Community Service Service Sheets

. the Animation

Surely you have not quite grasped what I am obsessed with Scott Pilgrim, so I thought I'd let you better understand (XD) publishing Scott Pilgrim vs. the Animation, a video that I just discovered the existence! *___* This is an animated short film that was supposed to be part of the film, but unfortunately was excluded. The scene is taken directly from the second volume of the graphic novel and is a flashback that tells the story of high school when he met Lisa Scott Miller and Kim Pine, the drummer in his group. The short
is voiced by the actors of the film, while the animation is run by two American animation studios that produce cartoons for Cartoon Network, the Titmouse Inc. and [adult swim] . I find it quite nice, although I would have preferred to leave the drawings in black and white, just like in the comics.

Before leaving I refer also to the short Scott Pilgrim Mega Avatar Creator! , a site where you can create your own staff with the same style caricature drawings of Bryan Lee O'Malley! Mine is the one you see in the top left corner! You like it?

At What Store Can I Buy Wizard The Card Game

There was a time in America has awakened

too easy, the approach. But unavoidable: those 12 points he would serve and how, but in the polls that give well below 50 percent. Instead they have taken in the face, playing basketball. Street basketball.
What Barack has learned as a boy, on the tarmac in Chicago. Where there is the harsh law of the playground: no blood, no foul . No blood, no foul.
This time the blood was also if anyone has seen it. How Decerega Ray, author of the involuntary elbow that nearly knocked the U.S. president.
Friday, long weekend Thanksgiving Day, Thanksgiving Day, after a lunch with family and friends, Obama has had to discontinue the practice match the pitch of the military base at Fort McNair. A five-on-five on the cement with his nephew, Avery Robinson, the Minister of Education Arne Duncan and his trusted Reggie Love, a past college at Duke. And as encore, after 90 minutes, the race to get armored mend the upper lip under local anesthesia in the office of doctor, the first floor of the White House.
How far are the onset times of the mandate, Obama apt when all the odds, the NCAA Final Four in North Carolina to the Super Bowl Steelers of the NFL to the NBA championship Lakers, even though "his" team never wins. Two years later, in mid-term, the first black president, that would change the face of America, was about to make change the features.
ON SKY SPORT 24, CHRISTIAN GIORDANO

Necessity Of Light For Living Things

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon Vol. 1

You know the posts that dedication to each volume of Death Note , with all my theories about what would happen next and I enjoyed reading because you already know everything? Yes, the ones! I really like writing them, so I always wanted to do the same thing with other manga, but I could never decide which one to choose! So I thought: why not try to do with Sailor Moon, a manga that everyone was waiting for a lifetime and that, thanks to GP Publishing, will finally be part of our collection? course, Sailor Moon already know everything (or almost), and there are theories that you can "fool" as you did with those on Death Note, but I'm sure will be equally beautiful and fun to go over all the adventures of Our favorite Sailor!

Sailor Moon has arrived, the beautiful warrior of love and justice to the sailor dress! I will punish you in the name of the Moon!

Sailor Moon is one of the souls of my childhood in which they are most fond of because it was what followed more carefully e.. more devotion! XD Whatever the time of transmission, has not missed an episode ever! I collected dolls, gadgets, action figures and played with my friends to interpret the characters. Easy to imagine the kind of happiness I have taken the news of the publication of the manga! I was in seventh heaven! * __ * The history of the soul, surely all we know, so I decided that I will dedicate this post mainly to differences between the manga has him.
The first difference you notice is certainly one of the names. In the manga, we the original Japanese are Usagi, which means rabbit, Bunny, Rea Rei, Makoto for Morea, Mamoru for March, Tuxedo Kamen (Mask in a tuxedo) for my Lord. The various powers and the various transformations have different names. Do not list them all because it would take a life, but to change from Sailor Moon Crystal Power Moon come to me to Moon Prism Power Make Up and instead of Crystal Moon Action we Moon Tiara Boomerang ! Among other things, at some point the tiara also changes appearance, wow! * O * For those who grew up with the old names sound a bit 'strange to hear the original, but the GP, as it should be, wanted to publish an edition as faithful as possible to the Japanese, or translations uncensored " the cabbage! I obviously there are more than happy because, while being the story with which I grew up, it's like brand new! In the anime *___*
spent a lot of bets between the appearance of various wars, but here we have the top four and my Lord .. OPS! .. Tuxedo Kamen wanted to say, begins to suspect since now that Usagi is Sailor Moon and does not take long to discover it. In the anime, but it turns out only towards the end when she is forced to trasformarglisi front. (Beautiful that bet! Is one of my favorites! *-*). In addition, he has only 3 years older and did not call funny little head, but head odango , which comes from the name of his hairstyle! Among all these differences, however, surprised me more than that of Rei falls in love with him and not fight with Usagi. I very much hope that things will remain so in the next volume in the anime because it just can not stand when we fight! -.-
Incredibly, but the first volume contains almost the entire first series and, although there are many small differences, the story remains much the same. To learn how to give you continuous appointment (unforeseen permitting) in mid-December with the post dedicated to the second volume, in the meantime I leave you the link to the note written by the GP to explain the meaning of words left in Japan: # 1 dossier. Good Reading!

Long Term Risks Of Blood Donation

The Euroitalia

Milan, Roma and Inter Milan in the Champions League. Milan and Siena in the Euroleague, with the hope Lottomatica. Here it is, the Euroitalia awakening. That not only wins, but finally unconvincing. For the game, character, and the power of ideas. AC Milan is not only of the three median Ibra and retrieve balls. But funny without Pirlo, he found structure and balance, and the strength of the results can afford to sip Ronaldinho. How
Ranieri with Totti, who had given the first leg with Bayern's Olympic Stadium is back catenacciaro and decisive, albeit on a penalty kick, kicking even "evil." Under
two goals, the melt was dissolved instead of Rome. She started to play without calculations, and those four there before everything is possible. Now, however, will need continuity.
That continuity, due to injuries, is no Inter. Benitez is finding the pieces and as if by magic, here is the win-qualification. Sixteen chances and a goal against FC Twente, is not a good sign. Instead, Eto'o as one evening recently returned to bend as with Mourinho, could be the turning point. Even in the league, where he dominated for four years. As Siena. The
Montepaschi, which in Italy has changed everything not to change anything, now must pursue. Because Milan is serious, even in Europe. Away on comebacks in Cholet for Armani and at home to Siena on CSKA Moscow, there is much more than a heavy victory: there is the capacity to suffer, there is the right mix of veterans and youth to survive group terrible. How to Rome this evening, in Bamberg, is proof of the en-plein. Italy has awakened, and it would be a shame riassopire.
ON SKY SPORT 24, CHRISTIAN GIORDANO

Bike Crankset Removal

Scott Pilgrim

Plot: Scott is a boy of 23 who are not studying, not working late and sleeping in the apartment of Wallace, his best gay friend. Scott's life flows peacefully, but one day he discovers that the girl who dreamed Every night there is indeed in the flesh: his name is Ramona Flowers, is American, her hair a bizarre color and makes deliveries for Amazon Canada using hyperspace highway that passes through his head! Scott falls in love immediately, but will be forced to win to defeat his 7 Evil Ex Boyfriends! Will the enterprise?

"I am Ramona's evil ex-boyfriend first!"
"Wait! We're fighting over Ramona? "
" Did you get my email Explaining the situation? "
" I skimmed it. "
" You will pay for your insolence! "

Now I opened a category devoted to graphic novels I decided to publish all the flurry of reviews that I read, so ... get ready! Start now with the XD series which are set at this time and entered immediately in the list of my favorites, or Scott Pilgrim ! * __ *
I'm sure many of you will already have heard in the film, but before he became such Scott Pilgrim is primarily a Canadian comic in 6 volumes, the result of passion for shounen manga and videogames Bryan Lee O'Malley, the author.
the plot is realized at once which is something completely insane, but it turns out just reading what it really is, because Scott Pilgrim touches of madness levels never seen before! Girls with blue hair that pass through magic doors that lead into your head, enemies that appear out of thin air in a cloud of smoke or who come flying and once defeated leave coins or bonus lives ... Everything that's absurd it just happens, without any particular explanation, and yet, despite all this, is a comic book is much more real than you think. The protagonists, in fact, they are normal guys who were teenagers despite having already passed the score and the story deals with the difficulties that to take responsibility and get involved in the adult world. A very important issue but is dealt with in a fun, funny and original. Laughter from cover to cover, but there is even a romantic side! Scott is very tender and its history with Ramona is really very very sweet! ♥
In this comic, in addition to its absurdity, I particularly liked the way it addresses the history and how they change the characters in the books, but also as a whole is studied in detail. Each vignette, for example, hides a lot of nice details, like the poster of Porco Rosso's room or panes that Envy the author scatters here and there to remember who the characters are, what they do and how old they are! Finally, I also really appreciated his drawings, which despite being very specific and stylized, almost Mangosi, perfectly able to express all the emotions that the characters are feeling.

We are Sex Bob-Omb and we are here to make you think about death and get sad and stuff .

The movie is valid (almost) as the comic. I was lucky enough to see it premiere at the Lucca Comics this year, in English without subtitles, and a few days ago dubbed in Italian. To me it is loved it despite the history, for obvious reasons of time has been changed, especially the ending, and which were not detailed the relationship between Scott and the various secondary characters, who in the comics but are very interesting. Apart from that I think is a work worthy of the work from which it is drawn. It has a nice soundtrack, very well filmed battle scenes, special effects, very nice and perfect actors for the part .. although I would have preferred a Envy with red hair, but maybe blonde makes a better idea of \u200b\u200bhow bitch! XD A film for all the Nerd that are out there, especially if you love videogames, but also for those who want to spend a couple of hours to laugh! Council to see it with subtitles in English (preferably also those in English), because unfortunately the Italian translation leaves much to be desired. I can understand how difficult it is to translate the puns, but many things have changed for no reason, coming, in my view, to overwhelm even the personality of the protagonists. The comic however is a must and recommend it to everyone! I leave you with a preview of the first volume, enjoy! ^ __ ^

Do not miss the post on Scott Pilgrim vs . The Animation! Only on my blog! : P

Melina Velba Homeless

Oden, Two thousand of the Walton

Today, Greg Oden, who for a microfracture in his left knee will miss the rest of the season.
Yesterday, the endless way of the cross by Bill Walton. In
half decades of accidents and choices that have made Portland the bad luck of the NBA franchise. At
Draft '84, Houston Olajuwon called the number one pick. The Blazers could be Jordan, but they needed a center and the two took Sam Bowie.
In 1972, with the first overall pick called La Rue Martin, the two went on Buffalo Bob McAdoo.
In 2007, another number one, spending on Oden. With two, Oklahoma City Kevin Durant made a superstar of the league who has just won the national, by MVP, the world.
Oden, painting too early as the next Bill Russell, the former center of the dynasty Celtics took 60 years, at most, a beard, not the strength: 6 playoff games in 2009 and 82 regular season, how many whole NBA season, but in two years, and two additional floors without all the pivottone rebounds and blocked shots seen to dominate Ohio State.
Oden is stopped from December to the breaking of the left kneecap, but the intervention was necessary to rebuild cartilage. Operation, according to the Blazers, which has nothing to do with the previous injury.
You also said Bill Walton, heir to Alcindor (not yet Jabbar) in two NCAA titles at UCLA and bicampione NBA: Blazers in '77 and as a sixth man with the '86 Celtics. The center
most comprehensive ever lasted a year and a half.
Oden, Walton of the millennium, will it last?
ON SKY SPORT 24, CHRISTIAN GIORDANO

Images Of Enlarged Livers

SOMEWHERE IN NEW YORK

naked breast: I, Daniel, white, shaved and tattooed, height 1.86, weight 95 pounds, good shooter discontinuous, kilograms under the basket, jump and defend very little I really want to play. Brian, yellow boy, height 1.92, weight 85 kilos, slender, athletic big media, but more than 50 cm did not make, great desire to play. Shad, African-American pigtails, height 1.90, weight 105 pounds, a large volumetric space, wickedness seeping from every pore, charming hand, elbows flying, a lot of apparent desire to create physical contact worthy of a fight. Colored T-shirt: Leo or Cleon, an African American, 1.95 height, weight 90 pounds, super verticality, crushing two-handed back hand from outside the quadrilateral, the desire to play with other zero desire to see all passersby on the sidewalk that he is a great athlete 1 billion. Nixon, African-American, long dreadlocks (like a Supreme Allah in the show "Oz"), small eyes almost Korean, height 1.90 weight 80 pounds very little, jump a lot and puts the average long-distance, practically does not defend, moderate want to play, great desire to do come for the evening meeting at Fulton Street with the pusher. Jo or Cho, Thai, 1.80 m, weight 75 pounds, intoxicating shortstop, starting in fulminant hesitation, to put it out hardly ever, and lots of trabordante wants to play. "Let's play Fellaz" rock 'n' roll. Our ball, as usual you get to 11 (11 baskets, which we are to 21 points, the same thing), my direct opponent is Jo, I pass the ball like I usually bounce off the ground. Restores me put in his hand. I try to surprise everyone, Nixon and Leo seem distracted, giving birth at full speed to my left, but Jo clearly beat him literally going to Nixon, that settles me a super cleaver, diverting, as well as almost my nose, even the ball out. Shad call on Brian, that falsely appears listless, pretending to pull slowly while Nixon is in the right position, allowing him down and just left. Brian cares right side by the extension of free throw and go undisturbed, without help, Nixon is burned, easy lay-ups. 1-0 for us. Start again Brian, Nixon gave him the ball crushed to the ground with the effect, in a bezel. Is looked down in post-Shad, who with his ass is the space in area such as Shaq, Leo steps back with his elbow resting on his back, quickly turn and shoot left Shad supported the board, another easy basket. 2-0. Brian is officially tacit admission for the playmaker of the team, he starts games. As soon as the ball is playable right now to go for a pick 'n' roll, he takes a flash. Jo Nixon does not call to the block and it crashed on me at the elbow. Brian comes readily to iron, but lay up, made it a little difficult aid (miracolo!!) Leo, is short, so I forgot the whole world, take the offensive rebound and support to the board from below. Shad with knuckle knuckle against the basket, 3-0. Brian starts but immediately exits from its tile, try shooting from the foul line after two seconds, crooked and short, Jo took the rebound and goes out. Jo dribbling, is a pair of eight between her legs, I look at about two meters. I heard them coming a block on the left hand when Jo, I try to take the best diagonal pass to the block before passing Jo. I can not, the block of Nixon is deep and very wide legs, tripping over her thighs and I am frustrated by the dread in the face, while Jo stops by the low post and score a table. 3-1. "My bad" I say, as very often happens to me, my fault. E'Jo beginning for them, so I have to pass the ball to start the action. Same game as before, get the hang of Nixon. This seems a little rasta leggerino, so I decide to use force. The above passage literally, the asphalt on the ground, but its blockade is equally successful, because I remain that meter back and Jo, in photocopy before, shuts down in low post and score of the board, without the slightest aid Shad. 3-2. I feel a little fool, it's time to wake up, I tell myself. Jo starts, I themselves that within him is if the grinning. Some hate it. This time runs from left to Leo, Leo threw out again for Jo, almost on the fly gives it to Nixon on the right, one against another in a low-post, but Nixon is too light to Brian, who enters the cylinder and makes force an ugly fade-away is that the prey of Shad without even touching the iron. I walk out to receive, I motion to Brian to stay in post, and serve immediately. After a couple of seconds is always back to the basket, so I go in front, between the strange indifference of Jo. Brian passed me, and five meters, almost from the corner a little shifted to the elbow, put it. 4-2. The tacit agreements say that now I am the point guard, Brian and Shad are in post, we're fine. As soon as I see again a high-low with Shad, I give it to him and is an easy basket. 5-2. Beginning to be of discontent between Nixon and Leo, argue over who was to close and to take on the position in the area. The momentum is clearly on our side. Jo seems to be lost, does not understand what kind of player is he does not know whether to trust or not to let a few meters, is half way, if you pretended to bloats into the very area where I stay a bit out out shyly. Need more Shad, who abuses area in Leo, Leo is doing a bad impression after another, and no longer able to attack and to see what is explosive in the crush. 6-2. I smell the blood, tremble to sink my teeth into the flesh of the bather. Short pass to Shad who understands my intention, and immediately gives back to me. From the free throw put the front. 7-2. As my usual, when I praise became coy and too demanding, then try again the next possession in the shooting, failing by four meters. Bounce Leo, who seems angry, you can easily see who wants one on one with Shad. The burns on the right, and the help of Brian supports protecting the board with iron, with a significant jump. 7-3, someone behind the net applaud the athletic movement. The last thing we wanted was Leo in the window with someone who admired him. Start over him, go to Jo and cut just inside, Jo is very good at finding the right time and serves him, the ball remains in the hands of Leo in the running for a millisecond, to settle into the basket after two thousandths. 7-4, clap, sad story. Leo still with the ball, Jo goes to bring him a lock to go right, incredibly Shad takes the change and remains with Jo, and touches me to go back to Leo. I wait just inside the area, openly defy him shooting, I can not do anything else. A blowhard as he can not refuse, pull, and wrong, but aided by a rebound in our sleep Nixon catch the ball and score despite the failure of Brian, what is even worse for our psychological status. 7-5, suddenly a pit. 6:00 to 7:00, but those bastards out of the network does not have to do is be there to enhance our opponents and shouting at every basket?!? Leo is the master of the stage, and hopefully gives a bit of discontent among fellow, visibly irritated by his long rallies and useless toys. Leo thinks he has a reliable shot, he is wrong. Pull the four meters to the right, but as the second iron / board, signal not complete mastery. To deflate the bounce Shad balloon, which seems even more angry than his sly grin not already reveal. Ball to me, I would not dream of taking responsibility for a shot now that incacchiato Shad is so, then passing to Brian in his low-post. Beautiful movement on the bottom line, marked by a scandalous hooking, but since we are in New York and legend has it that if there is an autopsy is not a foul, Brian marks of the board from the bottom line. 8-5. I'd already shut the bastard over the net, but the time is not ripe yet. The inertia of the still feel me, and without conscience, upon receiving the ball from Brian to the extension of the free throw (I was still free, Jo I inexplicably waited inside the area), shooting, and wrong. I try not to make eye contact with Shad, just when I realize that Brian stole the ball to Leo who had caught the rebound. Ok, on another occasion, Brian is on the bezel and I in post-low. I receive and I understand now that Jo tribulations in that position, so I approached a little behind and I turn to pull, when the last second I see that Leo has come off, and a servant under the basket that put it perfectly free Shad. 9-5. Shad almost smiles, gives me the knuckle under the basket. The rest is academic, they are clinically dead, Brian puts incredible from the foul line, and even in the low post Shad abuses of Leo (his fans if they were already gone ... "all at home, eh eh, all at home, oh oh ...") and the board supports the goal of victory. 11-5, somewhere in New York.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Recording Dish Network Vip222k To Hard Drive

LOST BATTALION - QUEENS

South Beach Miami ? Florida? A broad avenue to ten lanes on the sides of which there are palm trees in bloom? low houses and stores of all kinds, especially Hispanics? Everything seems to be, but nothing is. We are in the midst of a huge urban area of \u200b\u200bnorth -Atlantic Coast, specifically in one of the five boroughs of New York, Queens. The broad avenue above Queens Boulevard is the very long road that starts from the Queensboro Bridge (bridge that connects Manhattan with the district) and which cuts half of all the borough, dying on Main Street, right at the far east of Flushing Meadows Corona Park. The Queens is a neighborhood that gave birth to the NBA champions such as Ernie Grunfeld, Ron Artest, Kenny Anderson, Lamar Odom, but has never been widely recognized as home to the great New York playground. Maybe the (alleged) little charm that the neighborhood basketball, being inhabited by many ethnic groups that basketball does not have a great affinity, like all Asian ethnic groups (especially Japanese, Korean and Vietnamese) and as the immense strain, especially in Hebrew Rego Park area. Then the fact remains that when it comes to the New York street basketball, there are very few times when the Queens emphasis is appointed by and ecstasy. The most famous and renowned playground of Queens Lost Battalion is undoubtedly the Court, on all maps of the geography of street basketball world. So yet another trip from downtown Manhattan, in search of lost playground, this time in the direction of Queens, in a really hot day. Herald Square subway you can take the orange V, and Times Square you can take the yellow line R, both in the direction of Forest Hills (where they carried out until the end of the seventies the U.S. Open tennis before moving to Flushing Meadows) 71st Avenue, down, on both lines, the stop 63 Dr-Rego Park. As I said, coming down out of the subway car, get on Queens Boulevard (Mind you, just at that point, because for example, near the Queensboro Bridge Boulevard is narrow narrow and poorly attended) and seems like we (in a hot sunny day like that) in Florida, is a tutt 'one. Blaspheme to say, I know, but that's the feeling I had on that very wide highway to ten lanes in the hot sun, with nothing to 'horizon if not several small buildings on either side of the avenue. The indications I had were very clear, from the subway station, two blocks west on Queens Boulevard, and had the Lost Battalion. Believing to walk towards the west, I head east unusable. Very bad. Two, three, five, seven, ten blocks, no trace of a playground, and no trace of even a little park with a bit of 'grass and with a bit of' shadow where to put my members hot. I am in a district where 90% of assets are medical, dental offices, clinics, nursing homes, and where 99% of physicians, dentists and therapists are Russians and Jews. Objectively, it does not seem to be in an area characterized by the presence of a well-known playground, and then began to ask around some explanation. Nobody can tell me where can be the Lost Battalion, ask any person who does not even know what I'm talking about. At the same precise moment when I realize that I have started walking on Queens Boulevard to the east and not towards west, I see from 'the other side of the street two guys that are right for me, loose clothing, bandana up to his eyes and swaying walk. Block them and asking them questions, they confirm that I cordially Lost Battalion is about a mile to the west. Already a sweat soaked back on my feet along the boulevard of broken dreams, trying to take advantage of very little shade on the sidewalk. Way, way, way, and finally arriving at the Lost Battalion, which is in the middle runs between 62nd Avenue and 62nd Street, on the right side of Queens Boulevard to the west. Loved the Lost Battalion, well kept green grass, benches without graffiti, playground clean and tidy, a makeshift pitch softball in the middle of the field, truly a green oasis in the neighborhood, beautiful. Too bad there is no trace of a basketball court. Ya Kiddin 'me?!? I ask anyone in the neighborhood, even the mailman who passes by. Nothing, the playground basketball there 'is. C 'is the gym, in the middle of the park (where it also plays a renowned tournament), is open until five, you can play in, but I refuse, absolutely against my ethics to shut myself up in a street baller gym to play, I want to cement. Once before I made the 'mistake of going to play in a gym (Lloyd Hall, Philadelphia) with the mentality of the road, resulting in a kind of alien because of my strength and vehemence, then this experience I do not want anymore. Sitting disconsolately on a bench in the Lost Battalion (at least they are all 'shade of a tree), I see a guy on 62nd Drive on rollerblades with a tank top 4XL Iverson, maybe he can give me an explanation. The block and ask 'Where is the ballers and Homiez be found in the area. Him, not even eighteen years old, his face lights up the season that his father 'son on the bitter things in life, including puts a hand on my shoulder and says: "man Fellaz .... aren' t here ....". With a strong aptitude for drama and with a perfect sense of "drama", this homey tells me where is the best known of the playground area, or a couple of blocks north. I set out, step to the grocery store parking lot behind the Lost Battalion and end up at Junction Boulevard, another main artery of the district, which extends to 'La Guardia National Airport. A couple of blocks north, in the midst of series of well-kept middle-class homes, finally I find a playground, a field in gray asphalt without a net around him, where he is playing an intense game followed by a fifty spectators. Lost Battalion or not, finally started my morning by street baller. Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Best Boobs In Boolywood

Voices issue I had described the areas of Washington Heights and Inwood, the tip of Manhattan, to 'extreme north of the' island. Some metropolitan sapientone told me it was a sort of urban hell, that all crime in South Harlem, eradicated by police management called "Zero Tolerance" on the part of 'ex-mayor Rudolph Giuliani, had moved further north, above North Harlem or Washington Heights and Inwood, and now those neighborhoods were dangerous, especially for a controversial white like me (of course). Other sources epic and a little less agitated, instead I had described these areas as relatively peaceful, surrounded by greenery, and populated by a fauna made up of humans and industrious busybody, no particular criminal ambitions. No way out, the 'only way to understand the true nature of these areas unknown to me is to spend some time to visit and live on my skin the ability of this strip of land manhattaniana, a small peninsula north of' island, to the west 's Hudson River which separates it from the Palisides Jersey, and east and north of the' Harlem River, which divides it from Fordham, respectively, and Riverdale, the Bronx called bad neighborhoods on the mainland. The peninsula is divided into two, Washington Heights extends from 165th Street, the virtual end of Harlem, to 190th Street. Here begins Inwood, which extends north to the 220th Street, physically 'last road in Manhattan. The subway lines that go deep in northern Manhattan are four A and C blue, coming from the distant East and Brooklyn that have their last stop on 207th Street to 168th Street in Inwood and Washington Heights, and 1 and 9 the red, which come from South Ferry in Lower Manhattan and end their run in the Bronx, in Van Cortlandt Park. I go with a red, I get to Penn Station in the direction of deep-north Manhattan. Get off at 181st Street, on the highway are just a few hundred meters to the west becomes the George Washington Bridge, the bridge connecting the northern part of Manhattan to northern New Jersey. L 'intersection is with St. Nicholas Avenue, and part 's high traffic area that distinguishes this particular nerve center, the neighborhood does not seem so degraded. Continue on 181st Street in the direction of the bridge, crossing Broadway and Fort Washington Avenue, and are practically in Riverside Park, huge park which stretches from the Upper West Side (where does the 'Hudson River Park, which in turn reaches south in Battery Park in Lower Manhattan) Inwood to the top of the Hudson River. I set out to 'internal Riverside Park to the north, I let the image of the Washington Bridge to the shoulders and back slightly to the east. The neighborhood is not bad, the population is predominantly Hispanic and Latin America, although the quality of life seems to be much higher to that of the Barrio in East Side. Way, the houses are low and well maintained, plenty of space and green and vibrant young people who hangs out everywhere, but to date I have not seen any concrete basketball court. I enter in another park, well kept, bordering on the maniacal, beautiful flowers in special greenhouses, and an exorbitant number of tourists to see and photograph all that good of God I take some information, and I'm served. I'm in Fort Tryon Park, a place of worship for the fanatics of plants and flowers of high heritage, strong point of all maps of tourism flowers. Because of my littleness of mind, that makes me appreciate these beautiful expressions of nature, I am terribly bored, and I try to leave as soon as possible from that 'hell. I can, and I find myself on 192nd Street to look around like a Boeotian, sounding the 'last of the losers who have the wrong road and in contravention of the basic rule that I invented and almost never renounced, to appear more casual and confident even when you do not have the faintest idea of \u200b\u200bwhere you are. I recomposed, fortunately no argument for me as the quiet streets of Inwood, and then return to walk with the false security that distinguishes me. Within another in a huge park (no doubt the New York area greener than I've ever seen), this time I'm on the west side, I enter in 'Highbridge Park, overlooking large park in the face of the' Harlem River and which takes its name from the district the Bronx from 'the other side of the river, High Bridge in fact. Return south on 10th Avenue, along the 'immense green space. Here, the human landscape of game is slightly different, for there is a higher percentage of people apparently shady and potentially dangerous, again always in the majority Latino. Pure infrastructure speaking the 'ecosystem is a little more dirty and messy in the west, although the average level is certainly higher than the vast majority of the other New York boroughs. Laughing and joking, but this time I have done my fair share of miles on foot, and began to tire, even without having seen the 'shadow of a playground. After nearly twenty blocks Highbridge Park on 10th Avenue (or Amsterdam Avenue, not ever understand when you call in one way or 'more), finally arriving at' the corner of 173rd Street, and here's a pitch for basketball, in the midst of a giant shopping Sports which includes three baseball fields, packed by the children and men of every age and race. The playground basketball is pretty nice, well kept a hard court, on which partiton is playing an all-out, followed by hundreds of spectators. I would add to the bystanders, the game is not tournament, against the red jackets yellow jackets, high intensity, fast transitions and sconquassanti crushed in the open field, highlighted by sound "yeah!" the public, including myself. After a long trek to the viewer is relaxing.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Driver Slimtype Gratuito

PALISIDE AVENUE - JERSEY CITY WASHINGTON HEIGHTS

New Jersey is, by name and by definition, the Garden State. Probably all other places in Jersey where I was not there are lots of flower gardens and immense and endless grasslands of immaculate lawns, but in the stretch from Newark to Bergen County, I saw only a messy and dilapidated collection of houses of all type, along with endless stretches of barren land and dry, those that when a few drops of rain become a vast swamp. Urban area adjacent to Manhattan I lived there last summer, and if I have to tell the truth, I do not feel totally missed. Heading north from Newark, Hudson County, Jersey City, Union City until you come to Bergen County, you are twenty-five miles and you seem to be in the same spot, all homes are equal, all Chicanos on the street or sitting on the steps of the house are the same, the JF Kennedy Boulevard is always equal to the Meadowlands. I decide to come back: a nice sunny afternoon I decided to do a reunion in the Garden State. You can get from Manhattan to Jersey City in three ways. By bus, leaving from Port Authority on 8th Avenue at Times Square, take bus 404 from platform 99 / s, making a trip of about half an hour. By subway, the subway special called Path, which runs from 33rd Street in Herald Square, which makes a handful of stops until you reach the terminus of Journal Square in Jersey. Or you can get there by ferry, with NY Waterway, starting dall'apposito marina in Battery Park in Lower Manhattan, across the Hudson River and arriving at Hoboken, Garden State, lively area full of nightclubs and pubs. After a summer spent on the Path or Port Authority to make the pendulum-like New York, this time I live in Manhattan I opt for the means of transport more attractive and relaxing, or ferry. The crossing is short, about twenty minutes and there are. From the port of Hoboken can be easily reached on foot (by a narrow dark slightly uphill and at night you should never take) on Paliside Avenue, one of the main streets of Jersey City, a parallel to the JF Kennedy Boulevard, which cuts across the lengthwise city, if so we call it. From the top of the hill we are about the same latitude as New York's Union Square, from there the view of the skyline of Manhattan is really impressive, the horizon is free, you see everything from Lower Manhattan to Central Park. The playground is right at the end of the uphill path that leads to the port of Hoboken Paliside Avenue intersection with Bowers Street, in the midst of a little park that looks nice and innocent, but at night it went really badly. When it gets dark because of the green rectangle on the edge of Paliside Avenue is filled with shady characters, stars of numerous fights and car accessories trades. The pitch looks as good as I remembered him, a concrete some shooting without nets and attended by Latinos very unfriendly. Luckily I am not entirely a newcomer, having played there throughout the summer always thinking, in fact when I come to play anyone remembers me. There is also a friend, my ex-neighbor, Mooch, an Iranian boy forced to flee the United States as a child with his family because persecuted by Khomeini's Islamic regime (his father was an adviser to the deposed Shah of Persia ). Anyway, it begins, now is the time when you play. After the soggy experience in Staten Island I had to restore with blazing afternoon in Battery Park and Harlem, where I managed to find the intensity and the desire to win that I was not able to find on the island happy. The Jersey Staten Island does not have anything, let alone the lack of intensity basketball that despite the poor technical and physical level, has nothing to envy to the most intense playground in Manhattan. An excessive amount, the tiger's eyes and nerves on edge throughout the first game, a four against four people slightly, despite my good performance in shooting, and characterized by continual skirmishes between Ritchie, slender African-American very similar to 1.85 to Dontrelle Willis (Florida Marlins pitcher), and one of our Puerto Rican opponent, big, really big and ugly, in all senses (with the retina in the head, Los Angeles-style). Ritchie is not afraid, after a couple of contacts prohibited throwing the feet of the opponent, and begins with the characteristic gesture in moving his arms and head inclination, to invite the opponent to fight with the classic "c 'mooon meeeee, call immediately collected by the Puerto Rican, barely restrained by his companions. Usually in these situations I'm not intruding NEVER to share, because what divides is always the champion of justice, the one with the most good intentions, that has nothing to do anything, as well as what he regularly takes to the first and most strong, then I'm away nicely, though the situation seems seems to have calmed down. But as I imagined, in the first action of the second game of the inevitable happens, or that the first part of the Puerto Rican contact with the cardboard Ritchie, beak full left ear, just inches from me, making him stagger. My companion responds promptly fell on his opponent, much bigger and more tattooed than he. The two are left bathrobe for fifteen seconds, until they fall to the ground clutching. At that moment the other involved a split in true hockey-style, declaring virtually ended the game, partly because some of the spirit is not the same.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Tinkerbell Cakes Toppers

DOUGLAS MACARTHUR PARK - STATEN ISLAND AT LENOX AVENUE

Honestly, I've never been to Staten Island. Everywhere in Manhattan is full of flyers that say if you've never seen Staten Island've never really seen New York, but I myself have always cheated. It is clear that if I go there I go turistone, but I'm going to play. I do explain to a friend in Brooklyn who has lived in Staten Island which is the best place to play in the New York borough, and he explained to me word for word what I do and the route to follow. A few days after birth relatively early in the morning from home, I take the green line 6 from 77th Street, change at Grand Central Station, take the shuttle to Times Square, and from there take the Red Line 9, which leads directly to the South Ferry, the port is Staten Island. It is a beautiful sunny day, and the view from the NY Waterway ferry is really beautiful. We pass in front of Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, cross the bay with a magnificent view. Arriving at the ferry terminal on Staten Island, St. George, the most populated island, I see the diamond of the Staten Island Yankees, a Single A baseball team the Yankees organization, the star of fiery derby with its neighbors and enemies the Brooklyn Cyclones in Coney Island, Mets organization and divided only by the Verrazano Bridge. The year saw the first derby between the Coney Island Cyclones and the Yankees (won by Cyclones), and was one of the most exciting matches and feel to which I have ever attend. At the St. George Terminal I take the bus to Oakwood Beach, with the possibility of reaching in Stapleton, a few miles further south and take the subway Tottenville (what, a London derby? Former Stapleton -striker, Tottenville might be the second home of Tottenham Hotspur, away from White Hart Lane). There comes a bus packed, I let him go. Same thing for the next, and that after yet. In the fourth bus I take my courage in both hands and climb in the midst of wild and hysterical ladies students who complain too much mess boys. The trip was incredible, like being on a bus in supporters from the station takes you to the stadium, missing only the iron gratings at the windows instead of glass, and rabbits, which pull the rocks from side streets and then run away. Finally arriving at Stapleton, III & IV district of restaurants and fast food Italian (cliché on cliché, in all New York Italian mafia film on meetings and meeting with "business" were growing in an Italian restaurant in Staten Island). I must say that Staten Island does not make me a great impression, chaotic, dirty and messy as any of the other New York boroughs. After about half an hour of waiting at the subway Stapleton, finally comes the train to Tottenville. Another fifteen minute drive along the coast, with beautiful views of the Verrazano Bridge, where part of the Marathon every year, without a doubt the most beautiful bridge in New York. My stop is Dongan Hills, about half of the island, get out, and here the landscape is finally what I expected, and as everyone had described it to me. Villettine well maintained, perfectly manicured lawns and small swimming pools in every back-house, garages and unfailing well-painted American flag in order, those who have it is in, who did not have is out. I'm on Avenue N, I make a coil between the houses in the south, are almost certain to be on the right track, but for security prompt to a stereotypical man, white, overweight, with a mustache, and that is watering the lawn . While giving me the information involved, not requested, a neighbor from the veranda of the house next door, to point out the claim. This new character is just like the other man, only more bald, more or less confirms what I said the first, more or less the same words. The two smile at the fact but made it clear that you hate, is perhaps one of Michigan State and Maryland and one of the wives, attached to the formalities of a good neighbor, trying to negotiate with their husbands, organizing dinners that end up in heated discussions on time sports between the two men. Immersed in this fun and exhilarating thoughts more than ever, I realize you have arrived on Jefferson Street, Show me that my friend from the crime scene as a basketball. I run almost immediately in the Douglas MacArthur Park, a beautiful park with two baseball fields and two basketball courts, in a truly wonderful, in the countryside and surrounded by clean and tidy. The playground is very well kept, four baskets and blue area on concrete shell, and some boys playing. Everything seems different here, the air (and this is sure), the game, the attitude, everything is different. After a few shots on a yellow field goal with two other boys waiting to play, before playing a three against three in the court procedure, and those closest to the baseball field. You play well, quietly, perhaps too easily, something is not right. Something is missing, I realize after a few possess. Lack the will to win, they lack the eyes of the tiger. Here nobody played to death like all the other playgrounds of New York, mistakes and laugh, unmarked hard your opponent, you care, do not really want to win, and everything is ugly. There are a couple of young African-Americans looking to make some show, are very gifted athletically, jump like a dream, we are constantly looking for the alley-hoop was missing, he is one out of fifteen, and certainly does not change the substance of the chemistry of the game. A Staten Island is another game after a game I have deliberately removed from competition, I could not enjoy myself. I also played well, but I did not like the quiet environment. I watch others play, I notice that someone puts their feet when the ground after a jump shot or a defender challenged by the entry slightly, it lays out the shirt, and check if minuzionsamente tore something.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

What Does A Green And Yello Bracelet Mean

119TH STREET AT LEXINGTON AVENUE - HARLEM / BARRIO

on Fifth Avenue ends when the "Museum Mile, the mile down Fifth Avenue where there are the most important museums in the Big Apple, the Museum of the City of NY, the Cooper-Hewitt Museum, The Solomon Guggenheim Museum, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York is very little tourism. After a few blocks just north of 100th Street, at the end of Central Park, began the Barrio, the neighborhood populated by Latinos and Chicanos, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, and virtually all other ethnic groups in South America. After a dozen streets north has officially started in Harlem, African-American neighborhood that extends until the end of Manhattan, in the deep north-west of Inwood, separated from the Bronx branch of the Hudson River just called Harlem River. No tourist attraction consumer, if not the gospel of the Sunday Masses, however, tend to be more a freak show to attract tourists rather than hearing religious rites. Everything north of 100th Street is resized, such as Park Avenue, majestic and important artery of traffic in New York, Grand Central Station that overlooks the East Side with wide roadways separated by a hedge and rich central offices of banks and consulates around the the world is at an alleyway any, dirty and full of waste without a hedge, with a pair of narrow lanes and the railway that runs above. Back in East Harlem is to me a strange sensation in 2003 because I was right there on the day of the infamous blackout of 29 hours that has literally crippled New York, forcing me to walk from East 120th Street at Lexington Avenue to the Bus Terminal Port Authority (8th Avenue at 42nd Street, a good hike) and then to the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel, where I and my sweet wife, we were forced to "stop" all the coaches who were heading into the tunnel, looking desperately to return to Jersey where we lived, all in total darkness. I really like is the Barrio is Harlem, neighborhoods are charming, and choreographed, real neighborhoods, populated by real people and with a precise identity, it is always in Manhattan, but with a completely different approach to life. A stranger who comes to this reality must have the humility to remain in place, not to be intrusive and at the same time not to appear afraid. It is often a lottery, many people have told me that they have been abused, mocked, beaten, or even in Harlem, fortunately so far I've never had this experience, I turned to Harlem, on foot and by subway, to any time of day or night, and I thank God nothing ever happened. Arrive in the area in the early afternoon, I go down to 125th Street stop on the green line 6 towards Uptown-The Bronx, I get in the way and are already on Lexington Avenue. I set out southward, are right on the border between the Barrio and Harlem, proud about the latest windows Latinos flaunt their flags of Puerto Rico or the Dominican Republic, although guardadomi around, ninety percent of the people are African-American . The Lexington Avenue in this section is very busy, there are hundreds of children playing loudly in every little space available, there are dozens of shops and clothing stores besieged by mamas of all sizes, the atmosphere is relaxed and jovial. Arrival at the intersection of Lexington and 119th Street, and I run into a dilapidated playground just around the corner, next to a dilapidated school that just does not seem to be well attended. Old baskets are three already in operation, each taking place in a game. I sit at the bottom of a field of three pitches, alongside other ballers waiting to play, all African-Americans and all apparently happy to have me next. Oh well, I'm used to the initial animosity towards me, now I do not anymore. The game ends, and the four of us sat we are called to form a team to face the winners. I do not know if they did it on purpose, but the winners have a special feature that unites them, or have a T-shirt all exhilarating. The youngest, brevilineo, rangy and fast, which shows no more than sixteen years, has a t-shirt with the large face of U.S. President Bush over whose heads the inscription: "International Terrorist." A brute of 1.95 per 120 pounds has a 4XL T-shirt with an arrow pointing to his face that says "The Man", and just below an arrow pointing to the genitals, which says: "The Legend". A boy of about 1.80 pigtail gym has a shirt that reads "333-Half Beast" (exhilarating, but never comes to that of my friend Leo "Torment" Pestoduro, ex-drummer Skiantos, that once, when we played together , was presented with the shirt: "The 667- Neighbor of the Beast "!). Finally, the most beautiful shirt I've ever seen in my life that day was worn by a human devils radio, a mangy boy who was never quiet. Sitting on the ground, tie his shoes, dribble into, shooting, even as he drank his mouth never ceased to issue a flood of words. His shirt mentioned a legendary phrase: "Your Best Defense Is Your Breath", with the background of the shadow face of a man terrified and disgusted! Even my teammate noticed this peculiarity, and just before starting the game, I whispered (after having looked wrong all the time we were waiting, and during heating) to hold back her laughter, "comedian ... a team?". A team of comedians? Daniele Vecchi, Playground in Nw York

Convert Queen To California Queen

113TH STREET - HARLEM

My opponent Direct is damn nasty. I can not fix it, neither the good nor the bad. I put all really, for the first time in my life I find myself seriously to engage in defense, my opponent excites me. He has a flying start in both right and left, if I close the left is a giant slide for a fade-away from the corner, that brings with extraordinary calm, while the right can never close it. I try to wait for him to stay five feet farther back, the problem is that the elbow and three punishing me systematically, with percentages well above seventy percent. In attack I try, the few times that I have the ball, to attack the front, more What else to make them understand that and I'm not afraid to give him some trouble defensively. The result of my effort is quite poor: the first time I go in the third leaves little time, while later, looking slightly the ball and finding much in my arms, I settles a series of violent level crossings. I also leads in post-low, just over 1.90 is high, slender but very toned, I try to keep up front and to guess the trajectory of the lob that overrides me, but he absolutely wants to get back to the basket, and I slips everywhere receive the ball in front. I try to play dirty, do the knee in the thigh just mentioned to move with the ball hand, the push with your wrists in the sides when he tries to turn around, and wait for his final move to make the pair on the cleaver. Does not make life easy, you have to commit a bit to get rid of me, but bad story is that we can always, I feel a little bit of Craig EHLO situation (which still has nightmares about Michael Jordan), great effort but zero results. I'm terribly frustrated, because I understand everything he does, and although it is very strong, I would still be able to stop or at least limit it significantly. While there are somehow trying to make my effective defense, I can think of Dennis Rodman, in his early years in the NBA, that was continually being massacred Adrian Dantley, absolute and undisputed master of the post-low, however, failing to understand what he was doing, and feeling unable to stop it. The first time we do not understand anything, the second time we knew even less, but the third time he understood too late, but he understood the fourth time in a different way, the fifth at last managed to combine something, and by the time the application Worm has become the greatest rebounder and defender of all time. Given that I'm not Rodman and that my opponent is not Dantley, I'm almost in the same situation every time I seem to understand, but every time I regularly beaten. We are not in Detroit in the late eighties, there are professional players billionaires Television is not waiting for training to finish, no yelling at Chuck Daly Kelly Tripucka or Cliff Levingston. We are in Harlem and in the third millennium, there are only me together with another fifteen aggressive ballers, all African-Americans, with little money, probably with many family problems and some legal problems, but with an immense love and respect for basketball. We are the playground of 113th Street at Lenox Avenue, 116th Street at 7th Avenue stop of the metro red 2 and 3 in the direction of 148th Street. This is Harlem, slightly annaccuata some mozzarella here and there, but still the same, dangerous and alluring, charming and dilapidated. Not just arriving at the playground, two tennis semi-covered with concrete sloped trees, I am soon hired to play, and the game lacks a must start, in my heart that I must just be desperate to immediately put in place a non-white ever seen them. Four against four in the field near the road, someone outside the network looks at us, it immediately starts strong. My opponent "nasty" is the same Rodney Buford at a reduced size (for this I have already beaten at the start), great elevation and, as mentioned, since the first possession aggressive towards me. I hold the head enough, but they are systematically beaten, always without a shadow of a help. Ends the first game, we lose badly, I just two points on the first possession of the race, the aforementioned entry in the third period without being considered, and I suffer, I suffer terribly-like Buford. In the second game for myself closest rival and the same fate offensive and defensive, a basket on offensive rebound (costatomi a very strong "Coppino" traffic), one out of three attempts, and much, much, much suffering in the end contenimento.Alla the second race I take to force a break, they are not fit enough for this defensive intensity. I am comforted by a firm that gives me five "Rodney," a sign of respect for him worried or a sign of sympathy for having massacred? Sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the wire mesh that gives up Lenox Avenue trying to catch his breath, I begin to chat with a guy sitting next to me, a yellow-boy shorts with yellow-purple number 32 by Magic Johnson, a little pock-marked face and to be good. Halysson is called, is Brazilian, and I am a billion compliments the game I had just finished playing. He tells me that my opponent is very strong, no one can mark it, and that even at Rucker Park is of extraordinary performances. I also said that is a very strange and mysterious, that he never talks to anyone and no one really knows who he is, comes to the field, playing in the subway and walks away without speaking and never socialize. Halysson is running at, I got him good, he tells me who lives in Harlem for twelve years, her younger cousin plays in the NCAA, is called Diego Aguiar, who grew up in Brazil, who has lived in Harlem with him for a couple of years and then managed to get a scholarship to the college of Campbell, North Carolina. Halysson Diego fervently hopes that one day play in the NBA, especially to go with him to always watch the games. My partner is called on an emergency field for a temporary injury and I see on Lenox Avenue the Mr. Softee truck, took advantage for a tasty ice cream in the heart of Harlem.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Nadine Jansen As A Genie

96th Street - UPPER EAST SIDE

After my friend Dj Afghan gave me a limited edition t-shirts, The Cage, the legendary playground in the Village of West 4th Street, T-shirt that had been given in turn by a crew of rapper Dr. Dre, my status within any playground in New York is incredibly high. Wearing that shirt, I do not become a great leaper and a great sprinter, always keep my game from Slavic eighties, but I enjoy a respect that I deserve, into which the crucible and me but I preening. Even turning the streets of Harlem at the corner sat a few homey greets me, a "hey, what's up?" reassuring, esteem, almost with envy, a mozzarellone cinghialone full of tattoos and piercing even to the elite is The Cage, gave him even the shirt. Obviously I do not dream any way to show me in the Village with the original Cage t-shirts, some of the senators might want me to challenge in a one-on-one to mark the territory, and certainly could not do it to survive this experience, then every time I go to south on the orange line on the blue line, or wearing any other shirt, but not that. On days when I felt particularly slakers and fancazzista, SCED stairs at home, on West 114th Street, and when I walked in the streets of Harlem, wandering aimlessly until you find a playground. Building on my shirt The Cage, I also permit snub a pitch on St. Nicholas Avenue at 119th Street, near Adam Clayton Boulevard, where some were confused ballers playing an unlikely three against three and never pass the ball and pulling without ever even touching the board. Arrival at Central Park North, where, just to orient yourself in the movie "Warriors" Warriors clash with the Baseball Furies gang, those clothes and baseball clubs, regularly massacred by our heroes at Coney Island. Within the park is a beautiful day and so it's nice stroll in the greenery of The Cliff, the hills that are on the left side of East Drive, one of the internal roads of Central Park. Almost without realizing it, after thousands of steps, I find myself surrounded by middle-aged tourists who photograph everything they see, including myself. They are in fact arrived on the Museum Mile, the stretch of Fifth Avenue with all the museums, and chock full of tourists up to eleven at night. Wriggling quickly, are now in the Upper East Side, just below the edge of the Barrio, a playground and then there should be plenty of them. Are up to the 100th Street and head west. I cross Park Avenue, follow your instincts and go a little climbing, 99th, 98th, 97th. Right on Lexington Avenue between 95th and 96th Street, I find a nice playground, two boards with two games seems very intense, followed by a large number of spectators. The 95th Street rises slightly on field, and also by the way many passersby stopped to look over the railing, a little raised, lots of playground. I feel fit, despite the long walk I want to play, so I try to show me on the sideline whenever the game ends. The Cage T-shirt also helps to dispose of the practices in the input field, and almost immediately I was selected for a game in spite of other people who were sitting there before me, full of dirty looks bad but at the same time fear and respect in my comparisons. The three of us we are big and not particularly athletic, I, the double of Mike Muir (Suicidal Tendencies singer), dark-skinned Puerto Rican cover 1 .90 a little overweight, and a play African-American is not exactly thin dribble from intoxicating for everyone, even for him. They are three composite and varied, a kind of yellow boy of 1.95, pocked with tank top and super-member of LeBron James, the double miniature Theo Ratliff, miniature 1.92 however, with the same shoulder, the same hands and same cheekbones, e. ...... Steven Spielberg. High just under 1.70, beard and glasses (glasses plays with ?!?), shorts and white T-shirt of health, he was. I swear that at least for ten minutes I thought it was really him, I tried in my mind to justify his presence in every way, "he is making a film about basketball," "That's why there are so many people to see" etc., but in the end I realized I could not be him, it was impossible. The game starts, and Steven Spielberg turns the player more and unfair bastard I've ever played, pinching, fists, holding football, not to mention the elbow and level crossings, all the while in a surly with everyone, friends and foes of any size. I clearly falls the task more difficult. In fact, the Puerto Rican big brand the big yellow boy, Steven Spielberg make the play little small, and I do is to just stay on the slopes of Theo Ratliff, jumping three times and I have not seen it for a millisecond when he decides to leave right. Some teachers of youth (Gallo?) Always told me: "if you free throws, "guessing at the dawn of my predisposition to shoot and my little predisposition to speed. Taking advantage of this teaching, I get the ball to the extension of the first free throw, with Theo not even considered me, shoot and score. Same fate in the next possession, free throw and score. From here on, my problems begin. Theo feels offended by my behavior and for some of my baskets ovation of the audience, and I massacred every offensive possession, once I crushes the head, once I try to advance, I can not find the ball, and he goes for Biman, once part of the elbow and it burns with a half step (also because of a lasso-like Californian Steven Spielberg), once I take the time in the post-low, largely the tow, there was also two-ball, but in the end they fail to score in the melee. I respond by pulling, not always sign, but at least tell him a little my way. In the end they win, and I'm a little frustrated defeat. I left with two rewards: having stood up to the great athlete that Marco, Steven Spielberg el'aver treacherously struck with a strong nudge in the cup. Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Can You Insert Jpeg Into Autocad Lt

CONEY ISLAND - BROOKLYN

Getting to the bottom of the D subway orange, or the last stop in Coney Island-Stillwell Avenue, for me is always a great emotion. Step off the coach, standing on the runway, looking towards the sea, see the famous Wonder Wheel and other rides spread over the entire Surf Avenue, turn back and see the crumbling palaces and crumbling shacks of the heart of Coney Island is driving me every time from the mouth of the legendary phrase: "... what a place looks like shit ... and we fought all night to return ...". Holy words spoken by Swan in the film "Warriors" by Walter Hill, the absolute cult film of the eighties, a daring journey of the Warriors gang of Coney Island back from the Bronx, unjustly accused of the assassination of the leader of the Riffs, Cyrus, who wanted The truce between all the gangs of New York to rebel against the police and hunted by all the bands on their incredible journey back home. The journey of over an hour from downtown Brooklyn to the deeper I am absolutely degraded through neighborhoods like Borough Park and Bensonherst practically modest houses here and there, surrounded by huge landfill of waste, rusting appliances and gutted sofas stacked on each other to bulk. Arrival at the terminus of Stillwell Avenue, down the street on Surf Avenue, the "promenade" of Coney Island, and as usual, I remain impressed by the desolation of the landscape. I am absolutely convinced that the great writers of the decadence had a rudimentary time machine, and that they did regularly visit the Coney Island end of the third millennium or early second millennium to find the inspiration. On Surf Avenue shops, stores, amusement arcades, rides and any other type of activity seem to date back to the seventies, as look like furniture, as customers, such as colors and attitude. It also seems that no one since then has never seen fit to change the broken bulbs, to replace broken windows or throwing landfill in any kind of bulky waste lying on the road apparently from time immemorial. I set out on the waterfront in the north, leaving behind perhaps the only nice building in Coney Island, the camp of the Brooklyn Cyclones, a Single A baseball team that is part of the organization of the New York Mets, and who has the care and cozy diamond on the beach. After just a couple of blocks I notice the proximity to Brighton Beach, "Little Odessa", now inhabited only by Russians, Ukrainians and ex-Soviet. The indications on the road signs are in both English and Cyrillic, same thing for the insignia of the vast majority of shops, it occurs to me that someone would say, "no longer The Coney Island of your fathers. "After about ten blocks I head to the left, towards the hinterland, taking Cropsay Avenue, passing under the tracks of the subway and seeing massively increase the crumbling around me. It seems to me even to hear , reverberated effect-track subway tunnel about ten feet high, three empty bottles in the three fingers the rhythm of a raucous "... Warrioooors ..... Come Out and plaaaay "cry of the leader of the Rogues, which asked the Warriors to" play at war. "After all these mental journeys finally arrive at Keyspan Park, where a cluster of concrete occasionally peeps some strip of grass. Children's games (Completely empty), a handball wall, a wall with a dozen children Chicano intent to rebuild (or remove) a bicycle, and two basketball courts, a completely empty, and the other shared equally by the two entities completely defined, autonomous in its own right. In the field there are only a half of white, long-limbed, shaved, blonde and bad sides, the other half of the field there are only African-Americans, of all sizes, smiling and jovial. As soon as I get closer to the field, I realize what is happening at Keyspan Park. Whites are the Russians, and do not seem in good relations with those of the other half of the playground. After just two minutes after my arrival at the camp, a speck-like teeth and no doubt love the soap grabs me and tells me confused her life and her daily habits. Seeking to break free, I move in any direction, but the character I spring, I'm interested to see that match, and begins to tell that he is a great friend of Stephon Marbury (obviously) and his brothers, which has seen them grow the field and that it was he who taught him the rudiments of the game. After this gem I find the strength to sow it and I go across the field, incidentally, no reason, I move on the field where they're beating the Russians. They play hard, defend strong, and seem absolutely essential and concentrate on the game. Spoken in Russian, calls, fouls, points, tips. They are almost all young people, but a character in his forties from the physical integrity, fair-haired and balding with a mustache, cover 1 .80, the attitude old school Soviet, and then the great ability to find himself unmarked for a shot from distance, which puts continuity with a disconcerting, almost the double of Kurtinaitis. I want to play, expect a good half hour without anyone considers me. At one point, between games, entered the field to see if someone would at least pass the ball to make two shots. Nothing. The ultimate hope is to ask. I ask in English if I can play, and a version of Dolph Lundgren Ivan Drago answer me in Russian, reveals the tone and playing them enough. Astonished me back on the sideline and threw a blind eye to the other half of the field, where even African-Americans are still, doing the shooting between games. Coast to head for that slice of the playground, when I arrive at approximately the height of the line by three points, a guy with braids from under the basket, pass me the ball. Finally I start to play.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Unique And Funny Wedding Readings

BEDFORD STUYVESANT - BROOKLYN

I decided, I go there. All I have not recommended that everyone, both Italians and New Yorkers, both those who do not know anything about New York and who was born and raised there, but I'm a stubborn, if I put myself in the head there is one thing to make me change my mind. I'm leaving home soon, about two and a half, from 76th Street to Bedford-Stuyvesant, perhaps the most dangerous area of \u200b\u200bNew York, located in the exact center of Brooklyn, the scene of numerous crimes over time and is still super-degraded area. A Bedford-Stuyvesant is set and entirely filmed by Spike Lee "Do The Right Thing," emblematic photograph of Brooklyn destabilized end of the millennium, and still does not seem to be changed. Even my friends from Utica Avenue, not the shins of holy-minded hip-hop to the core, I have strongly discouraged to go there, they themselves do not dream any way to cross the imaginary border of Bed-Stuy, or Fulton Street. They told me the usual spiel that they can not anything happen without their approval, but that over Fulton Street can no longer do anything. If I have to tell the truth I never believed these things, on the border, the gangs, the fact that in some places it is better not to go, and so on. Anything can happen anywhere, you can be robbed in your home while you sleep, with the reinforced door and grates on the windows, and no one can say "I told you so", therefore, more confident than ever, I take the subway green number 6 in the direction of downtown, with a spirit of disillusioned and fatalistic frivolous. My goal is in the legendary Soul the Hole, one of the most famous and infamous playground of New York, second only to Rucker Park in terms of charm and fame. Great champions have walked the cement of the Soul in the Hole, real legends like Fly Williams and especially Edward "Booger" Smith (whose life is told in their own movie called "Soul in the Hole") were the undisputed masters of this playground for years, fueling the myth out of all proportion to the field in the middle of Bed-Stuy, and always popular with Broccolini (mythical and sometimes bloody the challenges of the Summer Tournament, with teams from the Bronx or Harlem). Arrival at Broadway-Nassau, in Lower Manhattan, where I take the blue line C towards Brooklyn. Arriva, jump up there. A half hour of travel and arrival at my stop, Kingston-Throop Avenue. Esco, I climb the stairs, and on Fulton Street, the infamous border. If I go south, toward Utica Avenue, are safe, are protected, nothing can happen if I go north, toward Bed-Stuy are exposed, no one can come to my rescue if I am attacked, absolutely nobody can help me. Trying to take it easy and self-irony, I start walking west on Fulton Street, looking around furtively, trying not to see that they are new in the area. The first impact is horrific, in spite of my optimism. Apart from the fact that from then on until I return to Manhattan will not see more a person with white skin, red or yellow, the scene of Bed-Stuy is nothing short of depressing. A few stores open in the middle of the most complete and utter desolation of decay. On the corner of Fulton Street and Marcus Garvey Boulevard, just the way that I take, there is a machine for half inside a gate (locked of course) and half on the sidewalk with the hood back from the impact, with all broken glass, and even the remnants of lunch on the seats, a sign that the car has been there for quite some time and that has been used as a place for a nice feast of old fashioned burger Wendy's. Trying to do as all the passersby, or not consider this thing a little strange, I go further, and walked to the Marcus Garvey Boulevard. The Boulevard is very residential in that they seem to be thousands of people who live here, that everyone from children to the elderly of eighty three years, seem to be sitting outside by the stairs at home or on plastic chairs on the sidewalk, and that all seem to look at me. My mind can not go back to images of "Do The Right Thing," where everybody is beautiful outside on the stairs or sitting on chairs in the shade of a ombellone. So it's true! In the film were all choreographed and entertaining, but in reality, especially if you're in the most dangerous in New York and are the only white within ten miles, more than fun are at least threatening, big, fat, and apparently extremely dangerous. I try not to meet anyone's eye, I always keep my head up high to make it clear to everyone that I know where I'm going and I feel no fear against anyone, thank God, the yahoo-map of the area is perfectly stored in my mind, and I know that to meet Soul in the Hole I have to walk eight blocks to Marcus Garvey Boulevard to Madison Avenue. Near a castle with two faux-medieval towers, which in reality is a mess and a hospital social services, I see, unfortunately, and falling into ruin, and almost entirely covered by weeds nearly two meters high, the historical Bedford-Stuyvesant murals depicting the reality of the neighborhood, with children, shops, green spaces and trees, where he heads the word "Magic Garden Bed-Stuy." How sad. But there are now, I see the next one is Madison Avenue, I just get the corner for an appointment with history. I'm on the corner, I finally arrived, and I do not believe my eyes, I'm dreaming. The playground is not there. In its place only bulldozers, concrete mixers, excavators and cranes, in the midst of tons of gravel and cement powder. I approached the net where there is a cartel. The work will last for months, they're redoing all the playground, in anticipation of even a children's playground and a large garden. Bewildered by delusion, I try to get me thinking about the courage eight blocks of Marcus Garvey Boulevard, which separates me from Fulton Street, the "boundary". Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Can I Buy Wizard Card Game At Walmart

GRAMERCY PARK

"Riffs", "Yes, boss." Sunglasses, pockmarked face, and an army of guappi framed in front of him as a an army platoon of highly operational, with eyes fixed and focused, ready to listen and eager to follow orders of the head. They are the Gramercy Riffs, the most powerful gang in New York, the gang that has seen its charismatic leader, Cyrus, who was killed at the gathering of gangs "in the Bronx." Throughout the film "Warriors - The Warriors", the Gramercy Riffs coordinate the hunt for Warriors, blamed for the murder of Cyrus, unleashing against all the gangs of New York, to discover, of course at the end of the film in an epic scene (Warriors are loyal, the Warriors do not kill, "says the leader of the Riffs," ... the best, "he says Swan, the leader of the Warriors), who were not their own, honoring the courage on the beach at Coney Island. Walter Hill's film is a clear and eloquent picture of the New York of the seventies, millions of times more dangerous than today's, after all, remains viable in at least seventy percent of its urban area, while at the time and kilometers square kilometers were absolutely not feasible. The Riffs were of Gramercy Park, a neighborhood in Manhattan's East Village to the north (up to Murray Hill, just below Midtown East, fifteen blocks in Grand Central Station) near the East River, and extends from the river to 2nd Avenue. Today, the year of grace 2005, turn Gramercy Park is absolutely harmless and pleasant, some thirty years ago, however, was much more problematic. The area between 2nd Avenue and Franklin Delano Roosevelt Drive, between the 18th Street and 30th Street, was the unquestioned bastion of peddling heroin, haunted by petty crime and where the police have not set foot except for pocketing bribes. The scourge of Gramercy (and also the example of Hell's Kitchen, a place ugly, disastrous and dangerous Midtown West, but never got as an "example" of evil to be eradicated, perhaps because the crime was all white-skinned and Irish) is always was semi-hidden by the mainstream media, there was no "monster" by banging on the front page (as in Harlem, where the "monster" were African-American misfits), and delinquency was not flashy and dramatic, as in other districts, so few people, except of course the New Yorkers knew about the infamous and dangerous place. Then with time and with the government with an iron fist, the neighborhood has slowly healed, slowly becoming what it is today, a respectable and quiet little apartment, with normal buildings, or dilapidated nor glitzy, populated by "normal" people, without any apparent illicit trafficking in light of the sun, as it was thirty years ago. From regular visitor to the East Village, one day I moved a little out towards the north, reaching up to Stuyvesant Square, cozy little park is divided in two by 2nd Avenue, practically in the neighborhood Gramercy. A few blocks north on 2nd Avenue, there are two playground attached to one another, divided by an isolated and extremely different from each other. The nearest subway stop is the green line number 6, on 23rd Street. You exit the station, it is on Park Avenue, the massive highway undisputed King of the East Side. Take the 23rd Street to the east, you pass Lexington and 3rd Avenue, on 2nd Avenue until you arrive. Two blocks south, on the left is the Peters Field Playground, which occupies the space between the 21st and 20th Street, and one block further south, is the Augustus Saint Gauden's Playground, on 19th Street, always on the left side of the road. Two playgrounds, a distance of one block of each other in the same neighborhood, without borders and ethnic groups in conflict. Nevertheless, the human resources of both the basketball court are diametrically opposed in every way. Peters Field Playground: pitch surrounded by a children's playground, surrounded by gardens, well maintained and cared for. The ballers who delight here have a special characteristic, that are all white. Widening further analysis of the players Peters Field Playground, we see that the people who handle the ball into wedges tend to be older, around thirty or more, are in good physical condition, with good fundamentals and with a good attitude to the game, also careful to make good blocks and maybe a little too soft in rebound. A bit too soft in general would add, the contacts are not hard to play trying to run, but not the most agony. Another four or five characters of the same stack are chatting on the sidelines, a little less physically fit but in basketball attitude, waiting to enter the game. Augustus Saint Gauden's Playground: three billboards on the corner of 19th Street, on crumbling asphalt and without any green space. The ballers who play on three baskets are all African-Americans, Tignosi and muscular young men in his early twenties with aggressive eye of the tiger. The pitch is also characterized by the proverbial posse on the sideline, a dozen Homiez playful and rowdy, a perpetual motion of jokes and shoving, punctuated by ovations to enhance the play of good ballers. The three, three against three on the three boards of this playground are real battles to the death, electrocuting one on one, level crossings as rain and terrifying elbow to rebound, many micro-guerrillas in each pair and a single and single purpose: to win the game. No frills and no inclination to show, just great and unparalleled intensity. Gramercy, 2nd Avenue, two playgrounds in the space of fifty yards, two opposite ways of approaching the game from the street.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

How Much Will 18 Square Meters Of Tiles Cost

RUCKER PARK - HARLEM

The most important rumor circulating at Rucker Park: "If you're an NBA player, and you have never been baptized in the field of Rucker, 're not a real player. " She told me, sitting on the steps of the bleachers epically dell'Holcombe Rucker Park, in a midweek afternoon in May (after a couple of practice match), a guy named Kip, braids pulled back, shirt number 16 of the San Francisco 49ers (Joe Montana), a verbal guy the word very easy and has the air of knowledgeable (even if the sentence had already been over-stated the view written somewhere).
Kip says he is a great friend of Allen Iverson, and that was thanks to him (and not the sponsors) that "The Answer" has agreed to take on Stephon Marbury on the concrete green or red in Harlem.
Legend or truth, no one can know, the fact is that a spring afternoon at the intersection of 155th Street el'8th Avenue, in the most legendary playground in the world does not forget easily.
First things first. The impact with the real Harlem, north of 110th Street that is, despite the proclamations of reclamation and residential devastating. The subway stop is 155th Street, orange line B or D (the latter only daily) towards Uptown, Harlem's last stop before crossing the river and into the Bronx. Just go down, I see that all the underground station there is no one in any of the four platforms in both directions, and immediately a feeling of uneasiness, in spite of myself, gets to me. Unperturbed path, up the stairs, I'm on 155th Street. Behind me palaces dorm-brown everywhere, the infamous Polo Grounds, where he grew up Jamal Mashburn, while on the road there are dozens of people, men, women, children, families, vendors, workers, homeless , all African-Americans.
is one thing to go to the Rucker Tournament or the Rucker Pro League, another is to go on a Wednesday any afternoon, the atmosphere is a little different. I try, I look around, even a hundred meters away along the Fredrick Douglass Boulevard, the name of upper Central Park 8th Avenue, but I do not see even the shadow of a white man, a Chinese or Hispanic.
It is not easy for me to blend in, so I choose the hard line, walking with trying to make the decision face sullen. I just cross the road and I am already in front of the green tag attached to the wire, "Holcombe Rucker Park" in memory of Holcombe Rucker, the founder and organizer of the summer tournament became the tournament par excellence. The Rucker Tournament every year throughout the summer, is the main events street basketball, and more. Many
NBA champions and personalities at the American hip-hop rap usually go to the pitch of Harlem, the traditional center of the basketball world and the U.S. African-American culture of the third millennium.
are about half past three in any one afternoon, and at Rucker Park are the two already half way full, it pulls in only one, there seems to be hankering for the game, the other to play a three against three. Few people are stepped on or sideline watching, and I, all alone, I stand next to the mid-field where there's three against three. They are good and the athletic ballers , the most representative is a character on two meters, with the sweat pants cut at the groin, but only in the right leg.
There is also a girl, with the coat of Ken Griffey Jr. of the Cincinnati Reds from fulminant first step to the right hand but with a square of the distance. Ends the first challenge, and as usual I get to do a couple of shots between games. I'm there for a while, but nobody passes the ball to a basket symbolic. That's fine, never mind, there is also this, if the playground of Samba in Ferrara is a new, more with his face sullen, certainly not the lies the red carpet, let alone in the playground and most famous important world. I sit back and look carefully they restart the match in as I try to enjoy every moment at Rucker.
look that hard court that since 1950, which dates from the first Rucker Park Tournament (not a date certain, other sources cite dates prior to the premiere of the Tournament), I shudder at the thought of the evolution of The Goat, Black Jesus, Lew Alcindor, The Destroyer, Doctor J, Connie Hawkins, Allen Iverson, Tiny Archibald, Jamal Tinsley, Stephon Marbury and so on.
I come abruptly awakened by the heaviness of the eyes are upon me, coming from the field where the practice match is over, and also from the opposite sideline, where a bunch of kids staring at me constantly. I have not seen knives or other weapons around, so I am convinced that the situation is under control. On the field there's sharp words, addressed to me: "Play the cop." Cut the guy with the suit told me to go on the field. Cop?! Me?! I'm not a cop!
A brilliant film of the eighties, "The yellow color of the yellow bin," had a character who, whenever he saw the cops, he turned towards the camera and saying: "I hate cops!" I hate cops. That is my position on law enforcement, and should be regarded cop is certainly gratifying. I put aside thoughts of the film's exhilarating and slip back into the reality of Harlem, very tense. I get up and go under the basket, where there ' huddle of players, and protest, in a firm voice but with a string of (alleged) irony, trying to appear as safe as possible for me: "I'm not a cop."
The type of suit, looking upward toward the iron constantly and pulling the ball in the basket from below, he says, at an incredible pace, "You're a cop, you're here by yourself, you're a cop. Play ball, man "and the hard face gives me the ball in his hand without looking.
Without the control of speech, because of embarrassment mixed with fear that comes over me, the first words that come out of the mouth are: "I'm not a cop man, I'm a musician. "
At that moment all the other players explode into a huge and noisy laughter, making me feel for a moment Jerry Seinfeld (comedian number one New York comedian).
We remain of the stone, the I cut guy with the suit shows his big grin and says, "Yeah man, you're a musician and ...", it gives me a spoon to five, making me understand that (not) and I believe that it is not known because I had passed some sort of test. amazed and unaware of what really happened during those interminable seconds, the ball is delivered to me for shooting from three, which assigns the first possession.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York

Throat Cancer Cirrhosis

Bone (Color) by Jeff Smith!

who follows me closely will have noticed that for some 'time in this part not only read manga. It is about two years, I also am passionate to graphic novels, comics or novels. I approached this world through my insanely popular (XD) Neil Gaiman, who even before he became famous for his novels in prose it became for his graphic novels. Needless to say that his were the first I've read and loved, but slowly I discovered other authors and other graphic novels interesting and I fell in love. Among these is certainly Bone of Jeff Smith, who, being one of my favorite series seems perfect for officially inaugurate the category of my blog dedicated to this kind of comic.

Bone tells the story of Fone Bone, Phoney Bone and Smiley Bone, three strange little creatures whites fleeing from their village, Boneville, who find themselves lost in a mysterious valley inhabited by mysterious creatures, where no one has ever seen or heard to be like them and where they will be involved in events from which depend their lives, but also the future of the valley.

Phoney: "Here's your problem Fone Bone! We're off the map! Get a bigger map, "

hard to guess what the plot Bone only. Even I, in fact, when I started reading it I did not know what to expect. I was sure that was only a fantasy series. I had no doubt about this. I later learned that Bone encompasses so many genres that make it a comic book are quite extraordinary! At first it seems to watch a cartoon colorful, fun and carefree, as we continue with the reading, however, seems to re-read The Lord of the Rings, with all its intensity and drama. This is not to say however that it is equal to The Lord of the Rings, absolutely not, but simply that resembles its atmosphere. Remember the atmosphere of Tolkien without shamelessly copy the style or the story is something very difficult in the world of fantasy, Jeff Smith succeeds rather well! But apart from the epic fantasy to Tolkien, we also have the magic and innocence of the Disney fairy tales, the dark and disturbing atmosphere typical of horror, a good dose of humor, madness and many references to our reality. All ingredients that can not seem to coexist in the same work, but thanks to the genius Jeff Smith are mixed together perfectly. The Adventures of small
Bone manage to capture the attention from the first page through the mysteries that gradually appear before them, the mysteries are solved elegantly in the volume, without forcing or impossible theories, as unfortunately happens in Most fantasy sagas. The story of Bone stays true to itself instead to the end and does not fail to surprise! The same goes for the characters: there is not one which is not unique and can surprise you! It is impossible not to become attached to each of them! The Bone, for example, all three are lovely, including the stingy Phoney that resembles a cross between Scrooge and Uncle Scrooge! XD But the two Rat Creatures who wish to prepare an elegant quiche with their prey would not be outdone! XD Or Thorn and Grandma Ben Lucius ... but I could name them all and not end up more! In short, however, I am only saying that Bone deserves from all points of view and, if what has been said so far there has not even a little curious, I add that is one of the most important graphic novels of the history of comics that , and has won numerous awards and has over 20 million copies sold worldwide, why do not I will try that much to convince you to read it: it is a must-series and the facts already speak for themselves! To As for me, Bone has become necessary as the air until after reading the first volume and now that I have come to an end ... Jeff Smith St. Please give me another dose otherwise I'll die! XD

"Hey, wait a minute dragon! Listen to the dream that I did tonight! You were there! I saw a huge image of your head! You did not say anything ... limit yourself to stare ! What do you think? Can not find who has had a strange dream like this? "
" No. an intruder has entered the dreams of Thorn last night. The same happened to you. Welcome aboard, Ishmael. "

Bone was born in 1991 in black and white, just like a manga, but to celebrate its tenth anniversary was colored and today we can read it in this beautiful version from the following books published by Panini Comics:

• Bone 1: In Escape From Boneville (10 €)
• Bone 2: The Great Race of Cows (10 €)
• Bone 3: Eyes of the Storm (10 €)
• Bone 4: The Dragonslayer (13 €)
• Bone 5: Rock Jaw (10 €)
• Bone 6: The Cave of the Old (12 €)
• Bone 7: Spectral Circles (14 €)
• Bone 8: Treasure Hunters (13 €)
• 9 Bone: Crown of Horns (18 €)

find these volumes could be a challenge both for the availability that for the cost, but do not despair! The BAO Publishing has announced that in 2011 publish ONE VOLUME EDITION or volumone a huge, huge more than 1300 pages, with all Bone! * __ * It should cost around € 29 (compared to € 110 for all volumes Sandwiches!) only flaw is that it's in black and white ! Instead ç__ç de Princess Rose , Bone prequel ever published by BAO, which instead is in full color! * __ *

Princess Rose is always Jeff Smith, but this time the drawings are of my beloved Charles Vess (for those not familiar I spoke HERE), which for illustrations This volume won the prestigious Eisner Award! The BAO has published in late October, so a few days ago, in an edition with wonderful hard cover and dust jacket. Seeing it gives me hope on a future edition of Bone (although it will be in black and white ç__ç). Finally remember that despite it being the prequel to Bone absolutely must be read after it! The same applies to Tall Tales and Bone Handbook, two volumes still unpublished in Italy, which I hope in future we are always on the proposed BAO! *___*