ВИРТУАЛЬНАЯ РЕАЛЬНОСТЬ

Февральские сосульки

vr99@livejournal.com — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 13:43:39 GMT

Альбом: Природа

Надеюсь зима уже начнет отступать.

nymnyming :)

vr99@livejournal.com — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 13:25:39 GMT

Альбом: Фотосъедобности

Так вот выглядит малыш.

Бред сумасшедших домохозяек ;)

vr99@livejournal.com — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 11:24:53 GMT

У меня "живет" тесто... ;)
Ну как вам объяснить, это кусочек теста, который я уже более года размножаю, пеку, кусочек храню в холодильнике, потом выбираю, отогреваю, кормлю, пеку пирог, или булки, кусочек опять кладу в холодильник... и так по кругу.
По-началу, это действо было в новинку и я пекла пироги каждую неделю.
Я, которая терпеть не могу возиться на кухне!
Сломалась окончательно и стала разводить закваску и кефирные грибки.

Но натура берет свое. :(
И несмотря на то, что я узнала от старшего сына, -оказывается я потрясающе готовлю, стремления посвятить больше времени готовке так и не возникло.
Новизна прошла, а усталость и лень как всегда победили.

Кефирный грибок, к слову сказать поддерживается в состоянии реанимации, не сезон, наверняка летом кефира будет хотеться больше, пока нет.

Так и с закваской, долго, долго пребывала она у меня в состоянии анабиоза.
Неделю назад я решила проверить, а есть ли там жизнь. :)
Выбрала, положила в кастрюльку, притащила календарь на кухню (!) и написала график "кормления малыша".
Но ведь устаю на работе жуутко, и конечно забыла покормить в среду и помешать в какие то определенные дни.

В четверг, на работе, когда Р. снова стал распространятся на кулинарные темы, я как забывчивая мамаша пришла "в ужас".
не кормила!!! не мешала!!! помрет!!!

Звоню мужу и пытаюсь объяснить чего хочу.
Но так как 1 стакан сахара, 1 стакан молока, это еще куда ни шло, а вот 2 стакана ПРОСЕЯННОЙ муки, это уже сложно. Я слезно умоляю дать тесту стакан молока, стакан сахара и помешать.
Просьбу мою удовлетворили и вечером я досыпала тесту муки.

Но вот что странно, если во вторник у теста было "хорошее настроение", то в пятницу оно уже явно делало "обиженную рожу".
Я даже не могу вам объяснить эти все свои ассоциации!
Т.е. я тут только и делаю что пытаюсь объяснить. И все-таки у меня видимо "поехала крыша"

У меня создалось полное ощущение живого существа!
Подходя к миске с тестом я мысленно с ним начинаю разговаривать ~~(ну точно сбрендила)~~, "что куксишься?", "иди мой маленький сюда, я тебя покормлю". (почему то ОН)
Покормила, тщательно вымесила и тесто оптимизировалось, повеселело.
Пухленькое, довольное такое сидит.;)
Это что, ему чужие руки не нравятся?
Ведь и раньше я нарушала "режимы кормления" и никогда не видела столь скуксившуюся рожу!

vr99@livejournal.com — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 08:12:02 GMT

>>В Орвени голосование на 22 стихотворную игру.<<

ну вот, наконец нашла фоторепортаж :)

vr99@livejournal.com — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 06:31:14 GMT

В понедельник, 8 марта, в рижском Доме Конгрессов состоялся уникальный концерт певицы Ирины Богушевской и барда Алексея Иващенко в сопровождении легенды латвийского джаза, оркестра "Мираж".
И я там была! :)
Как правильно заметили в жж, "У нас в раю" никогда не звучало так пронзительно.
Любимая и заслушанная "до дыр" композиция, а я плакала как маленькая...
все люди, как люди, и только я реву. :))

фоторепортаж тут

murmuring ;)

vr99@livejournal.com — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 20:15:06 GMT

"The Better Man."

I was the better at getting and keeping.

You were the better at spend and spend.

I was the better at grubbing and heaping.

But who was the better man in the end?

Yes, who was the better man, my friend?

You were the better with lords and ladies.

I was the better at pillaging Troy.

You were the better at kissing the babies.

I was the better at search and destroy.

But who was the better man, old boy?

Who was the better man?

I was the better at improvisation.

You were the better at spinning the plates.

I was the better at procrastination.

You were the better at quiet debate.

But who was the better man, old mate?

Who was the better man?

You were the better at rolling a reefer.

I was the better at coke and rum.

Remember that night on the beach in Ibiza?

The Maori twins with the tattooed bum?

But who was the better man, old chum?

Who was the better man?

Now we come down to it, relatives grieving.

Out in the hall with their crocodile tears.

Now that you're out of it, now that you're leaving,

Now that they've sealed your arse and your ears,

What I've been meaning to tell you for years,

And years, and years, and years, old friend ...

Is that you were the better man, in the end.

You were the better man,

My friend.

(Applause)

I wrote this next poem for my mother. Every one of us had a mother. Only one. Probably the most important person in your life, if you're lucky enough to know them. My mother was certainly the most important in mine. Let me try and describe her to you. She's 86 years old. She's frail. White, platinum hair. Why do they do that? Why do old ladies go to those hair shops, and make those helmets? (Laughter) Bright as a button. All the ducks in a row. Looks like a much prettier version of Margaret Thatcher. (Laughter) But without any of the soft bits in Margaret's character. (Laughter) I wrote this poem for her. These are not my beliefs. But my mother has lived by this creed all her life.

"Never Go Back."

Never go back. Never go back.

Never return to the haunts of your youth.

Keep to the track, to the beaten track.

Memory holds all you need of the truth.

Never look back. Never look back.

Never succumb to the gorgon's stare.

Keep to the track, to the beaten track.

No one is waiting and nothing is there.

Never go back. Never go back.

Never surrender the future you earned.

Keep to the track, to the beaten track.

Never return to the bridges you've burned.

Never look back. Never look back.

Never retreat to the "glorious past."

Keep to the track, to the beaten track.

Treat every day of your life as your last.

Never go back. Never go back.

Never acknowledge the ghost on the stair.

Keep to the track, to the beaten track.

No one is waiting and nothing is there.

(Applause)

Now ladies and gentlemen, I'm up on me hobby horse. If every commercially minded cosmetic surgeon were tied end to end along a railroad track, that would be me, stoking the train without a qualm in the world. Ladies, don't do it. Don't do it. You think we want you to do it. But we don't want you to do it. Stop it. Tell them to go to hell. You bodies are wonderful as they are. Just leave them alone.

"To a Beautiful Lady of a Certain Age."

Lady lady, do not weep.

What is gone is gone. Now sleep.

Turn your pillow. Dry your tears.

Count thy sheep and not thy years.

Nothing good can come of this.

Time rules all, my dearest.

'Tis but folly to be waging war

On one who never lost before.

Lady, this is all in vain.

Youth can never come again.

We have drunk the summer wine.

None can make a stitch in time.

Nip and tuck till crack of doom.

What is foretold in the womb

May not be foresworn with gold.

Nor may time be bought or sold.

Dearest, do I love thee less?

Do I shrink from thy caress?

Think you I could cease to care?

Never was there one so fair!

Lady lady, do not weep.

What is gone is gone. Now sleep.

Lean against me, calm your fears.

Count thy blessings, not thy years.

(Applause)

America, ladies and gentlemen, has done more for me financially than Britain ever has, or ever could have done. I was born in Britain, as you have probably guessed. Even when on its worst behavior, I find myself automatically defending the USA from the sneers of green-eyed Europhiles playing their Greek card to Roman trumps. America is an empire. I hope you know that now. All empires, by definition, are bumbling, shambolic, bullying, bureaucratic affairs. As certain of the rightness of their cause in infancy, as they are corrupted by power in their dotage. I am no historian, ladies and gentlemen. But it seems to be that the USA's sins, compared to those of many previous empires, are of a more moderate, if more pervasive, kind. Let me put this bluntly. If Americans are so fat, stupid and ignorant, my dear friends from Birmingham, how come they rule the world?

"Hail to the Gods of America."

Hail to the Gods of America!

Hail to the gods of the dream.

Invictus E Pluribus Unum.

But which of them reigns supreme?

Which is America's Jupiter?

The Brahmins of Capital Hill?

A sorcerer's profit on Wall Street?

They eye of a dollar bill?

Or is it celebrity status?

The worship of those we hate.

Or the cult of living forever,

If only we'd watch our weight.

What of the titans of media?

Or Hollywood's siren call?

What of the temples of justice,

Whose servants enslave us all?

What of the Brand and the Label?

What of the upstart Sport?

And what of the Constitution,

That bully of last resort?

Hail to the God of America.

Whose power the masses extol —

Convenience rules America;

Convenience owns our soul.

Aye, that it does.

(Applause)

And if you would like to know why I am not a father — I, who by a miracle have 22 godchildren, The answer is in this poem. Which upsets me every time I read it.

"Love Came to Visit Me."

Love came to visit me, shy as a fawn.

But finding me busy, she fled, with the dawn.

At 20 the torch of resentment was lit.

My rage at injustice waxed hot as the pits.

The flux of its lava cleared all in its path.

Comrades and enemies fled from its wrath.

Yet lovers grew wary, once novelty waned

To lie with a bloody man, his terror unfeigned.

At 30 my powers seemed mighty to me.

The fruits of my rivals, I shook from the tree.

By guile and by bluster, by night and by day,

I battered and scattered the fools from my way.

And women grew willing to sham and to bluff.

Their trinkets and baubles cost little enough.

From 40 to 50, grown easy and sly,

I wined them and dined them, like pigs in a sty.

We feasted and reveled and rutted in muck.

Forgetting our peril, forgetting to duck.

Forgetting times arrows are sharper than knives.

Grown sick to our stomachs, and sick our our lives.

Love came to visit me, shy as a fawn.

But finding me busy, she fled with the dawn.

(Applause)

Um, there are — I've got far too much money and I have far too much fun in my businesses. So poetry came as a complete shock to me, ladies and gentlemen. A complete shock. I was a little ill. Okay, I was ill. Okay, I had a life-threatening illness, you know. I was in a clinic. I wasn't allowed to make telephone calls. I wasn't allowed to see any of my — you know, whatever. So, in the end I begged a pack of Post-it notes off a nurse. And from another nurse, I begged a pencil, pen. And I didn't know what else to do. So I started to write poetry. That was in October of 2000.

I'm not an evil man. But sometimes I try to put myself in an evil man's position. I'm not a glorious and fantastic-looking woman, who men fall down, you know, when she walks in a room. But sometimes I try to put myself in that position. (Laughter) Not with much success. But it's interesting to me. I love to write historical verse. I love to think what they thought, what it was like.

Because although many of the speakers and many of the people who are in the audience, although you guys can not only go to the moon, you know, you're going to totally transform everything. Cloning will transform everything. Voice navigation will transform everything. I don't know. You can do anything you want. All you guys are so clever, and women, you can do it all!

But human nature doesn't change, mate. My friends, human nature is exactly the same as it was when my ancestor — probably it was my ancestor — got his hands around the neck of the last Neanderthal, and battered the bastard to death. You think we didn't do that? Oh, we did. We killed every single one of them. Inch by inch we killed them. We hunted them down wherever they were. Rivals for meat. Rivals for berries. We're still doing it, with all of the genius assembled in this room. Our natures haven't changed a single iota. And they never will. Even when we've got off this little planet, and we've put some of our eggs in some other baskets.

And I am as bad as you. I spent eight years running one of the most successful publishing businesses in the world. And at seven o'clock every night, I took me some more girls, already corrupted. I never did anything to anyone that wasn't. And I took crack cocaine, every single night for seven years. It was like Dante's "Inferno." It was unbelievable. One of the offshoots of crack cocaine is that you keep an erection for about four hours. And you stay up for 12. It was absolutely unbelievable. 22 godchildren I've got. What do I say to them? I only stopped because I thought if I got caught, what would happen to my mother. If you're a woman, remember that. The love of your son can utterly transform anything he does.

"Our Lady in White."

Pale she was, listless;

And soft to the touch.

A generous mistress whom many loved much.

Shoulder to shoulder, night after night,

We hoarded and sold her —

Our Lady in White.

We breathed but to savor her crystal caress.

We craved but to favor the hem of her dress.

We dabbled and babbled, Denying our thirsts.

But always we scrabbled to lie with her first.

Absent, we missed her, grew haggard and limp.

Toyed with her sister, or threatened her pimp.

Came word out of Babel, the lady returns!

And there on the table we took her, in turns.

Sensing the power that tyranny craves,

There in that hour, she made us her slaves.

Many there were, to covet her kiss.

My shame as a spur, I fled the abyss.

But only just.

(Applause)

Aaaaaa :)))))

vr99@livejournal.com — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 16:13:28 GMT

vr99@livejournal.com — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 13:19:25 GMT

Альбом: Аксессуары

Болела я вчера... и вот... навалялось. :)

vr99@livejournal.com — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 15:26:56 GMT

Учу английский, автомат говорит, страница освоена.
А ведь страаашно... вдруг все-таки не освоена? :)
Складываю себе в норку.

In 2008, Cyclone Nargis devastated Myanmar. Millions of people were in severe need of help. The U.N. wanted to rush people and supplies to the area. But there were no maps, no maps of roads, no maps showing hospitals, no way for help to reach the cyclone victims.

When we look at a map of Los Angeles, or London it is hard to believe that as of 2005 only 15 percent of the world was mapped to a geocodable level of detail. The U.N. ran headfirst into a problem that the majority of the world's populous faces: not having detailed maps.

But help was coming. At Google, 40 volunteers used a new software to map 120,000 kilometers of roads, 3,000 hospitals, logistics and relief points. And it took them four days. The new software they used? Google Mapmaker.

Google Mapmaker is a technology that empowers each of us to map what we know locally. People have used this software to map everything from roads to rivers, from schools to local businesses, and video stores to the corner store.

Maps matter. Nobel Prize nominee Hernando De Soto recognized that key to economic liftoff for most developing countries is to tap the vast amounts of uncapitalized land. For example, a trillion dollars of real estate remains uncapitalized in India alone.

In the last year alone, thousands of users in 170 countries have mapped millions of pieces of information, and created a map of a level of detail never thought viable. And this was made possible by the power of passionate users everywhere.

Let's look at some of the maps being created by users right now. So, as we speak people are mapping the world in these 170 countries. You can see Bridget in Africa who just mapped a road in Senegal. And, closer to home, Chalua, an N.G. road in Bangalore.

This is the result of computational geometry, gesture recognition, and machine learning. This is a victory of thousands of users, in hundreds of cities, one user, one edit at a time.

This is an invitation to the 70 percent of our unmapped planet. Welcome to the new world. (Applause)

субботний вечер

vr99@livejournal.com — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 10:30:56 GMT

пардон, под рукой был только телефон. :)

Послесловие ;))

vr99@livejournal.com — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 08:20:40 GMT

Честно украдено у fufonja

Подарочек для женщин ;)

vr99@livejournal.com — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 15:17:24 GMT

http://biete.lv/wp-content/plugins/nextgen-smooth-gallery/nggSmoothFrame.php?galleryID=203&width=600&height=400&timed=1&showArrows=1&showCarousel=1&embedLinks=1&delay=4000&defaultTransition=fade&showInfopane=&textShowCarousel=Bildes&showCarouselOpen=&margin=&align=

Пуританам не смотреть! :)

На привокзальной площади, сегодня

vr99@livejournal.com — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 11:43:37 GMT

Этот желтый тюльпанчик ходил и дарил всем дамам цветы.
На вопрос, кто вы?
Сказал: просто хороший человечек. ;)
Оглянувшись, увидела плакат от Рижской думы.

vr99@livejournal.com — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 20:44:46 GMT

Телеканал Россия, прямая трансляция национального отборочного конкурса исполнителей эстрадной песни "Евровидение-2010".

Как то странно смотрится латыш в списке участников РОССИЙСКОГО отборочного тура.
Хм?

vr99@livejournal.com — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 10:54:34 GMT

oh my love for the first time in
my life
my eyes are wide open
oh my lover for the first time in
my life
my eyes can see
i see the wind, oh i see the
trees
everything is clear in my heart
i see the clouds, oh i see the
sky
everything is clear in our world
oh my love for the first time in
my life
my mind is wide open
oh my lover for the first time in
my life
my mind can feel
i feel sorrow, oh i feel dreams
everything is clear in my heart
i feel life, oh i feel love
everything is clear in our world

так просто...

vr99@livejournal.com — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 21:04:01 GMT

домашнее, еще январское... так просто ;)

мои рыбы, картинка на стене, за окном зима... музыка... ну и немного меня... а привет :)

vr99@livejournal.com — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 19:33:51 GMT

http://lingualeo.ru/

Учите английский язык онлайн через видео, аудио и тексты, созданные носителями языка!

Очередной финт ушами

vr99@livejournal.com — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 19:02:18 GMT

Прихожу сегодня на работу, а на моем столе аккуратненько лежат две одинаковые шоколадные конфетки, такие как бывают в больших коробках ассорти.
Первая мысль появившаяся у меня про конфеты.
"Мммм, как здорово, как раз кстати сейчас съесть мармеладку в шоколаде, мммм."
Второй мысли не было, конфета на счете ДВА оказалась у меня во рту и стала таять, принося умиротворение уму и чреву. ;)
Действительно мармелад в шоколаде. :)

В этот момент коллега Р. уже успел пояснить откуда конфеты, (Кристина угостила), и посетовать, что у меня конфеты две ;).
Я от широты души, делюсь конфеткой, нахваливая Кристину за мармелад в шоколаде.
Р. тем временем кладет конфету на зуб и что есть силы кусает... ХРУСТЬ!
А конфета то оказалась грильяжем в шоколаде!
Слава богу зубы на месте.

Но вот откуда у меня была уверенность про мармелад!? И ведь я выбрала мармелад!
Причем непросто уверенность, - чувство сильное и отчетливое. Да не могло быть иначе!
И вкусовые рецепторы уже выработали слюну, еще до того как конфета оказалась во рту!
Воистину, как Алиса в стране чудес. ;)
С этой стороны откушу, с той стороны... ;)

К вопросу о тапках...

vr99@livejournal.com — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 17:58:37 GMT

Собаченция сына сожрала (пардон за выражение) ВСЕ тапки в доме!!! За один день, в который мы преступно расслабились и не спрятали тапки, уходя из дома.

И я купила всем новые тапки, а меня с ними гонят прочь, не так видишь ли пахнут!
Рука не поднимается, вчера купленные тапки выкинуть на помойку.
Так что если надо, я сама могу кинуть тапками в кого угодно, причем совсем новыми. :)

vr99@livejournal.com — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 13:40:16 GMT

Папрашууу тапками не кидаться ;)
Завтра весна! Готовьтесь! ;)))

Фотографии в альбоме «Макс Гинзбург» А.E. на Яндекс.Фотках

http://ginsburgillustration.com/romance/index.html

vr99@livejournal.com — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 22:28:51 GMT

Трава

Автор плэйкаста: auri_ela
Создан: 28 февраля 2010 16:07

Мне нравится как они поют... жаалобно так, жааалобно... :)
но слова с пятого на десятое... как всегда... :(

не уйти, не сбежать, не остаться косою????
подоспеть, удержать траву навсегда???

Это сойки поют? Гнездо вьют? аааа... качаю с пониманием головой.
Но этож надо... два дня мучилась чтобы понять, что я там в транспорте по дороге на работу услышала :))))

Pāri jumtiem lido kaijas

vr99@livejournal.com — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 20:16:02 GMT

Hm           G
Siltumu var redzēt.
           A        
Tālumu var celt.
Em           Hm
Klusumu var dzirdēt,
Mīlestību dzert.

Hm            G
Dzīvību var dejot,
             A
Tukšumu var skriet.
Em          Hm
Ticību var klejot,
Patiesību iet.

Hm    G           A
Pāri jumtiem lido kaijas,
Jūrā tālu prom.
      Em          Hm
Tavas domas mani aijā,
Maigi starojot.

Тепло можно увидеть.
Далекое можно построить.
Тишину можно услышать
Любовь - выпить.
Жизнь можно станцевать
В пустоту можно бежать.
За веру - скитаться,
За правду идти.

Над крышами летят чайки,
В море далеко прочь.
Твои мысли меня баюкают,
Нежно излучая свет.

vr99@livejournal.com — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 07:57:39 GMT

Попрощались вчера: встретимся весной! :)

А за окном то дождь, то снег ~~и спать пора, и никак не уснуть. Всё тот же двор, всё тот же смех, и лишь тебя не хватает чуть-чуть.~~ +5°, +6° на выходные, в понедельник +5° – дожди, а вторник- среда – минус 2°...
И мы, привычно скользим на коньках, парами и в одиночку. ;)

Низкий старт! :)

vr99@livejournal.com — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 18:24:08 GMT

Запустили ротацию! (кто о чем, а я все о ней, о любимой... работе) ;)

Внимание! Вас фотографируют! :))))))

New Album 10.26.2 20:07

дышится весной ;)

vr99@livejournal.com — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 13:57:02 GMT

Где бы почитать о:

Некоторые люди говорят: моя любимая, мой замечательный, моя девочка, мой мужчина...
А другие, в свою очередь, говорят: моя любовь, моя радость, мое наслаждение...

Чувствуете разницу?
Что это? Разная ментальность? Разное воспитание?
Может это гендерное различие?

А знаете где почитать об этом?