My female counterpart is: after about a decade, we both had left our original fields for something completely different; in competing for a title in a nearby foreign location, we share, at the same age, a striking 2nd place overall (she in San Marino as Songwriter of the Year, I in Ticino-Bellinzona as Best Debuting Technologist); we both have "sent to Hell" fbook and X... and for both of us, the year of birth ends with 6. We didn't need to know the date, but EjaFauss -!-, of one thing I am more than sure: we will die at the exact damn time we were born, never meeting even by mistake, neither online while chatting nor in person. At this very fucking precise moment, with the holiday bridge in place, Madame Corradi will be reading my reviews one by one, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, after having typed into Yahoo! the first, abïòtic sequence of bullshit words that came to her mind... sniff, even if she maintains the right composure to see them all and assess them, she wouldn't give me more than 2 stars [on average] so I brace myself and return the favor [from 'Muda' to 'Muda'].
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