Monday, October 11, 2010

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The point of today (on Afghanistan, Cav. And Bersani)

Comprensibilmente, i giornali di oggi si concentrano sulle conseguenze politiche dell’ennesimo attacco mortale registrato in Afghanistan tra le truppe dei nostri soldati. La questione di fondo di cui si discute in questi giorni, e che ha posto due giorni fa il ministro Ignazio La Russa, è se or not it makes sense to equip our bombs and missiles hunting Amx our unmanned aircraft (the so-called Predator). Will be discussed in Parliament in the coming days but in the meantime, despite some populist positions to Luca Zaia and Ignazio Marino, I find it significant to note that since there are various Diliberto, Rizzo, Ferrero and all the others are unable to discuss war without echoing feeling in his ear the echo of 10, 100, 1000 Nassyria. In the sense that it is right to reflect on our presence in the territory of Afghanistan - and here, as you'll see, we start to have doubts - but it is equally important, in these cases to see that in Parliament there (quasi) nessuno che abbia voglia di speculare politicamente sulla morte dei nostri soldati.

Qui il resto del post

Sunday, October 10, 2010

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Microclimate for happiness to the rescue

Vivo ancora di rendita sulla memoria dei giorni ferraresi, ormai resi mitici dalla bruma del ricordo e avvolti dal fascino del desiderio proibito (sono ancora a dieta: ciò che ho ingurgitato in quei due giorni mi è costato dieci giorni extra di punizione). Scrivere oggi del mio primo, fulminante incontro con le tigelle - oggi che per cena mi toccano petto di pollo e broccoli -  è quindi una cosa di alto valore eroico, che spero apprezziate. Una prova del distacco dalle cose terrene che ci si guadagna con una alimentazione sana nella qualità e nella quantità, quindi del tutto priva di gioia e sensualità. Una ascesi che potrebbe anche favorire in me il germogliare tardivo di una parvenza di vita spirituale e magari persino della santità. Un giorno, chissà. Non oggi. Oggi sono tormentata da visioni di tigelle hot stuffed with bacon coppata garlic, bacon, squaquerone.
dream with me.
dream of a kitchen where everything from the day pots of meat sauce, potatoes, squash and other delicious simmering on the stove, saturating the environment balsamic vapors. A cozy atmosphere, in which three identical cuocastri wrapped in aprons are busy quietly gathering in harmony. A kitchen where beneficial microorganisms hotel because of regular bread. Out of the balcony (where I think I've spent most of the time to smoke, now that I think), a sweetly autumnal sunset, dotted with vague clouds. Prosecco flowing rivers. A kitchen, then, where it all.
Even the tigelliera.

Tigelle
  • about a kilo of flour OO
  • about 4 tablespoons of lard
  • a cube of yeast fresh beer
  • about two teaspoons of salt
  • a teaspoon of sugar (optional)
  • water tiepidina qb
Accompaniment: favorite meats and cheeses
Dissolve the yeast in the bottom of a large bowl in a little lukewarm water with sugar. Add more water, then flour. Begin to knead, adding salt and water until the mass will become soft and supple. Let rise dusting of flour.
In theory, after two or three hours will be doubled. Then spread it evenly with a rolling pin to a thickness of about 1 / 2 cm and cut out discs with a pastry rings (the same size of tigelliera, of course), put to rise a little 'and cook in the previously red-hot tigelliera. It Serve hot topped with the sausages. Questa la prassi abituale.

Ma noi, dopo tre ore, abbiamo improvvisamente deciso che invece si andava fuori a cena. 
E qua scatta il miglioramento. Vorrai mica buttar via il lavoro. Abbiamo ripreso la pasta, fatto un folding, e l'abbiamo sbattuta in frigo. Al nostro ritorno l'abbiamo controllata, e nonostante il freddo era talmente viva che strabordava dalla ciotola. L'abbiamo ripresa ancora, e rimessa a nanna sperando si calmasse.
La mattina dopo era ancora vivacissima, anzi proprio esuberante. Terzo round, e rimessa in frigo. Alla quarta ripresa, nel tardo pomeriggio, la pasta aveva raggiunto un livello di elasticità e tonicità favolosi. 
Io il pane lo faccio sempre, e una pasta così bella raramente mi è cresciuta tra le mani.  Mi ci sarei potuta fare un vestitino stretch. Ha prodotto delle tigelle perfette, morbide e profumate, che si aprivano in due da sole.
Ci ho pensato: secondo me, oltre al lungo tempo di lievitazione e ai folding (che già fanno la differenza), la presenza in cucina di microorganismi favorevoli, unita alla presenza pressoché continua di vapori caldi di pentole in ebollizione hanno creato un ambiente superfavorevole alla maturazione dell'impasto. 
E anche alla maturazione della felicità.



Saturday, October 9, 2010

How To Sue In Florida For Unpaid Loan

began racing Maurizio Cevenini, ale

Come scriviamo da tempo da queste parti, oggi pomeriggio è iniziata la corsa di Maurizio Cevenini. Detto il  Cev . Ci sarà da divertirsi a Bologna. Qui l'articolo pubblicato una settimana fa sul Foglio.

Qui il post

Friday, October 8, 2010

8007007f Live Messenger

Felt, Porro, Sallust and the pursuit of flab

Ho letto tutto quello che c’era da leggere sul caso Feltri, il caso Sallusti, il caso Porro e il caso Giornale e, a prima vista, credo che stavolta i magistrati stiano davvero rischiando di fare a figure not just fantastic. None of the intercepts published in the newspapers this morning is, in my opinion, the slightest hint of a possible and real threat to Marcegaglia. There is this messaggino sent to ask the spokesman Marcegaglia (the famous one that Porro says he wants to send the hounds in Mantua, the birthplace of the President of Confindustria) but from here to say that messaggino can be interpreted as a threat to who knows against what the president really does seem excessive.

CONTINUE HERE

Claudio Cerasa on Twitter

Thursday, October 7, 2010

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What will happen in the next election

Currently, about elections, the only sure thing è che la prossima primavera si voterà in parecchi importanti comuni sparpagliati qua e là in giro per l’Italia. Per esempio, a Torino, a Bologna, a Napoli, a Salerno, a Siena e a Milano. Bene. Proviamo a fare rapidamente il punto di quello che sta succedendo in queste città partendo dal partito che prima degli altri, per via delle primarie (che dio le benedica), dovrà scoprire le carte e far capire le intenzioni che avrà: il Pd.
Continua qui con l'articolo

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Ski Party Centerpieces

The point of today (on Fini, Bossi and the third prong)

La notizia del giorno riguarda naturalmente la nascita del partito di Gianfranco Fini. Ieri il presidente (e chi lo sa fino a quanto ancora) della Camera ha convocato i giornalisti a Roma per lanciare ufficialmente his political creature. The name of the party (or movement, as suggested yesterday by Fields) is not yet certain (please, tell me that "Finian for the future" is just a joke) but instead are now sure the organization (with Urso coordinator).

(Continued here)

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Silver Brightner.blog

Turn half left Berlusca

Maurizio Cevenini is called, it will (probably) the next mayor of Bologna.

Bologna today Cevenini is simply the man of the moment: the newspapers speak of him, the Bolognese speak of him, the television talking about him, the common talk about him at this stage about him, calling on newsstands him. And you talk of him not only because Cevenini may really be the next mayor of Bologna, but also because this strange Democrat, who says he does not regret the Olive Tree, says that dreaming of a PD plan and who says he is fascinated by even the theology of Professor Ratzinger, has a feature that these days it looks to be a rare commodity among Democrats Italians. Simply stated: the CEV. Like a casino and everyone likes. And the only ones that does not seem like too are his fellow party members. The reason? A mystery. Or maybe not.

Here Article

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Who said that?

these days, run different interpretation on the real meaning of a mystery word like "movement." Continua qui.

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The point of today (on Cav., Fini, Bossi and Romans)

Ci sono un sacco di cose di politica sui giornali di oggi. Tutto, e sarà così ancora a lungo, ruota attorno all’orizzonte tracciato in questi giorni da Berlusconi e da Bossi, ovvero: quando e come si andrà a votare? Non credo ci siano più dubbi. (qui per tutto il post)

Friday, October 1, 2010

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Caplàzz

more I advance, the more I head for the traditional cuisine. Italian, ethnic, everything is fine, I'm interested in everything. I care, however, that a recipe is one that should be. It took decades, sometimes centuries, to become herself. There is a reason why is so and not otherwise.
Overwhelmed by the now nearly infinite choice, it seems to me that in recent years has been greatly exaggerated, and often lost the plot. We find good, or acceptable, a mixture of flavors that often are not at all. Because we are spoiled because you have to do something new, if not, do not feel creative enough.
Why revisit and contaminate recipes that are perfect as is? What gives me more ginger in risotto alla Milanese? What need is there of matcha tea spoon to spread everywhere? Well, 'yes, it's true: sometimes, hybrid, there are pleasant surprises. You put in a memory so unexpected approach that improves on what you are used to register with and enter into law. It is progress, babe. But it is rare.

In this period I have the creativity required by nausea. Just as I feel sick from food pretentious picture, in the end all the same, with il fiocchetto, la polpetta impilata, il bicchierino con dentro dalla polenta al risotto, cibo incastrato a forza in contenitori improbabili: tazzine, posacenere, vasi da fiori, pitali, tutto purché non sia - orrore! - un piatto,  e sempre rigorosamente guarnito e infiocchettato. Cosa che non fa la qualità. Ma sembra. Infatti piacciono.
A me invece non piacciono.
Non è che sia un discorso nuovo, per carità.
Comunque, la mia personale vendetta passa oggi attraverso la più tradizionale delle tradizioni. 

Caplàzz


Il Caplàzz è la tradizione ferrarese. Il Caplàzz è perfetto così com'è.
Per fare i Cappellacci ci vuole la zucca violina*. La zucca violina può essere buona, o se si è sfortunati può essere sciocca, e allora non c'è verso: il cappellaccio non perdona. Poi bisogna saper tirare la sfoglia a mano, che in fondo non è così impossibile, ma ci vuole l'asse grande e il matterello lungo. E ci vuole la mano santa di chi ha visto la mamma, la nonna, la zia farli. Sabato scorso, nel Ferrarese, ho avuto la fortuna di stare in cucina con qualcuno che chi li sapeva fare proprio bene. Ho avuto anche altre fortune (è stato un fine settimana decisamente fortunato), ma di queste riferirò later.


* In Photos, pumpkin violina appropriately highlighted

You bake the squash slices violin, or touches the skin. Must remain as dry as possible.
It removes the rind is flattened pulp, and add Parmesan cheese and nutmeg. No salt.
She pulls a sheet (classic: about a pound of flour to an egg). You pull, not too thin. For doses: with six eggs of pasta, 140 hats I revenue. I have not weighed the pumpkin, so I do not know. The
cut into squares and then we hurry up, because if you spend too much time the dough "s'infrustlis," that is dry and no longer able to close it well. One rests on piles of filling, then close and fold into triangles like this:


I've even made a fine movie:


is flavored with a sauce. Normal. Fried celery, carrot, onion, roughly equal shares of minced pork and beef, and a little 'less of sausage. Sfumatina of white wine. A little tomato. Laurel. (Essential). The sauce takes a little 'more salty than normal because of the pumpkin filling is sweet, e il contrasto è il suo bello.

Ecco, non è per fare apologia tradizionalista, ma certe cose vanno bene come sono, e basta. Questa è una. Lasciamola così. Spero che nessun massacratore di ricette, televisivo o non, ne venga a conoscenza e ne faccia scempio. Il giorno che vedo il Caplàzz rivisitato, mi incazzo sul serio.

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sensational, the Democratic Party says yes to Freemasonry

Qui.

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Girls Life, Rolling Stone June. Marrazzo's case a year later

Il caso Marrazzo un anno dopo. Storia delle ragazzone di vita di Roma

Quando l’hanno ritrovata accucciata dentro un enorme sacco dell’immondizia con la gola tagliuzzata da sette colpi di pugnale e con il cuore che aveva smesso di battere da una dozzina di giorni, aveva ancora un anello di bigiotteria con dodici piccole pietre laterali ficcato nell’anulare destro, un paio di gustosi sandali neri con il tacco molto alto e un pacchetto di preservativi appena acquistato chiuso nella tasca stropicciata del suo cappotto color mandorla accanto a una ciocca di capelli finti e a un correttore usato la notte per coprire le macchie sulla pelle. Ansa, 28 dicembre 2009: “Ostia, recuperato cadavere nel fiume. L’inchiesta al pm del caso Marrazzo”. La corretta scansione temporale degli eventi dice che il killer l’ha abbordata, l’ha portata in macchina, le ha tappato la bocca, l’ha sentita smettere di respirare, poi l’ha ficcata nel bagagliaio di un fuoristrada e dopo aver percorso gli ottocento metri separating the path that runs along the reeds on the bank of the river, just steps from Ostia, and a few meters dall'Idroscalo, he slipped into a black bag giving it the otters fed to mice that are in that area and quenched left to rot in there for at least a fortnight. RIS and then just a small piece of skin of the index of the right hand to give a name to the body of the woman, Joan. Here at Ostia knew it all, Giovanna lived and worked in the area of \u200b\u200bCastel Fusano, not far from the busy boulevard at the entrance to Ostia Antica, where the night he found himself together with his colleagues (there were a lot of Colombian, Brazilian and other more recently, several Argentine) and dove il suo cadavere è stato visto per la prima volta la notte di Santo Stefano. Giovanna era una di quelle generose signore che vivevano la notte strette nelle loro canottiere attillate – con scollature abbondanti, con jeans scuri attillati, borsette firmate e luci delle torce attivate con abilità intermittente per incantare quotidianamente il viandante di passaggio – il cui nome si ritrova spesso riquadrato negli annunci che compaiono dopo le offerte di lavoro alla fine dei giornali. A.A.A. Clodio transex bionda esageratissime emozioni abbondantissimo decoltè cercami A.A.A. Favolosa transessuale italiana 25enne bellissima sexy zona Cassia chiamami. A.A.A. Marconi appena arrivata trans 19enne decoltè insuperabilissime sensazioni chiamami. A.A.A. Termini big black trans powerful emotions call me tomorrow. AAA 100% available trans great emotions really cuddly call. At Ostia all so called, "Jane", they knew who lived on the coast for nearly a year, knew he was one of the most talented of the beach, they knew that the beautician had dreamed of doing, they knew they did not have a residence permit but not knew that his first name was not Joan of Joan, was another: it was Carlos Eduardo Fernandes. And Carlos from Rio de Janer said Joan, with its history, with his life and his life lived in the heart of the new suburbs of Rome, would love it to the pen of Pier Paolo Pasolini.

The police, perhaps someone will remember, they fished out the body of Joan in a very special moment. Those were the days where the daily newspaper offices received tons of tissue related to this or that politician linked to this or that investigation at red lights: with names of famous soccer players, politicians renowned principal, successful entrepreneurs that appeared in the mysterious and anonymous reports on the desks of reporters. They were short days of the famous trans: images that immortalize indefinite white powder deposited on glass tables, and for prosecutors engaged day and night to comment on the reliability of shapely big man with exotic names - Brenda, Jennifer, Rachel, Samantha - now protagonists of the last transgressive and bloody winter Capitoline. A winter in which, that of John, was, and still is, a very suspicious death, perhaps related to that long list of disturbing intimidation by transsexuals Romans - "Fuck if your told something of your customers: keep those mouths shut" - between the autumn and winter of last year, including phone calls and unsolicited visits nightly, daily death threats, burning houses in the middle of the night and cover found lifeless among the banks of the Tiber. E 'success with Brenda (the case of trans Marrazzo died), it happened with her friend Natalie, has happened with most of the trans most famous of the capital, and later with Joan, and it is no coincidence that the case has begun to investigate the same prosecutor who investigated the October 2009 case related to the yellow Marrazzo (Rodolfo Gabelli). In the story of Joan but there is something that goes beyond the mere judicial reporting, and which falls perfectly in that rich anthology of the holes of the eternal city where blacks are born of the most fascinating horrors of crime. The charm of the multiform Roman peripheral tissue has for years been the subject of Pasolini's astonishing literary analysis, but those areas in which the effervescent mind Pasolini plunged to defile of experience and of children living not found anywhere else is now the scene of a sparkling show in some ways from hell. A show where the characters live in an undefined environment which places the border line, a time characterized by an irresistible creative explosion, suddenly find themselves enveloped in a suffocating cloud: the presence of which is periodically revealed by nasty business of crime in the trans with their bodies elusive and visually indecipherable, are often unintended victims. And when in Rome say the area border line, when trying to describe the mysterious space that covers the walls of Rome, you mean something more than just a suburb town. "It falls - Valerio writes Magrelli in his book "Exercises tiptologia" (Einaudi 1992) - a grid of streets, houses, meadows, fields that annihilates the right guidance and annihilates the surrounding landscape. The cataclysm has created vast areas and inform a campaign hybridized, concise, and tinkling a ghostly chain of names that surrounds the city in an embrace funeral: the gold chain and marana, halo, belts health and cesspool. Cesspool. " A ghostly chain of names that marks the most extreme geography of the city - its limes, its bottom line - even with an aesthetic left in place names. And put together the names of these neighborhoods away from the heart Capital is almost like beating on a drum. Listen: Malnome, Malpas, bad faith, Malagrotta, Dark Valley, Passoscuro, Fosso Sanguinara, Femminamorta, Pantano dell'Intossicata, Campo di Carne Devil's Bridge, stop Spirits, Fountain and the Bandit, Quarto de l'hanged, Coccia di Morto, Death Valley, Colle delle Forche, Dead Canal, Canal Mortaccino, Dead Horse, Death Lestra, Charon, Tomb of the pool, Pantano el'Infernetto Hell: that the small hinge area between Rome and Ostia where Pasolini often happened and where Joan lived there for some time.

stories of transsexuals devices Romans also reveal a sudden a little 'political and some 'not own anthropological insignificant. The years of free-range Pasolini had in fact coincident with a strong awareness of the political party that represented the writer (the Communists) just in areas where they were born as a super novels Ragazzi di vita (1955). At that time, Rome was the symbol of those suburbs that had begun to enrich the pool of consensus election of the Communist Party, and winning strategies of effervescent marginal areas of the capital left the great school of Roman had become a model for all rest of Italy. Once dead Pasolini, Rome is no longer able to find an intellectual rework with the intelligence needs of those extreme areas inevitably Roman diventate nel corso degli anni (vedi per le ultime elezioni) il simbolo della disfatta del centrosinistra in questa preziosa porzione d’Italia. “A Roma – ci racconta l’ex vicesindaco Walter Tocci, che oltre che essere stato comunista ammette anche di essere un pasoliniano de fero – il problema dei confini della città, non solo urbanistico ma soprattutto letterario, è quello di avere una serie di nuclei chiusi separati l’uno dall’altro che determinano una frequente ricorrenza di oscure sacche geografiche all'interno della città. E’ in queste zone, in questi margini discontinui che oggi più di ieri avrebbero fatto impazzire d’amore Pasolini, che si sono verificati omicidi come quello di Giovanna Reggiani, stupri come quelli degli sposini olandesi e assassini come quelli dei trans, e come quello di Ostia. Si sa: a Roma, probabilmente più che in ogni altra città d’Italia, la parola marginalità coglie sia il significato sociale che quello urbanistico”. Ed è proprio in questo gioco perverso dove diabolicamente si mescolano rossetti, fondo tinta, tacchi alti, correttori, sacchi neri, preservativi e donne labbrute con barba sfumata e ottava di reggiseno; in questo gioco dove lussuosi cantieri navali del porto turistico di Ostia tornano periodicamente a simboleggiare un preciso cambio di paradigma culturale Pasolini, se fosse ancora vivo, si sarebbe certamente fermato per prendere carta e penna, per studiare il caso Brendon and Giovannoni and write a great book set in Ostia and probably titled something like: "boy's life."
Claudio Cerasa
Rolling Stone, July 2010

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Via Poma, in Rolling Stone in August

Men (maybe) that kill women.

After twenty years of investigations, but no smoking gun, every other day on the job again in Via Poma crime. So why all these fake scoop on DNA? Easy: just take a trip on Google Map

Twenty years later we are still smiling with that curly black and white shot with his legs stretched out on a towel placed on a rather uncomfortable beach of a squalid Roman coast. Twenty years later we are still fine disquisition on the evolution of the investigations, the findings of the scientific credibility of the witnesses and the latest photographic documentation under which prosecutors continue to passionately assess the compatibility of the dental arches of the former boyfriend Roman . Twenty years after the word Cesaroni has even had time to become the headline of a hit television series set in the up and suburb Garbatella, but despite the strong performance of carefree Julie, played by Claudio Amendola, Elena Sofia Ricci and sweet in part of Helen, the truth Cesaroni, which is still the name for the capital that has terrorized for years a whole generation of Roman pischelletti. And when you think of that name in Rome, everything becomes a flash: the Art Nouveau building, the inputs in the form of arcades, pillars covered with travertine marble fountains bound with oleanders and then the goalkeeper, the fiance, the architect on the night of August 7, unfastened her bra, her breasts exposed, the top rolled up, her panties torn, white socks, sneakers and above the name of that small engraved on a marble palaces now the most popular of Rome : Via Poma.
for fifteen years I have lived half a mile from the scene of the most famous ultimi vent’anni. Via Poma è una stradina nel cuore del quartiere residenziale Prati, una zona di vecchi cannetti a due passi da San Pietro, a pochi metri da viale Angelico, a tre fermate dallo stadio Olimpico, piena zeppa di studi di avvocati, di caserme di militari, di licei fricchettoni, di terrazzi di giornalisti, di studi di registi, di agenzie fotografiche, di case cinematografiche e di elegantissime scuole medie ed elementari. E chiunque all’epoca frequentasse quelle scuole, davanti a via Poma ci passava ogni giorno – e solitamente, lo dico per esperienza, ci si pisciava sotto. C’era chi deviava, chi accelerava, chi temporeggiava, chi si scoraggiava e chi semplicemente, ogni volta che sfiorava il cancello del palazzone which was released not long before the cold body of Simon closed his eyes and immediately fled.
For years and years, Cesaroni the case in Rome was the symbol of the belly of a city suffering from that decade he was condemned to live every day with the unbearable weight of its unsolved mysteries: a steady stream of indecipherable riddles that often forces the Roman find themselves like a big yellow star of those crimes in which all those living together without it being possible to distinguish the individual parts: Via Poma Olgiata, Emanuela Orlandi Marta Russo and so on. And in that period, who lived in the neighborhood of large yellow, yellow Simonetta, it was easy have a friend who lived in via Poma, a friend who was the daughter of one of the doormen, a teacher who lived near the house of Simon, an acquaintance with the studio next to the scene of the crime. And it is easy to imagine how each of us, every one of his companions, on Via Poma had left a flash: there was someone in the street swore he saw a shadow over suspects, who mistook a threat to every rustle, who told of a Confidence in secret and who every day folded into a folder crumpled the details of that story so troubled. A story set in Rome in those days was terribly thirsty for news. That was the Rome of the urban revolution, the Rome of the first phones with Montezemolo phones, but was above its historical Rome, the magical nights of the World Cup: with Zenga, Schillaci, Maradona, Matthäus, Brehme, Caniggia, Taffarel and all the others. And it was the end of the epic nazionalpopolare of the newly-concluded World championship in those early days of August had helped to create a demand for news after the news that football would be met only if there was another great story to tell. Every summer, you know, the newspapers are no big ideas suggested by current take refuge in the swamps of the chronicle to find useful information to satisfy readers hungry for more and more stories that are worth the price of the ticket, and fill pages with news on the beaches closed due to sudden invasions of jellyfish, or dramatic reportage on the latest examples of whales found off the coast of Guinea Pope, may be useful for a few weeks but in the long run a little bit tired and also for this, and especially at that time, the mysteries of Via Poma came at a time just right. But there's more. How many reporters today cynically point out that twenty years ago the long trek between the ramps of the wide hallways of the Liberty building in Via Poma, well, the murder of Simon came not only at the right time but also the right place. Why anyone had a chance to walk around in the nineties that way that seemed Haunted knew that one of the reasons why street Poma had such a great, if not maniacal, journalistic coverage of the forces was easy to understand: Via Poma was just a few meters from the tower blocks of Viale Mazzini, the historic headquarters of Rai , and is therefore not that complicated to understand what was wonderful opportunity for the reporters to follow the crime of the century two-step two from your desk. But, in addition to meeting the demanding public darn eager for news, that extraordinary media coverage helped to create a true short circuit around the murder. The murder of Simon has been one of the first cases in which investigators found themselves confronted with such a massive public opinion that did not ask for more police officers and investigators to come up with some fast, damn murderer. And you know: When the audience roars their teeth into the neck of the investigators - er monster give us, give us the ogre, just give us the damn-murderess who is directing the investigation finds himself in a position to give an occasional bone to the hungry dog. And bones, the streets of Via Poma, are busy for almost two decades.
The first bone is called Peter Vanacore: it was the caretaker of the building of Simon, was accused of having cleared the scene of the crime, was stuck for a couple of blood stains found on the fabric of his pants and was arrested for twenty-six days, then it was discovered that those spots were not of Simon Peter, but they were just in (yes, he suffered from hemorrhoids), and then Pietrino released from prison, he continued to live for a while 'in Rome, then moved to Puglia and vent 'years after the arrest, on March 9 this year, three days before his testimony at the first hearing (yes yes, the first) of the process via Poma, Pietrino was found dead on the beach in Torre Ovo, near Torricella, in the province of Taranto, and not far from the place where he was fished out of the body were also recovered two tickets on the seat of his car. The first: "Twenty years of suffering and suspicion will lead suicide. " And then the second:''Twenty years of persecution: they are tired of the harassment.''
The second bone thrown to the reporters called instead Raniero Busco: 44 years old, two children, a wife and a murder charge on his shoulders. Busco was the last boyfriend Simon, met the girl the night before the murder el'indizio primary against him turns out to be the mark of a bite found on the left breast of the girl photographed during the autopsy and considered by 'accuses its former boyfriend corresponding to the teeth. This, only this: that after twenty years via more Poma does not exist: only a trace genetic extracted from the saliva of a person who with the best will possible it is hard to consider a smoking gun. Here, yes, difficult not to admit anyone who is somehow in contact in recent years with the universe in which it was generated via the mysterious case of Poma was able to notice a detail that can not be escaped even at ' most casual observer's eye. No getting around it: over time the crime of Simonetta has become the perfect example of what the most poisonous in the ingredients with which a judicial inquiry can turn into a poisoned meatball: endless investigations, inadequate testing, testing irrelevant, misleading interrogation, suspects and innocent ski more often than not completely lock. And that if Simon would have been almost impossible to solve one morning realizing it fifteen years ago, when among the items collected in the special event organized by students in the district shot up a story that we hoped was false and that instead, damn, was really true. The news related to the results of what was then called an "investigative technique revolutionary" and which, ultimately, turned out to be half a creep. The history of genetic comparison with blood taken from the veins of fifteen suspects, and the subsequent enthusiastic investigators who repeated statements to the press that they now "next to the capture of the Assassin" turned into a boomerang for straight in the eyes of investigators. And the famous red traces left by the murderer at the door of the room where Simon was tortured were blatantly not kept for a whole day in the cool of a specialized laboratory but in the humid heat of a Roman morgue. Perhaps few remember it today, but that mess investigators noticed it only on August 23, thirteen days after the murder when the blood was in fact indicted evaporated just like that the only trail of curly black and white photo.
Claudio Cerasa
Rolling Stone, August 2010