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They say about her

THE FESTIVAL CHAIR

The Press no. 8/2011 San Remo. Benigni. Lecture. Benigni, God bless him. The lesson was for everyone, indiscriminately. And, at least from the peak ratings, it seems that everyone followed. It seems to happen by chance. The epiphany of light is always guaranteed with...

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FOR SANREMO I TRUST MORANDI

The Press no. 7/2011 We lighten. Fortunately, to help us out, San Remo is coming. Sanremone my handsome, bright and chubby. Sanremone mio, dispensing confidence even to those who have lost most of it. Sanremone mio, who is a benefactor of the Italic people who are...

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DO YOU WANT TO CONFESS? DO IT WITH iPHONE.

The Press no. 6/2011 Dearest paper, inked rather than printed, and also you, dear Internet, iPhone, iPad, and all of you, i-vattelapesca, who will see the light "in saecula saeculorum," I return, malgré moi, to tell you about what has been pouring in on you for some...

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TURN OFF THE TALK SHOW SCREAMS

The Press no. 5/2011 The Australian had learned prodigious witchcraft. He was able to kill with the mere utterance of a scream. A terrifying scream. "The Australian" is the title of a movie from about 30 years ago that I have not forgotten. Not that it was a marvel,...

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THE SWEET FEVER OF CHARITY

The Press no. 4/2011 If History is stuck in a wall and the wall cracks or crumbles, everyone should feel the weight of the crumbling and the responsibility of memory preservation.Italy, in general, is not that deplorable. Almost always its capacity to destroy is...

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THE FAIRY TALE THAT GOES TO THE BASKET

The Press no. 3/2011 This is a story that seems not to end badly and possesses a strange sweetness. Glory, dust, abyss and finally clean air. We are usually ashamed to make ourselves like a good emotion.Too often the miracle workers, a la Frank Capra to be precise, do...

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YARA IS ALSO OUR DAUGHTER

The Press no. 2/2011 Absence plus acute presence. A line, a poem by the superb, adored Attilio Bertolucci that condenses a feeling that is more than a pain, more than a suffering that can have no end. More than a thousand words, it compresses but does not reduce. It...

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THE FRAUDS OF EARLY JANUARY

The Press no. 1/2011 Here's another one. By year. Jan. 1, a day of resolutions, promises, good intentions, words given and, above all, hope. Expectations large and very small. Dreams. Over time I saw signs and meanings change that someone had taught me, that I had...

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THE CARESS OF YESTERYEAR

The Press no. 47/2010 Accountant Giustini looks outside. He is in the office and takes a few minutes to see the snow coming down in rags. Then it will come out. His colleagues have already left. Better, so he can enjoy that show without being told laughingly,...

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THE UGLY TALE OF BABAU CHRISTMAS

The Press no. 46/2010 "The truth hurts me, I know. The truth hurts me, you-know." So bad that, fortunately, there are those who take care not to make us feel any pain, there are those who, with reckless disregard for danger, protect us and keep us away from...

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WHAT THE CENSUS DOES NOT PHOTOGRAPH

The Press no. 45/2010 As timely as the fog in the Po Valley, the Censis Report on the social situation of the country has arrived. Last year we were stunned with the unprecedented revelation that Italians prefer social networks to reading the classics. For days I had...

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HAPPINESS IS A PRIVATE GOOD

The Press no. 44/2010 I am afraid that such a brilliant idea will not be missed. The referendum on citizen happiness will also land here imported from England. There on the ancient isle, Cameron has discovered hot water: the subjects' sense of personal satisfaction...

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MANY PROFS, ONE MISS

The Press no. 43/2010 Professor Antonioli entered the classroom with that self-conscious martyr air of hers. He had on an eternal gray suit of good cut, but a wee bit fané, a slight strand of pearls on his strictly white blouse, and a small smile as of one who hopes...

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MANY PROFS, ONE MISS

The Press no. 43/2010 Professor Antonioli entered the classroom with that self-conscious martyr air of hers. He had on an eternal gray suit of good cut, but a wee bit fané, a slight strand of pearls on his strictly white blouse, and a small smile as of one who hopes...

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HERE, WHERE EVERY LANDSLIDE IS POSSIBLE

The Press no. 42/2010 A small, sharp, continuous ache. One might as well not give a damn. What would change in the lives of everyone who had the good fortune to be born in the most beautiful country in the world? In the life to get by every day that God sends on...

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