Bad news for everyone. Enric González censors in the country. Enric, for whom at this point still do not know, is one of the best writers in the English press, an educated man, quiet, intelligent, sensitive, ironic, desperate, wild-profile detective. A man attentive to the human heartbeat of each story, an unmasking of trileros an outstanding stylist, a guy who conveys honesty when he writes, and that's a lot, that's almost everything. It also gave us two great books that I would not label as "travel." Londes Stories and Stories of New York are different. Stories of Rome will also be something else. Many days biennacieron the phone call from a friend. Have you read the article by Enric? Then all was well. One entered his gallery, I enjoyed it and knew that this day would not be time lost. Enric wanted to many times, many times we said, damn, how we would like to take a whiskey with him in the back of every bar, while the other side of the glass the night promises to open its wings and several hours of gentle confidences, wild laughter, of respectful silence. So today is a shitty day, day bastard, lost day. Enrique Gonzalez has said what we think and we all suffer in this neighborhood. What if I wanted to mention it's an unmasking.
Every blog, every city under siege, every Constantinople, each market, each old neighbor Bar reproduce this article. We multiply. You feel a little more decent this morning doing this, making the speaker tried one of ours. With your permission. With all due respect. SURROUNDED
I have not yet seen the start of Operación Triunfo, in Telecinco. In fact, at the time of writing (19.30 on Wednesday), the body asks me to abstain. But when the hypothetical reader has this newspaper in your hands, or on screen, things have worsened. And I, in all likelihood, I will have self-harmed to an appliance, a television, specifically. So, I've seen OT. And I will have attended the presentation of Ramoncín, champion of intellectual property and copyrights, as a member of the illustrious jury. Presumably, then, my morning and today, I will go even worse mood. Who would tell one that would end up longing for Risto Mejide.Lo can go wrong, goes wrong. We already knew. Still, it is difficult not only to the alleged signing of Francisco Rivera, known as Kiko or Paquirrín, by Know What You Did (La Sexta). The grace of this program usually consisted of the apparent distance which addressed the television monstrosities: issued pieces of garbage, but garbage was employed, geeks phenomena other spaces, other chains, and wrapped the product with a sarcastic irony. The addition of Mr. Rivera, as stand-up comedian, stand-up comedian apprentice or whatever constitutes a qualitative change: Know What You Did incorporates their own monster. If Ana Rosa Quintana Esteban is in Bethlehem, they have to Mr. Rivera. Frankly, I do not think they can laugh at each other. If anything, they can compare the magnitude of their respective tragedias.Todo this leads to pesimismo.Uno sees everything black. I do not wish the worst, but any day, any company, will cut the salaries of workers to finance the gambling stock owners. I know I exaggerate, that these things do not happen. But before things happened not like Ramoncín and Paquirrín, and you see. As I said Manolo Vázquez Montalbán, we are surrounded.
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