Karavansara

East of Constantinople, West of Shanghai


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It’s not the years, baby, it’s the mileage

Today was the first proper sunny day in months, and we met with our friend Fabrizio for a chat and some social interaction of the kind that’s not done in online meetings. So we took a jaunt to Costigliole, where Fabrizio has his house and his writing shack. And because he’s a much more active and fit person than I’ll ever be, he took us on a long walk among the hills.

And boy am I out of shape.
The exercise completely floored me, making it clear that I better start doing something about my (lack of) activity, or I’ll end up like one of those old men that roll on the floor instead of walking.

On the other hand, the fatigue brought inspiration – and I am about to pitch a new story to a publisher that might (only might) be interested in a story of mine.
An active life also improves mental agility.
But what the heck, wasn’t it a meatgrinder of a walk…


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Guilty (or so they say)

After fifteen years, my Italian language blog, strategie evolutive, has been anonymously reported to the Facebook authorities for unspecified “abusive contents”, so that I can no longer share my posts on the platform.
This begs a number of obvious questions – such as Why? and Why now? – but does very little to my online existence. I can still post and share on other platforms, and in general, who cares.

And as I seriously anybody could find my Italian posts so triggering they need to be reported and silenced, this in the end feels like that guy that scratches the paintwork of your car because you’ve parked where they would have parked had you not been parked there.
Petty and stupid, in other words.

The irritating thing is that filing a complaint with Facebook does not work – because as an automated message informs me, they have more urgent problems to deal with (to wit, checking the fake news about the pandemic and the American political situation), and therefore they will not review my complaint.

So here we are – and really, nothing has changed, except my perception of the number of dicks out there reading my blogs.

And as I am at it, I can close this post with a song by Alice Cooper, from an Alice Cooper record my late mother liked a lot (weird girl that she was, sometimes)


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Fire it up!

We never used fire-crackers and fireworks in our house, and this year the mayor’s office has issued a moratorium on loud bangs for New Year’s Eve, but at least metaphorically and ideally, it really feels good to light up a few rockets and wish 2020 on its way to oblivion.

Happy New Year!

Be good, stay safe, and I’ll see you on the other side.

We’re gonna party like it was 1921.