Having watched last night, the festival of Sanremo is like getting a Valentine's Day bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. No spark of creativity, no jokes and jokes (just to mention the stationery in which a child spent my pocket money to buy scented gums), nothing that made me jump from the chair: boredom. In the midst of recession, the construction of the Ariston Theatre was all a glitter, colored LEDs, evocative images of heaven in the middle of summer, in fact the password has not been definitely sober or keep a low profile. The presenter was obviously crippled by a shoe too narrow or too high, and so, dragging all over the stage has finished the first night in a disastrous way. Squeezed and withered in a red dress fire failed to take the stage, ever. The pinnacle of his defeat was the "Morgan case." Confronts him as if he was advertising cat food. Three minutes of bourgeois platitudes of human inconsistency, all to applaud the words of the silly blonde lady: the drug is bad, they are not bad need of care and understanding "inhuman" but must remain isolated from each other. All of the cocaine-room, dressed in uniform high order, applaud satisfied. Big guests take turns on stage. Cassano there illuminates the mind with his aphorisms, satisfied with their lives for having published two books, but assuming that you have read only one in his entire life. Nice example we give to our children. Clerici, Rizzoli vivid ... congratulations. Football all peaceful and numbs the conscience. I will not speak of the singers lift or texts written by Cassano only people who read or walk around intabarrati in their full light wool in the bag and the bridge notes with white as their head. "Italy, my love ... goodbye and good night.
