For those who missed the speech ... or who are fans of the new President!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Fake Aqua Master How To Tell
3 minutes to laugh with Obama
For those who missed the speech ... or who are fans of the new President!
For those who missed the speech ... or who are fans of the new President!
How To Say Congrats For New Baby
Schubert Trio no.2
Start this sumptuous music and browse the following articles by keeping your ears open ...
This is the trio of Schubert n.2 made famous by the movie Barry Lyndon, here played on instruments former by Jos van Immerseel the Pianoforte (the ancestor of the piano), Vera Beths and Anner Bylsma on violin, cello.
For those who, by the way, remember the movie Joudrie:
Enjoy! 
Start this sumptuous music and browse the following articles by keeping your ears open ...
This is the trio of Schubert n.2 made famous by the movie Barry Lyndon, here played on instruments former by Jos van Immerseel the Pianoforte (the ancestor of the piano), Vera Beths and Anner Bylsma on violin, cello.
For those who, by the way, remember the movie Joudrie:
Enjoy!
How Do I Quickly Defrost Sausages
Reveries of the Solitary Walker
I took advantage of my solo expedition to highlight this little book that I like Rousseau: Reveries of the Solitary Walker . Rousseau says including how he plans to do everything in his power to succeed in life until the age of 40 years ... and beyond that no longer enjoy the moment. (Why not ..) The
dreams are a work of the late philosopher's life (he has over 40 years). His writings have made him very unpopular, he has made many enemies, and feels hated men (which is partly true, partly linked to his paranoia).
In this book, no great philosophical ideas, it is far from grand theories like Discous on the Origin of Inequality Among Men (as I do not have him on Saturday morning at dawn along, I assure you). Rousseau leaves here to go to dream, to contemplate the landscape, meditating on his human condition. For him, happiness is then in contemplation, walking and especially a symbiotic relationship with nature. Here for example the beautiful lake passage from the Fifth Drive (there are ten in all): "When evening approached, I was walking down the peaks of the island and I would gladly sit on the lake strikes in some asylum hidden; is the sound of the waves and the stirring of the water laying my senses and my soul chasing any agitation plunged into a reverie delicious when night surprised me often without my noticing. The ebb and flow of this water, but the noise continued intermittently swollen hard hitting my ear and my eye supplement to internal motions that reverie and extinguished in me enough to make me feel happy with my life, without bothering to thinking. From time to time some born weak and short reflection on the instability of things in this world whose surface waters offered me the picture, but these soon faded slight impressions in the uniformity of continuous movement that rocked me. "
Well, some parts are downright dark, and we said he does not grow old alone, even when you're a brilliant philosopher: "So here I am alone on earth, having no brother next boyfriend society myself" But
finish on an optimistic note: "The source of true happiness is within us, and it does not depend on men to make them really miserable one who knows will be happy." To think ... 
I took advantage of my solo expedition to highlight this little book that I like Rousseau: Reveries of the Solitary Walker . Rousseau says including how he plans to do everything in his power to succeed in life until the age of 40 years ... and beyond that no longer enjoy the moment. (Why not ..) The
dreams are a work of the late philosopher's life (he has over 40 years). His writings have made him very unpopular, he has made many enemies, and feels hated men (which is partly true, partly linked to his paranoia).
In this book, no great philosophical ideas, it is far from grand theories like Discous on the Origin of Inequality Among Men (as I do not have him on Saturday morning at dawn along, I assure you). Rousseau leaves here to go to dream, to contemplate the landscape, meditating on his human condition. For him, happiness is then in contemplation, walking and especially a symbiotic relationship with nature. Here for example the beautiful lake passage from the Fifth Drive (there are ten in all): "When evening approached, I was walking down the peaks of the island and I would gladly sit on the lake strikes in some asylum hidden; is the sound of the waves and the stirring of the water laying my senses and my soul chasing any agitation plunged into a reverie delicious when night surprised me often without my noticing. The ebb and flow of this water, but the noise continued intermittently swollen hard hitting my ear and my eye supplement to internal motions that reverie and extinguished in me enough to make me feel happy with my life, without bothering to thinking. From time to time some born weak and short reflection on the instability of things in this world whose surface waters offered me the picture, but these soon faded slight impressions in the uniformity of continuous movement that rocked me. "
Well, some parts are downright dark, and we said he does not grow old alone, even when you're a brilliant philosopher: "So here I am alone on earth, having no brother next boyfriend society myself" But
finish on an optimistic note: "The source of true happiness is within us, and it does not depend on men to make them really miserable one who knows will be happy." To think ...
Monday, February 23, 2009
Engagement Sayings For Friends
The Beggar Saint Saens Tarantella
The storm had given way to a surprising calm. The snow was falling outside now in a quiet little flakes. It was an ordinary Sunday morning croissants, coffee, newspaper.
The phone does not sound today, not Sunday. He enjoyed the luxury of a little rest between tours at the end of the world. The radio broadcast of nostalgic melodies of Chopin. He wondered what could have been his life if he had followed a different path. If, like most children, he had returned home after school to do homework or have fun, instead of spending his evenings at the Conservatory, singing lessons in music theory lessons.
Since the death of his father three months earlier, he had logged 12 concerts, 18,000 kilometers, three different roles: a prince, a beggar, an Account. The role of the Prince not really passionate about it had played too much, and especially did not feel the soul of a seducer. He continued, however, interpret it, often at short notice to replace a missing singer. The role
Account suited him well at the moment: character dogmatic, authoritarian, incarnation of the tradition. Lately, he had a delicious pleasure in playing the role of the colossus with feet of clay, kneaded to interpret the beliefs and father proud, whose power is so illusory. His favorite role
was nevertheless one of the Beggar, this being miserable but surprisingly free of his words and deeds. This figure of marginality, this character who has nothing to lose, fascinated him.
He wanted that morning to embody all the beggars in history. Of no more than a insignificant man on the edge of a road, an individual who we expect nothing; a solitary and helpless without illusions. He would like to say that the vacuum was seized from him since the death of his father. Otherwise, what good singing ...
Turning the table to the sofa, he sank into the chair rambling old and faded, thinking wearily to the week for him. He no longer dreamed of the stage, applause, lights and flashes, interviews and triumphs. At this time, he wanted to withdraw from the world in an old building that he restored and where he saw his children grow up. Nothing mattered more than fly planes, hotel rooms and personal opera houses, smiling and admiring excessive.
The morning passed, he read a little, drank one of his suitcases, then sat on the couch, eyes half closed, listening to the radio. The air station broadcast of Rigoletto that he had read in his youth when the phone rang. He muttered a few insults, lowered the volume, ends up picking up the handset without conviction. His agent told bluntly:
- Novosibirsk needs a Prince tonight to represent ...
He interrupted the agent of an angry tone:
- And then?
- and how it then? I naturally thought of you to replace ...
- I can replace nobody, stop and bother me. In fact, I forbid you to call me on Sundays now.
He hung up, annoyed.
So this was the singer's life: spend twenty years of his life struggling to make themselves known and the twenty following at any give time, energy, enthusiasm over finally being up one morning as shadow of itself, void of all energy.
He put the radio very hard to break the silence. Classical radio broadcast to air this Figaro. The interpreter was young and frisky. His voice whirled, chanted words played at full speed, his diction was flawless. He said that the role of Figaro was well suited to this young singer he wondered who he was. Perhaps one of his pupils, who knows.
The monotonous voice of the announcer cut the last chord of music just made.
- You've just heard, in the role of Figaro, a singer who was then in its infancy ...
He jumped. It was him. Himself 32 years earlier, in one of his earliest roles. It then just came out of the conservatory. It does not even remember that a record was made that day.
He said suddenly decided he wanted to stay that being full of energy and hope, fiery, passionate. Otherwise what would become? A former singer, embittered and lonely old professor?
He picked up the phone, his agent recalled.
- Do not ask no questions, it's good for tonight. I take the first flight to Novosibirsk.
- But ... Maestro.
He felt embarrassed voice of his interlocutor.
- It's too late Maestro, you have refused the role. I appealed to a young Russian singer. This will be the first time he will play on a stage as important, but it is extremely talented and will, I am sure the challenge. 
The storm had given way to a surprising calm. The snow was falling outside now in a quiet little flakes. It was an ordinary Sunday morning croissants, coffee, newspaper.
The phone does not sound today, not Sunday. He enjoyed the luxury of a little rest between tours at the end of the world. The radio broadcast of nostalgic melodies of Chopin. He wondered what could have been his life if he had followed a different path. If, like most children, he had returned home after school to do homework or have fun, instead of spending his evenings at the Conservatory, singing lessons in music theory lessons.
Since the death of his father three months earlier, he had logged 12 concerts, 18,000 kilometers, three different roles: a prince, a beggar, an Account. The role of the Prince not really passionate about it had played too much, and especially did not feel the soul of a seducer. He continued, however, interpret it, often at short notice to replace a missing singer. The role
Account suited him well at the moment: character dogmatic, authoritarian, incarnation of the tradition. Lately, he had a delicious pleasure in playing the role of the colossus with feet of clay, kneaded to interpret the beliefs and father proud, whose power is so illusory. His favorite role
was nevertheless one of the Beggar, this being miserable but surprisingly free of his words and deeds. This figure of marginality, this character who has nothing to lose, fascinated him.
He wanted that morning to embody all the beggars in history. Of no more than a insignificant man on the edge of a road, an individual who we expect nothing; a solitary and helpless without illusions. He would like to say that the vacuum was seized from him since the death of his father. Otherwise, what good singing ...
Turning the table to the sofa, he sank into the chair rambling old and faded, thinking wearily to the week for him. He no longer dreamed of the stage, applause, lights and flashes, interviews and triumphs. At this time, he wanted to withdraw from the world in an old building that he restored and where he saw his children grow up. Nothing mattered more than fly planes, hotel rooms and personal opera houses, smiling and admiring excessive.
The morning passed, he read a little, drank one of his suitcases, then sat on the couch, eyes half closed, listening to the radio. The air station broadcast of Rigoletto that he had read in his youth when the phone rang. He muttered a few insults, lowered the volume, ends up picking up the handset without conviction. His agent told bluntly:
- Novosibirsk needs a Prince tonight to represent ...
He interrupted the agent of an angry tone:
- And then?
- and how it then? I naturally thought of you to replace ...
- I can replace nobody, stop and bother me. In fact, I forbid you to call me on Sundays now.
He hung up, annoyed.
So this was the singer's life: spend twenty years of his life struggling to make themselves known and the twenty following at any give time, energy, enthusiasm over finally being up one morning as shadow of itself, void of all energy.
He put the radio very hard to break the silence. Classical radio broadcast to air this Figaro. The interpreter was young and frisky. His voice whirled, chanted words played at full speed, his diction was flawless. He said that the role of Figaro was well suited to this young singer he wondered who he was. Perhaps one of his pupils, who knows.
The monotonous voice of the announcer cut the last chord of music just made.
- You've just heard, in the role of Figaro, a singer who was then in its infancy ...
He jumped. It was him. Himself 32 years earlier, in one of his earliest roles. It then just came out of the conservatory. It does not even remember that a record was made that day.
He said suddenly decided he wanted to stay that being full of energy and hope, fiery, passionate. Otherwise what would become? A former singer, embittered and lonely old professor?
He picked up the phone, his agent recalled.
- Do not ask no questions, it's good for tonight. I take the first flight to Novosibirsk.
- But ... Maestro.
He felt embarrassed voice of his interlocutor.
- It's too late Maestro, you have refused the role. I appealed to a young Russian singer. This will be the first time he will play on a stage as important, but it is extremely talented and will, I am sure the challenge.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Hard Drive For Vip 222k
is removed, dancing, intoxicating ... Here the Tarantella Sains Saens on which I spent the afternoon with my colleagues in chamber music (but not us on registration, shame!).
A tarantella, an anecdote, is a traditional Italian dance. It seems to point that a particular dance is indeed the only way to save a man bitten by a tarantula, a big spider. And dancing faster and faster until exhausted, allowing the venom to hunt ...
I do not know if we shut our venom playing it, but after such an end, it is safe we head elsewhere!
Express Installation Is Incomplete
Three quotes meditating
"The world is a stage, But The Play IS badly cast"
" It Is Perfectly monstrous the Way people go about, Nowadays, Saying Things Against one behind one's back That Are Absolutely and Entirely true. "
" Young Men Want to be faithful and are not; Old Men Want To Be faithless and can not. "
Oscar Wilde" The Picture of Dorian Gray " 
"The world is a stage, But The Play IS badly cast"
" It Is Perfectly monstrous the Way people go about, Nowadays, Saying Things Against one behind one's back That Are Absolutely and Entirely true. "
" Young Men Want to be faithful and are not; Old Men Want To Be faithless and can not. "
Oscar Wilde" The Picture of Dorian Gray "
Does The Sun Have A Solid Core?
Leonidad Kavakos interpreter Concerto Sibelius Violin recital
promise, after I quit the violin!
promise, after I quit the violin!
Best Place For Brazillian Waxing In Delhi
Madness
There are people who have such a presence that whatever they say, one is obliged to listen.
It's the same with music ...
Imagine a violinist , alone on stage, without partition. Little man in the middle of a plateau of 20 feet high and thirty meters wide. Only then, facing (I fear for him), the silence that is at the lights of the room. Now, 700 pairs of eyes are turned towards him.
He still half past one. Yes, only half past one on stage, or more exactly alone with his violin.
It focuses for a moment, waiting for people to have finished coughing, put their coats behind their head, closed their purse, and he begins.
From Bach, nothing but Bach for an hour and a half.
is the incredible challenge that David Grimal has made this week by playing in two nights, the complete Sonatas and Partitas for an audience incroyableemnt silent, just fascinated ... 
There are people who have such a presence that whatever they say, one is obliged to listen.
It's the same with music ...
Imagine a violinist , alone on stage, without partition. Little man in the middle of a plateau of 20 feet high and thirty meters wide. Only then, facing (I fear for him), the silence that is at the lights of the room. Now, 700 pairs of eyes are turned towards him.
He still half past one. Yes, only half past one on stage, or more exactly alone with his violin.
It focuses for a moment, waiting for people to have finished coughing, put their coats behind their head, closed their purse, and he begins.
From Bach, nothing but Bach for an hour and a half.
is the incredible challenge that David Grimal has made this week by playing in two nights, the complete Sonatas and Partitas for an audience incroyableemnt silent, just fascinated ...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
How Can I Shrink My Woolen Jumper
Music before anything ...
Two weeks ago I'm at the Opera of Dijon and already my trial period ends. Two short weeks to settle into a studio where I'm actually very little, so far remains almost empty, especially without the internet, hence my silence.
There would be many things to say about the discovery of the French musical world!
passionate people I met, the moaners, musicians union, program managers for projects incredible people committed to their work and others who have never liked the music. And yes, you meet people of all kinds in an opera house, all kinds of professions also: artists, people from the administration, but also technicians, assemblers decor, manufacturers of suits, and even ... Baby! (Referring to the last show that featured children 18 laws to 3 years!)
In two weeks I must have seen very little, but in any case I understand why we speak of a house opera rather than an opera house: we're working on the day, spends his evenings at the theater, in short, they live there! 
Two weeks ago I'm at the Opera of Dijon and already my trial period ends. Two short weeks to settle into a studio where I'm actually very little, so far remains almost empty, especially without the internet, hence my silence.
There would be many things to say about the discovery of the French musical world!
passionate people I met, the moaners, musicians union, program managers for projects incredible people committed to their work and others who have never liked the music. And yes, you meet people of all kinds in an opera house, all kinds of professions also: artists, people from the administration, but also technicians, assemblers decor, manufacturers of suits, and even ... Baby! (Referring to the last show that featured children 18 laws to 3 years!)
In two weeks I must have seen very little, but in any case I understand why we speak of a house opera rather than an opera house: we're working on the day, spends his evenings at the theater, in short, they live there!
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