Morti di carta

Adoro Agatha Christie, e soprattutto quella adorabile rompiballe di Miss Marple. Per far contento il MGP, diro' anche che mi piace la versione televisiva, quella con la mitica Joan Hickson: i suoi occhietti vispi e azzurri mi ricordano una certa nonna, e confesso che l'idea di far parte della Societa' Segreta dell'Uncinetto&Sferruzzata acquisterebbe un sapore del tutto particolare se seduta vicino a me ci fosse l'attempata uber-investigatrice! Ma sto divagando...tutto questo preambolo solo per dire che mi piacciono i gialli...anche piu' degli esilaranti esemplari di chick-lit. Ed ho scoperto una investigatrice del ventunesimo secolo che mi aggarba proprio. Un Montalbano in gonnella, se vogliamo...
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e del resto Alicia Gimenez-Bartlett e Camilleri sono pubblicati entrambi da Sellerio: il che non guasta. Penso che Pennac avrebbe dovuto includere un undicesimo diritto del lettore: quello ad una piacevole esperienza sensoriale. C'e' il testo, e va bene...ma anche il tatto e l'olfatto vogliono la loro parte. La copertina blu, rugosa, il formato delle pagine, le pagine soffici che si girano da sole...fa tutto parte dell'esperienza del lettore. Come un cioccolatino incartato ad arte: anche lo scricchiolio della stagnola fa parte del rituale, no?!
Petra Delicado farebbe forse sollevare il sopracciglio alla dolce Miss Marple: divorziata due volte, rude, antisentimentale, e populista, professionalmente accoppiata a Fermin Garzon, il vice...la storia in questione si srotola tra Barcellona e Madrid. E' stato ammazzato un "figlio di puttana" e mentre i due portano avanti l'inchiesta, i morti si accumulano: tipico! avete mai notato come tutti i buoni investigatori portino sfortuna? Miss Marple arriva, ed al cadavere gia' steso sul tappeto se ne aggiungono due o tre; la Fletcher non era da meno: arriva lei, ci scappa il morto. e che dire del mio preferito? Nella contea di Midsomer, se Barnaby non si spiccia, resteranno solo lui e il suo aiutante!
ok, divago di nuovo...leggetevi le avventure di Petra Delicado...lei non divaga!


I simply ADORE Agatha Christie, especially that witty adorable spinster called Miss Marple. To make MFJ happy, I'll admit taht I liked teh TV version, the one in which Joan Hickson played the part of Miss Marple: her sharp blue eyes remind me of a certain grandma, and I confess that it would be super cool to sit next to the uber-sleuth in our meetings at the Knit&Crochet Secret Society. But of course...I'm digressing...all of this long introduction just to say that I love crime novels...even better than chick-lit. and I finally discovered a female detective of the twentyfirst century who I really like...a sort of spanish skirt-wearing version of Montalbano...
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and in fact Alicia Gimenez-Bartlett and Camilleri are published in Italy by the same editor: Sellerio, NOT BAD! Honestly: Pennac should have added an eleventh right of the reader: the right to a pleasant sensorial experience. There's the text of the book, true...but fingers, eyes and nose want their bit too. In this case, the blue soft cover, lightly lined, the format of the pages, the soft paper that seems to turn by itself...it all adds to the pleasant experience. A bit like the tastiest of chocolate bonbons: even the crackle of the wrapper is part of the ritual, isn't it?!
Miss Marple would probably raise her lovely eyebrow when looking at Petra Delicado: twice divorced, a bit rude, anti-sentimentality, populist and professionally coupled with Fermin Garzon, her deputy...the story unrolls between Barcelona and Madrid. a true "son of a bitch" has been murdered and while the two investigate, dead bodies pile up: typical! Have you ever noticed how all good detectives bring really BAD luck to a place? Miss Marple arrives, and corpses start accumulating in the morgue; Mrs Fletcher is the same: she goes to visit a friend, and people start dying. And what can I say about my favourite: if DCI Barnaby doesn't get his act together, all that will remain in Midsomer are him and his DS!! oh...I'm digressing again...go and read Petra Delicado's adventures...she certanly does not digress!

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seed grenades

no, non mi sto rincretinendo, e non vi vado a proporre il consumato slogan "fate l'amore non fate la guerra"...fate un po' quel che vi pare in quel dipartimento...io non ci metto becco.
Pero', vista la primavera che incalza, ecco...questa idea mi pare ci azzecchi proprio...costruitevi bombe di fiori da lanciare tra i mattoni di fabbriche abbandonate, quartieri impoveriti, striminzite aiuole spartitraffico...ovunque vi sembri che il grigiore e l'abbandono stiano per prevalere.
non sto scherzando!

l'idea e' negli anni '70 in America...c'e' chi dice San Francisco...c'e' chi dice New York. ho letto da qualche parte che tra le rovine di certi palazzoni grigi fossero spuntati dei pomodori...ma poco importa...il risultato e' che questo movimento, magari un po' underground, puo' raggiungere molto presto critical mass.
c'e' chi scambia sementi online non solo per preparare l'orto!!! la green guerilla (si si: scritta con una r sola) avanza! gli ingredienti per la bomba, con tanto di istruzioni per costruirla, sono, naturalmente, online.
mi raccomando con la scelta delle sementi: cercate piante locali! niente roba esotica, altrimenti sapete che disastro ecologico?
Procuratevi dell'argilla in polvere, della torba, e i semini preferiti.
mescolate semini e torba, poi argilla (in parti uguali), aggiungete poche gocce di acqua, mescolate fino ad ottehre un impasto che potete manipolare. formate delle palline piu' o meno delle dimensioni di una pallina da ping-pong. mettetele ad asciugare sul davanzale della finestra, e poi...armatevi e partite!
mi piace pensarvi tutti guerilleri, armati di sacchetto (si spera biodegradabile) e palline argillose...magari, come Zorro, lasciate una firma...floreale. siate l'armata girasole (bastano 4 semi per bomba), il cavaliere del pomodoro (il mio preferito: S.Marzano), il giustiziere della Rosa (e che sia selvatica...la rosa canina, per intenderci!).
vorrei vedere esplosioni floreali in Italia, Giappone, Olanda, Inghilterra, Australia, USA, Norvegia, Croazia e Polonia...


well, yes...sounds rather '60s, doesn't it? but instead of the abused leit motif "make love, not war", this idea seems somewhat "fresher"...throw seed grenades into crumbled buildings, poor estates, fogotten bits of land in between two lanes of a street...everywhere you think there's too much grey, throw in a flower bomb.
I am not kidding!

the idea came decades ago to a group of people who saw tomato plants growing among the ruins of buildings...someone says it was in San Francisco, others say it was New York. it doesn't matter.
It's a rather undercover movement, but I hope they reach critical mass. There's a whole network of "Seeds swappers" out there, and they are not only the ones with a veggie garden waiting to be ploughed. The green guerilla (yep, spelled with one r) is getting bigger and bigger. the ingredients for the bomb, as well as detailed instructions on how to assemple it, are, of course, online. please do be careful: try to use seeds form plants which are native to the area, let's avoid further ecologic mayhem.
find some fine clay, some compost (same amounts of both) and pick your choice of seeds, a mixture works best.
mix the seeds with the compost, add clay, add enough water to wet the mixture so that you can compact it with your hands. place to dry on your windowsill (or somewhere warm, I guess)...then, brace your weapon and GO GO GO!
I'd love to think of all of you as green guerilla fighters, armed with your very own (hopefully biodegradable) bag filled with compost-bombs. you can even have a signature...floreal signature, that is! you could be the Sunflower army (4 seeds per bomb would do), The Tomato Knight (S. Marzano si still my favourite) or the Rose Avenger (please let it be wild rose...Rosa canina).
I'd love to see flower explosions in Italy, Japan, Holland, England, Ansutralia, USA, Norway, Croatia and Poland...

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Macavity, the Mistery cat

Lo so...dovrei essere tutta presa da una categoria ben diversa di "sudate carte"...super-sexy articoli scientifici, affascinanti grafici con curve di regressione costellate da barre d'errore cosi' piccole, cosi' bijoux, appena percettibili...Invece mi sono innamorata di una poesia di T.S. Eliot, tratta dalla collezione Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, musicata con successo da Andrew Lloyd Webber. Sta qui sotto nella parte in inglese (cliccate so "here"...ah no...questa non la traduco...le mie abilita' traduttorie hanno un LIMITE).
Che pigrona che sono: nemmeno la foto qui sopra non e' opera mia...ce n'e' una collezione intera ed in continuo ampliamento qui...e devo ringraziare la mia amica MyYear per avermela fatta scoprire...ed io che pensavo di preferire i cani ai gatti!

I know...I should be focusing on an entirely different category of written words... sexy scientific reports and fascinating graphs with fitting curves studded with little itsy-bitsy jewel-like error bars...but I discovered this lovely little poem, written by nothing less than T. S. Eliot. It's part of Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, which Andrew Lloyd Webber put into music.
If you are a cat lover, but even if you are not, click here


Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw--
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air--
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square--
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair--
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair--
But it's useless of investigate--Macavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
"It must have been Macavity!"--but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macacity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place--MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!


Funny pics of cats with even funnier LolCat captions (like the one above) are to be found here...thank you MyYear! you are responsible for my addiction to LolCat! And here I was, thinking I was a dog-lover!
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