spare to be tossing around to others, is offensive in the extreme. Additionally, as you already know, I have a position or two as regards decorum, and such an act is indecorous as could be. If you willfully and deliberately hurt someone, apologies can sometimes be great, can make a difference. Some things, such as murder, are patently too horrific for an apology to serve any purpose, but for many other things they can be welcome and utile. But to disrupt someone's 'peace' by being a cad, and then, months after she has regained her usual tranquil state to wish her 'peace' once again repeatedly and condescendingly, is rude, base, puerile, and noxious.

So, I do hope I did this with enough lack of detail not to be horrible myself, but at the same time with enough vigour to have it serve as the necessary-and-sufficient catharsis that will allow me to begin once again prating on about inane and insubstantial things with a level of ardour and passion equalling that of Margaret Thatcher's hairdressers for the last forty years.

So if you are thinking of buying a latest and modern 2008 New Year computer, with the latest and one of the best operating system softwares, and giving a gift of - gyan, vigyan, shiksha - please do try to not let your own ignorance or the marketing speak of big computer vendors come in between your children and their Ubuntu PC. Just buy an assembled computer from a local computer dealer with the best hardware specifications, download your free copy of Ubuntu or Kubuntu, burn it on a CD and get cracking. Great computing in 2008 in Indian schools and colleges !!

Some government purchasing departments and school purchasing committees will surely have big dharam sankat because they cannot get commissions on the purchase of proprietary, closed source, computer softwares / OS - so maybe they will be busy trying to debunk Ubuntu, without even letting the students try it out for themselves and decide on their own.

But those who are surely interested in gyan, vigyan, vidya - just go to Ubuntu website and download your own FREE and LEGAL copy of the latest and best operating system to hit Indian computer markets in ages. Download Ubuntu. Burn a 700 MB CD. Install on your hard disk. Very very sweet !!

Ubuntu downloads - http://www.ubuntu.com/getubuntu/download

Asha Bhosle singing "1 2 Cha Cha Cha" from Asha Reveals Real RD.

The album pays homage to her late husband. The song is from the movie Shalimar (1978). Thanks Punjab Central!

The "1st Time Home Buyers Program" assists potential "!st Time Home Buyers" in both Qualifying and Selecting a Good Home in a Safe Neighborhood.

Due to the National Reach of this life transforming service, you can apply for anywhere in the entire US.

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It's the Toughest since the "Great Depression" to get a "Home Loan" with only "Average Credit".

Yet - Home Owners Still are Buying Houses.

The familys with Money Saved up for a "Down Payment on a House".

Not Everyone Qualifies Still...

What are the critical YES or NO Differences to the "1st Time Home Buyer"?

email me here at - cashsavvy@gmail.com

If you promise to be respectful of my time - You may call me to assist you personally.

Be sure to send me an email first with your:

City you desire to Live In.

Size of House you desire.

Do you want a Garage?

Do you want a Pool?

Do you want a to be Close to a Good School?

What is the Most you afford Reliably every Month Without Fail?

How much are All of your current Expenses?

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Give me the Whole-Straight Story - What can I expect on your Credit App?

Email this package to me and I will Work my Magic over here.

"I invite your family to Qualify for a Dream Home Today." - Glen B. Stewart

Picture This - Being in a "New Home of your Dreams" in 2 weeks after your Application Approval.

It's Happened before...

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Glen B. Stewart, Real Estate Transaction Engineer and "1st Time Home Buyers Program" Sr. Specialist.

What is a "First Time Home Buyers Program"?

A "First Time Home Buyers Program" is specifically for Assisting "1st Time Home Buyers" wanting to Buy or Lease Real Estate in the US.

What are the Qualifications to Get a Beautiful Home in the the US City of my choosing?

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Do I Qualify for this Life Changing "First Time Home Buyers Program"?

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Please Include to be Considered for Qualification:

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Close to Good Schools

Type of Desired House

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Give us the "Whole Scoup" on what we will see on your "Credit App". (We Specialize in Understanding - Be Honest)

Please provide us a Paragraph on why our "Private Home Owner" Re-Location Program Should Help Your Family. (This can really Help sometimes. Don't BS them though.)

Get that "First Time Home Buyers Program" Application over to us today.

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Thet eMail Address again to Send your "Application and Story" is:

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Recensione a cura di Shalimar

Uno degli ultimi romanzi del grande scrittore russo, nella sua fase di "crisi" narrativa, inevitabilmente influenzata dai nuovi talenti letterari che stavano iniziando a farsi notare.

In un momento in cui, grazie alla trasposizione televisiva del suo capolavoro "Guerra e pace" , l'informazione ha acceso nuovamente i riflettori su di lui facendolo riscoprire dalle nuove generazioni, è oltremodo interessante leggere questo suo classico meno conosciuto, nel quale un principe russo salva dalla condanna, sposandola ( scandaloso coraggio!), una giovane prostituta accusata di omicidio, che egli aveva sedotto anni prima, inducendola al degrado morale.

Romanzo prettamente romantico, ma con studi psicologici più approfonditi ed attenzione ai nuovi aspetti "sociali", causati dalla nuova sensibilità dell'autore verso un ambiente che si preparava a cambiare profondamente.

Una lettura imperdibile per tutti gli amanti della grande narrativa romantica russa.

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

In due volumetti sono presentati gli aspetti del gusto fantastico ottocentesco, lo stesso che coinvolse E. A. Poe, gli scrittori di gusto "gotico", gli  Scapigliati col gusto del "noir".Un Ottocento meno noto, o noto solo parzialmente, ma non per questo meno valido.

Dodici sono i racconti di tipo "fantastico visionario", che vedono impegnati autori come Potocki  o Le Fanu; quattordici sono, invece, quelli imperniati sul "fantastico quotidiano", con autori come Poe  e Wells.

Il volto oscuro e misterioso, che impronta di sé tanta letteratura del  secolo XIX, emerge, sempre nuovo e sorprendente, da questa antologia, curata ottimamente, come si può facilmente immaginare, dal nostro Italo Calvino.

Un libro che gli amanti del genere non devono mancare di leggere.

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

Non so quanti di voi sappiano che Pessoa scrisse anche drammi teatrali.
Questo, "Il marinaio", è sempre stato molto discusso dalla critica; Pessoa lo definì, con sottotitolo, "dramma statico" , quindi da leggere, non da vedere rappresentato su un palcoscenico.

La perfezione formale, anzi il preziosismo linguistico, è talmente elevato da tramutare tutta l'opera in un prezioso gioiello celliniano o, per essere più moderni, in un quadro alla Klimt, sfolgorante d'oro e smalti.
L'atmosfera che si respira nell'opera, fin dalle prime battute, più che surreale, come qualcuno ha voluto definirla , è onirica, sognante.
Le tre fanciulle biancovestite, che vegliano l'amica morta, vivranno solo una notte, quella presente, dissolvendosi all'alba.

Maeterlinck, il simbolismo, il paradosso del sogno nel sogno, tutto conduce ad una tensione magica verso la luce, che, pur cancellando la presenza delle giovani con lo stridente cigolare delle ruote di una carrozza, riporta l'inevitabile realtà e la continuazione della vita.
Le tre eteree ragazze, per potersi credere reali, almeno per qualche ora, dovranno parlare ininterrottamente, raccontare i propri sogni e quelli del marinaio del sogno...
Alla realtà basta un suono fastidioso, ma rispondente all'esperienza quotidiana, per esistere.
La traduzione di Tabucchi è, naturalmente, eccellente.

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

Nicholas Guild è nato in California, 59 anni fa.
Dopo aver scritto diversi thrillers di successo, si è dedicato al romanzo storico, pubblicando "L'Assiro" (1987) e "Ninive" (1989). Il presente romanzo è del 1994 e possiamo considerarlo l'anticipazione e il prologo dei vari romanzi di Valerio Massimo Manfredi e di altri autori, italiani e stranieri, riguardanti Alessandro il Grande.

La trama narrativa è accattivante, divisa tra l'avventura, il mito e la storia d'amore.
L'autore recupera, dalle remote profondità del passato, la leggendaria figura del "barbaro del nord", come lo chiamavano sprezzantemente i greci : Filippo II, re di Macedonia, grande guerriero, raffinato diplomatico, abilissimo stratega, padre di Alessandro Magno.
In pagine cariche di suggestione, rivivono la sua infanzia: gli intrighi di palazzo della madre Euridice; l'ascesa al trono di Alessandro, fratello amato e bellissimo, prematuramente ucciso; l'amore per la cugina Arsinoe, giovinetta ardente e leggiadra.
Sullo sfondo, congiure di palazzo, complotti, sanguinose battaglie, in un susseguirsi incalzante di azioni ed avventure che si snodano in uno scenario dai colori terribili e sgargianti.

Grande romanzo corale dal respiro epico, condotto con particolare forza narrativa, "Il Macedone" rende vivo ed attuale un affascinante periodo dell'antichità classica, in cui confluiscono la brutale vitalità di un popolo "nuovo" e selvaggio, la sofisticata e razionale civiltà greca, il misticismo e l'esotismo dell'antico oriente Persiano.
Un libro "da leggere", consigliato a tutti coloro che amano la Storia o, in alternativa, l'Avventura e l'Amore.

Et pour poursuivre la série de billets sur les Guerlain, on reprend aujourd'hui avec Shalimar. En effet suite aux réactions de plusieurs lecteurs sur le précédent billet, j'ai voulu réessayer Shalimar et refaire son analyse. J'avais déjà évoqué le principe "du bon vin" dans le billet sur l'odeur du papier, et il me semble que les nez sont régis par la même loi : pour peu que l'on prenne la peine d'exercer son nez, il s'améliore en vieillissant, et je sens aujourd'hui plus de choses qu'en janvier dernier...

Shalimar est donc classé dans les parfums orientaux... Cette famille olfactive est un mystère pour moi tellement elle est utilisée à toutes les sauces. Mais ça doit sûrement faire bien d'avoir marqué "oriental" sur son étiquette, on se sent moins bête au milieu de tous les autres flacons sur les étagères et on peut crâner auprès des copains...
"- Wwaaaaaaahhh... Alors c'est toi Shalimar? L'oriental le plus oriental des orientaux? (demande Ange ou Démon, l'oriental-raté)
- Héhé! Oui, c'est Moua... (répond Shalimar, l'oriental des orientaux)
- Pas si vite mon coco, moi c'est Jicky (le vénérable oriental) et je suis plus vieux que toi, alors rend à César ce qui appartient à César! Presto!"

Pour la petite anecdote, la légende voudrait que Jacques Guerlain ait versé quelques gouttes d'éthyl-vanilline dans un flacon de Jicky "pour voir", et que le résultat soit à l'origine de Shalimar. Cela dit, comme avec le N°5 de Chanel, où est la limite entre mythe et réalité? Les orientaux, parfois appellés "ambrés", constituent une famille de parfums qui se caractérise par sa sensualité et sa chaleur, développant dans ses parfums des notes poudrées, vanillées, animales. Cette famille a donné beaucoup de sous-familles ; et je trouve que souvent le terme d'oriental est utilisé plus pour stimuler l'imaginaire des clientes que pour rendre compte de la présence d'éléments spécifiquement orientaux dans la fragrance. Shalimar est sans nul doute le parfum auquel se réfère l'imaginaire collectif lorsqu'il pense "oriental". Il résume à lui seul la catégorie ambré-vanillé qui est la plus représentative des orientaux. Il me semble cependant qu'il ne suffit pas de contenir de la vanille et de l'ambre dans sa composition pour être un oriental.

Tel que je le perçois, un parfum oriental doit avant tout se démarquer des autres par une certaine animalité, ce qui est le cas de Shalimar et de Jicky avant lui. Un véritable aspect peau, voire sécrétion, doit pouvoir se deviner dans la composition (de façon plus où moins marquée), sans cela pas de chaleur et de sensualité carnée au rendez-vous. C'est cet élément qui pour moi est à l'origine du succès de Shalimar. Jacques Guerlain a su dompter et styliser une note animale présente mais mystérieuse, qui oscille entre force et délicatesse. Je trouve d'ailleurs que cet accord est plus marqué chez Jicky, ce qui le rend peut-être moins évident à apprivoiser. Shalimar, lui, est enveloppé de voiles de rondeur vanillée, féminisé par quelques fleurs et adouci par de la fève tonka, le tout posé sur son fond animal, à l'origine composé de civette, musc, ambre gris, cuir et patchouli qui lui procurait toute sa charge sensuelle. J'ai eu la chance de pouvoir analyser Shalimar avec un flacon ayant appartenu à ma maman et qui bien qu'un peu vieux ne s'est pas abîmé. Je donne cette précision parce qu'il est clair pour moi que la qualité des anciens (et nouveaux) parfums Guerlain a baissé. LVMH pompe aujourd'hui sérieusement sur le capital de confiance de la maison Guerlain, qui est synonyme depuis sa création de qualité. Force est de constater que les choses ont changé, comme me le faisait remarquer une lectrice dans un commentaire, les EDP actuelles correspondent aux EDT de l'époque de nos grand-mères, ce qui veut dire que les extraits que l'on nous vend aujourd'hui très cher étaient alors vendus comme des EDP! Seules des marques comme Montale ou Serge Lutens proposent encore des eaux de parfums concentrées à 25% dans l'alcool à des prix abordables (55 € un 50 ml chez Montale contre 87 € les 7,5 ml d'extrait de Shalimar...).

Mon avis sur Shalimar a sensiblement changé par rapport à janvier dernier. Bien que je n'affectionne pas particulièrement ce parfum, je dois lui reconnaître une grande finesse de composition, une audace assumée et une empreinte inoubliable. Je suis de moi-même allée à la rencontre de Shalimar, car je n'étais pas née lorsque ma mère l'a porté, bien que sa réputation l'ait précédé. Je m'y suis habituée, mais il reste synonyme de grande sophistication et je lui préfère l'Heure Bleue, plus intime et confidentielle.

Sources : OsmoZ, www.guerlain.com, Wikipedia, Images de Parfums (publicité Shalimar)

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

Robert Graves, londinese, morto a Majorca nel 1986, è stato poeta, saggista, romanziere.
Grande conoscitore della storia antica e del mito ellenico e latino, ha scritto e sono stati dei best-seller: " Io, Claudio" e "Il divo Claudio", sulla famiglia giulio-claudia; "La figlia di Omèro", "La Dea Bianca" e il long-seller "I miti greci".

Ne "Il vello d'oro" Robert Graves ha ricreato il mondo e l'impresa degli Argonauti: il grande Ancèo, figlio di Poseidone, i divini gemelli Càstore e Pollùce, Lincèo l'indovino, Orfèo il musico, la vergine Atalanta, Ercole e Giasòne. Li protegge la Dea Bianca, l'antica e inquietante triplice Dea, il cui potere universale è insidiato dai nuovi Signori dell'Olimpo.

L'erudizione di mitografo di Graves, ben nota ai suoi moltissimi lettori, dà sostanza ad un racconto vivacissimo, "esaltante" come fu definito da Elémire Zolla; un racconto in cui semidei, eroi, capostipiti di grandi dinastie perdono la loro aura leggendaria e appaiono quali probabilmente furono nella realtà: avventurieri, attaccabrighe, amanti del vino e delle donne... Uomini, insomma...

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

G.Berto, nato a Mogliano Veneto nel 1914, è stato una delle figure più discusse del panorama letterario italiano, dal dopoguerra fino alla sua morte, avvenuta nel 1978, subito dopo la pubblicazione di questo libro, che può considerarsi dunque, il suo testamento spirituale.
Famose furono le sue dispute con Moravia e Maraini, che si trascinarono per anni e che finirono addirittura in tribunale.

Si segnalò fin dal suo primo romanzo "Il cielo è rosso", nel 1948, vincendo il Premio Firenze. Il suo terzo romanzo, "Il male oscuro", vinse i due massimi Premi letterari italiani : il Viareggio e il Campiello.
Nel 1974, con "Oh,Serafina",vinse il premio Bancarella.

"La gloria", oggi, dovrebbe essere un libro quanto mai attuale, viste le varie "riscoperte" fatte da mestieranti della scrittura, per lo più statunitensi, su temi, più o meno spiritualistico-cristiani.
La figura di Giuda Iscariota, al centro del romanzo di Berto, è stata discussa per millenni e le interpretazioni sono state sempre svariate e pittoresche. Spesso manipolate, per voler dimostrare l'indimostrabile.
Berto non era un credente eppure si avvicina in punta di piedi a questi temi, con grande serietà di documentazione, traendone un libro eccellente, che, nella sua angosciosa dubitatività, anziché scandalizzare per vendere (come avviene oggi), seppe semplicemente rivendicare la consapevole, terribile grandezza dell'apostolo traditore, necessariamente presente nel misterioso quadro della Passione.

Giuda esegue il suo compito di ignominia con umiltà, cosciente di essere strumento insostituibile dell'Eterno.Si potrebbe sostenere che egli rivendichi la necessità del sacrificio individuale, affinché la Storia si realizzi.
Posizione opinabile, certo, comunque suggestiva e rivelatrice del bisogno di trascendenza che sempre è nel mondo.

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

In questo nostro frenetico mondo, abbiamo bisogno di energia per far fronte a tutto ciò che, quotidianamente, ci viene richiesto.
Ma non sempre ciò è semplice da ottenere e non sempre ne traiamo soddisfazione vera.
Una sola energia potrà veramente farci felici: quella dell'amore.
La felicità inizia nel profondo del cuore, ha sede in noi e noi continuiamo ad offrirla quando le persone ci stanno bene vicino; quando siamo amabili mentre gli altri sono irrispettosi; quando siamo soddisfatti mentre gli altri sventolano le loro pretese; quando aiutiamo mentre nessuno aiuta; quando sorridiamo ad un muro di musi lunghi; quando perdoniamo il male che uno ci fa.

Allora, la felicità non si fabbrica, non si scopre in laboratorio: la portiamo in noi, con la nostra capacità di amare e di farci amare. Non è un discorso semplice, ma provare non costa nulla.

Phil Bosmans, tedesco, ha raccolto in questo libro una scelta dei suoi scritti, in cui vengono affrontati i temi più diversi: non violenza, felicità, amore, sofferenza, voglia di cambiare, fede in Dio e nella persona umana.
Un libro da leggere, per riprendere con serenità il lavoro e la fatica di ogni giorno.

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

In estate, quando il caldo porta a voler distrarre la mente, sono molto lette opere "leggere" di scrittori e scrittrici più o meno noti, a volte poco più che accettabili.
Di queste non fa certo parte Gaby Hauptmann, tedesca, classe '57, giornalista che si occupa anche di produzione cinematografica.
Questo è il suo primo romanzo, in Germania un autentico bestseller, qui da noi scarsamente conosciuto.
Eppure godibilissimo, a metà tra il romanzo di costume e il rosa, un po' thriller e un po' comico.

 La bella Carmen, donna in carriera, molto fortunata anche nella vita privata, ad un certo punto si annoia di essere desiderata dagli uomini solo per "quello". Lei vuole qualcosa di più.

Gli uomini che la frequentano non la capiscono?
E lei mette un annuncio sul giornale :"Cercasi..."
Potete immaginare il vespaio che scatenerà. Ma lei non si preoccupa più di tanto: disinvolta, brillante, aiutata da due amiche carissime, si ritrova in una girandola di situazioni, comiche, ambigue, piene di suspance e di un pizzico di sesso.
Gaby Hauptmann mescola erotismo e romanticismo, avventura e telenovelas, divertendoci e divertendosi.
Un libro da leggere in vacanza e da rileggere al ritorno a casa, per ritrovare un divertimento vero, e tutto "al femminile"!

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

Saramago, nato in Portogallo nel 1922, fu un autodidatta: la famiglia, infatti, non potè permettere economicamente al giovane José di frequentare gli studi superiori.
Il suo talento, però, pur con fatica riuscì ad emergere,tanto che nel 1998, è stato insignito del premio Nobel per la letteratura.

Nel 1984 scrisse questo gioiello, ispirandosi ad uno dei tanti eteronimi con i quali Fernando Pessoa, massimo scrittore portoghese del Novecento, firmava le sue opere.
A questo Assoluto, a questa pura voce, Saramago dà un'identità, un corpo, una storia, facendo sì che due grandi scrittori, uno contemporaneo ed uno appena trascorso, si incontrino nel mondo immaginario e reale del romanzo.

Ricardo torna da Rio a Lisbona nel '36, per morire "a casa".
In quell'anno sembra cominciare a morire anche la grande civiltà europea, succube del nazifascismo, con la guerra di Spagna a segnare l'inizio della catastrofe.
Ricardo Reis muore, commiserando un'intera stirpe di umanisti data in pasto ad un'epoca di mostri.

Saramago compie, in questo romanzo, un vero miracolo di stile, riuscendo a conciliare il lirismo con il tono intimistico, la dura denuncia politica con la nostalgia del sentimento e dell'esistenza stessa.
Sembra che, per una volta, Cultura, Psicologia e Storia si diano felicemente la mano.

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

Malraux portò a compimento, con questo testo, un'operazione letteraria arrischiatissima: far comporre all'autore un'autobiografia, a sua insaputa.
In realtà, Napoleone non ha mai scritto un libro simile: è Malraux che raccogliendo, con ammirevole pazienza, la documentazione scritta in varie occasioni dal personaggio storico, ne elabora una esaltante biografia.

Possiamo leggere i proclami, i discorsi, i bollettini, le memorie scritti dal grande Còrso nelle situazioni più disparate, per poi trarne una figura storica, in parte, nuova: non sapevamo che Napoleone fosse anche un ottimo comunicatore ed un eccellente promotore di se stesso.
Naturalmente, il bravissimo scrittore francese segue una sua linea programmatica e ordina e sciorina la documentazione storica per portarci a vedere il Napoleone "che vuole lui", che segue un "suo" percorso ideale.
Ma ciò non toglie interesse al libro, anzi lo aumenta, poiché la chiave di lettura diviene duplice: storica e letteraria.

Documento o romanzo?
E perché non tutti e due? In fondo, Malraux può permettersi questo ed altro.
Un'opera che non può e non deve essere ignorata. Consiglio di leggerla a tutti gli ammiratori del Bonaparte ed anche ai suoi detrattori!

Recensione a cura di Shalimar

Una scrittrice che amo moltissimo è Dacia Maraini.
Trovo che, con il trascorrere degli anni la sua produzione e tecnica narrativa siano migliorate moltissimo, un po’ come il vino che più è vecchio più è buono. Non voglio dire che la signora Maraini sia vecchia! E’ solo “cresciuta” in esperienza.
Il libro di cui voglio parlare è poco conosciuto : “La ragazza con la treccia”, una raccolta di racconti edita da Viviani Editore, in eslusiva per Alitalia. Io ebbi la fortuna di trovarlo, quasi nuovo, su un volo Roma-Torino, nel 1994. Sono racconti brevi, incisivi, nei quali le battute dei personaggi risuonano rare e secche, come i colpi di un bravo cacciatore. Alcuni racconti sono narrati in prima persona, altri no. I temi potrebbero sembrare diversificati, ma c’è un “fil rouge”che li lega : la giovane età dei personaggi, che li colloca in una realtà in divenire, ricca di possibili colpi di scena, immediati o futuri, descritti o lasciati immaginare.
Lo stile è agile, curato, in ottima lingua italiana.
E’ un libro di cui sono gelosa, come di un tesoro scoperto per caso.
Sono certa che, se venisse pubblicato per un pubblico più vasto, sarebbe un “best-seller”.
Mi auguro che ciò accada al più presto, per la felicità dei lettori !