Ancora Vivo: Books

INTER！100 anni di emozioni国际米兰！激情百年

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 09:42:23 GMT

定价：€ 49,00

出版社：Skira

出版年：2008

页数：600

语言：Italiano

类别：写真类

La mia vita, i miei gol

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 20:57:06 GMT

宝宝出新自传了，带一盘90分钟的DVD，看介绍里面有进球视频，还有他和老婆孩子的照片，不知道豆腐多不。书里也有很多图片，不知道有啥看不。回头去书店翻翻。

*自产自销：
托蒂在年仅五岁的时候就签下了自己人生的第一份合同（“那是我和弗蒂图多队的主教练特里罗签的合同，时间将近有5-6年呢，不过我的父母一听说就把合同给整个撕掉了”）；罗马队在还没有看到托蒂真正上场比赛的时候就把他从洛蒂吉亚尼队签了过来（“他们只是看到了我和我表兄安杰洛相互传接球就立刻决定了”）；1997年的时候，托蒂几乎已经要转会桑普多利亚了，森西在最后一刻把他拦了下来（“我已经和桑普多利亚签了合同，不过森西在最后一刻阻止了我”）；在2004年欧洲杯的夏天之后，漫天的批评声中托蒂几乎转投皇家马德里（“那时我开了一个家庭会议，而我们决定还是留在罗马更好，尽管也许在这里我获得的荣誉不会那么多”）……以上这些故事，以及你所不知道的种种托蒂，在罗马队队长的新书《我的人生，我的进球》当中都有详细的披露。

在进行和卡利亚里的补赛，继续进行和国际米兰的联赛赛跑之前，罗马队长托蒂在意大利首都推出了自己最新一本带DVD的自传，《我的人生，我的进球》。在近90页的书中托蒂结合大量独家披露的珍贵照片讲述了自己和足球和罗马队结缘的近30年人生故事，而在随书DVD当中，除了可以看到托蒂的个个精彩进球之外，更收录了一段未经发行过的独家采访，以及不少见证了罗马队队长作为一个父亲和一个丈夫同家人一起度过的美好时光的温馨照片。这是在《托蒂笑话集》第一、二册以及托蒂微型自传先后取得了良好的销售成绩之后罗马队队长再次同意大利著名出版集团mondadori合作推出的出版物，和前几本书一样，这本新自传的销售所得也将作为慈善捐款捐助给有需要的人。

Dolce&Gabbana Milan Family

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 00:04:54 GMT

D&G-米兰抢钱计划的新产品出炉，这本仍然定价30欧的新写真主打内容正如书名，是米兰球员和教练组及其家庭成员的共同照片，这本书的收入所得会捐给MilanFamily慈善援助计划，不过尽管是打着慈善的旗号，仍掩盖不了这本书抢钱的本质。

今天下午拿到书的第一个感觉就是：好轻。和上一本名为D&G ACMILAN的写真比起来，这本新书首先从材质上就大大地打了折扣。和前一本亚光铜版纸的材质比较起来，这次的纸质感觉非常像粗糙的环保再生纸，印刷的色彩也很不如人意，其次和上一本货真价实的厚质写真比起来，这本薄得快赶上某些精良目录的照片册让人不由因为对30欧的定价预期值过高而对实物产生极大的落差感。认真说起来照片拍得还算不错，基本上中规中矩挑不出什么毛病，不过感觉上但凡好一点的影楼都能制作出类似的效果。总的来说这本定价30大洋的写真如果是放在书店里让我能够在付款前就事先看到实物的话我是绝对不会掏银子的—_—|||

看到了小马哥家大公子的最新照片。这小孩开始朝着长歪发展了，曾经粉雕玉砌的精致小人儿现在人越长越开，脸越拉越长，看起来和瘦下来的罗胖胖颇有神似之处……

[转载]整个夏季的超级玩具-AI原著小说

Thu, 26 Oct 2006 10:29:34 GMT

By Brian Aldiss

In Mrs. Swinton’s garden, it was always summer. The lovely almond trees stood about it in perpetual leaf. Monica Swinton plucked a saffron-colored rose and showed it to David.

"Isn’t it lovely?" she said.

David looked up at her and grinned without replying. Seizing the flower, he ran with it across the lawn and disappeared behind the kennel where the mowervator crouched, ready to cut or sweep or roll when the moment dictated. She stood alone on her impeccable plastic gravel path.

She had tried to love him.

When she made up her mind to follow the boy, she found him in the courtyard floating the rose in his paddling pool. He stood in the pool engrossed, still wearing his sandals.

"David, darling, do you have to be so awful? Come in at once and change your shoes and socks."

He went with her without protest into the house, his dark head bobbing at the level of her waist. At the age of three, he showed no fear of the ultrasonic dryer in the kitchen. But before his mother could reach for a pair of slippers, he wriggled away and was gone into the silence of the house.

He would probably be looking for Teddy.

Monica Swinton, twenty-nine, of graceful shape and lambent eye, went and sat in her living room, arranging her limbs with taste. She began by sitting and thinking; soon she was just sitting. Time waited on her shoulder with the maniac slowth it reserves for children, the insane, and wives whose husbands are away improving the world. Almost by reflex, she reached out and changed the wavelength of her windows. The garden faded; in its place, the city center rose by her left hand, full of crowding people, blowboats, and buildings (but she kept the sound down). She remained alone. An overcrowded world is the ideal place in which to be lonely.

The directors of Synthank were eating an enormous luncheon to celebrate the launching of their new product. Some of them wore the plastic face-masks popular at the time. All were elegantly slender, despite the rich food and drink they were putting away. Their wives were elegantly slender, despite the food and drink they too were putting away. An earlier and less sophisti- cated generation would have regarded them as beautiful people, apart from their eyes.

Henry Swinton, Managing Director of Synthank, was about to make a speech.

"I’m sorry your wife couldn’t be with us to hear you," his neighbor said.

"Monica prefers to stay at home thinking beautiful thoughts," said Swinton, maintaining a smile.

"One would expect such a beautiful woman to have beautiful thoughts," said the neighbor.

Take your mind off my wife, you bastard, thought Swinton, still smiling.

He rose to make his speech amid applause.

After a couple of jokes, he said, "Today marks a real breakthrough for the company. It is now almost ten years since we put our first synthetic life-forms on the world market. You all know what a success they have been, particularly the miniature dinosaurs. But none of them had intelligence.

"It seems like a paradox that in this day and age we can create life but not intelligence. Our first selling line, the Crosswell Tape, sells best of all, and is the most stupid of all." Everyone laughed.

"Though three-quarters of the overcrowded world are starving, we are lucky here to have more than enough, thanks to population control. Obesity’s our problem, not malnutrition. I guess there’s nobody round this table who doesn’t have a Crosswell working for him in the small intestine, a perfectly safe parasite tape-worm that enables its host to eat up to fifty percent more food and still keep his or her figure. Right?" General nods of agreement.

"Our miniature dinosaurs are almost equally stupid. Today, we launch an intelligent synthetic life-form - a full-size serving-man.

"Not only does he have intelligence, he has a controlled amount of intelligence. We believe people would be afraid of a being with a human brain. Our serving-man has a small computer in his cranium.

"There have been mechanicals on the market with mini-computers for brains - plastic things without life, super-toys - but we have at last found a way to link computer circuitry with synthetic flesh."

David sat by the long window of his nursery, wrestling with paper and pencil. Finally, he stopped writing and began to roll the pencil up and down the slope of the desk-lid.
"Teddy!" he said.

Teddy lay on the bed against the wall, under a book with moving pictures and a giant plastic soldier. The speech-pattern of his master’s voice activated him and he sat up.

"Teddy, I can’t think what to say!"

Climbing off the bed, the bear walked stiffly over to cling to the boy’s leg. David lifted him and set him on the desk.

"What have you said so far?"

"I’ve said -" He picked up his letter and stared hard at it. "I’ve said, ’Dear Mummy, I hope you’re well just now. I love you....’"

There was a long silence, until the bear said, "That sounds fine. Go downstairs and give it to her."

Another long silence.

"It isn’t quite right. She won’t understand."

Inside the bear, a small computer worked through its program of possibilities. "Why not do it again in crayon?"

When David did not answer, the bear repeated his suggestion. "Why not do it again in crayon?"

David was staring out of the window. "Teddy, you know what I was thinking? How do you tell what are real things from what aren’t real things?"

The bear shuffled its alternatives. "Real things are good."

"I wonder if time is good.

I don’t think Mummy likes time very much. The other day, lots of days ago, she said that time went by her. Is time real, Teddy?"

"Clocks tell the time. Clocks are real. Mummy has clocks so she must like them. She has a clock on her wrist next to her dial."

David started to draw a jumbo jet on the back of his letter. "You and I are real, Teddy, aren’t we?"

The bear’s eyes regarded the boy unflinchingly. "You and I are real, David." It specialized in comfort.

Monica walked slowly about the house. It was almost time for the afternoon post to come over the wire. She punched the Post Office number on the dial on her wrist but nothing came through. A few minutes more.

She could take up her painting. Or she could dial her friends. Or she could wait till Henry came home. Or she could go up and play with David....

She walked out into the hall and to the bottom of the stairs.

"David!"

No answer. She called again and a third time.

"Teddy!" she called, in sharper tones.

"Yes, Mummy!" After a moment’s pause, Teddy’s head of golden fur appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Is David in his room, Teddy?"

"David went into the garden, Mummy."

"Come down here, Teddy!"

She stood impassively, watching the little furry figure as it climbed down from step to step on its stubby limbs. When it reached the bottom, she picked it up and carried it into the living room. It lay unmoving in her arms, staring up at her. She could feel just the slightest vibration from its motor.

"Stand there, Teddy. I want to talk to you." She set him down on a tabletop, and he stood as she requested, arms set forward and open in the eternal gesture of embrace.

"Teddy, did David tell you to tell me he had gone into the garden?"

The circuits of the bear’s brain were too simple for artifice. "Yes, Mummy."

"So you lied to me."

"Yes, Mummy."

"Stop calling me Mummy! Why is David avoiding me? He’s not afraid of me, is he?"

"No. He loves you."

"Why can’t we communicate?"

"David’s upstairs."

The answer stopped her dead. Why waste time talking to this machine? Why not simply go upstairs and scoop David into her arms and talk to him, as a loving mother should to a loving son? She heard the sheer weight of silence in the house, with a different quality of silence pouring out of every room. On the upper landing, something was moving very silently - David, trying to hide away from her....

He was nearing the end of his speech now. The guests were attentive; so was the Press, lining two walls of the banqueting chamber, recording Henry’s words and occasionally photographing him.

"Our serving-man will be, in many senses, a product of the computer. Without computers, we could never have worked through the sophisticated biochemics that go into synthetic flesh. The serving-man will also be an extension of the computer - for he will contain a computer in his own head, a microminiaturized computer capable of dealing with almost any situation he may encounter in the home. With reservations, of course." Laughter at this; many of those present knew the heated debate that had engulfed the Synthank boardroom before the decision had finally been taken to leave the serving-man neuter under his flawless uniform.

"Amid all the triumphs of our civilization - yes, and amid the crushing problems of overpopulation too - it is sad to reflect how many millions of people suffer from increasing loneliness and isolation. Our serving-man will be a boon to them; he will always answer, and the most vapid conversation cannot bore him.

"For the future, we plan more models, male and female - some of them without the limitations of this first one, I promise you! - of more advanced design, true bio-electronic beings.

"Not only will they possess their own computer, capable of individual programming; they will be linked to the World Data Network. Thus everyone will be able to enjoy the equivalent of an Einstein in their own homes. Personal isolation will then be banished forever!"

He sat down to enthusiastic applause. Even the synthetic serving-man, sitting at the table dressed in an unostentatious suit, applauded with gusto.

Dragging his satchel, David crept round the side of the house. He climbed on to the ornamental seat under the living-room window and peeped cautiously in.

His mother stood in the middle of the room. Her face was blank; its lack of expression scared him. He watched fascinated. He did not move; she did not move. Time might have stopped, as it had stopped in the garden.

At last she turned and left the room. After waiting a moment, David tapped on the window. Teddy looked round, saw him, tumbled off the table, and came over to the window. Fumbling with his paws, he eventually got it open.

They looked at each other.

"I’m no good, Teddy. Let’s run away!"

"You’re a very good boy. Your Mummy loves you."

Slowly, he shook his head. "If she loved me, then why can’t I talk to her?"

"You’re being silly, David. Mummy’s lonely. That’s why she had you."

"She’s got Daddy. I’ve got nobody ’cept you, and I’m lonely."

Teddy gave him a friendly cuff over the head. "If you feel so bad, you’d better go to the psychiatrist again."

"I hate that old psychiatrist - he makes me feel I’m not real." He started to run across the lawn. The bear toppled out of the window and followed as fast as its stubby legs would allow.

Monica Swinton was up in the nursery. She called to her son once and then stood there, undecided. All was silent.

Crayons lay on his desk. Obeying a sudden impulse, she went over to the desk and opened it. Dozens of pieces of paper lay inside. Many of them were written in crayon in David’s clumsy writing, with each letter picked out in a color different from the letter preceding it. None of the messages was finished.

"My dear Mummy, How are you really, do you love me as much -"

"Dear Mummy, I love you and Daddy and the sun is shining -"

"Dear dear Mummy, Teddy’s helping me write to you. I love you and Teddy -"

"Darling Mummy, I’m your one and only son and I love you so much that some times -"

"Dear Mummy, you’re really my Mummy and I hate Teddy -"

"Darling Mummy, guess how much I love -"

"Dear Mummy, I’m your little boy not Teddy and I love you but Teddy -"

"Dear Mummy, this is a letter to you just to say how much how ever so much -"

Monica dropped the pieces of paper and burst out crying. In their gay inaccurate colors, the letters fanned out and settled on the floor.

Henry Swinton caught the express home in high spirits, and occasionally said a word to the synthetic serving-man he was taking home with him. The serving-man answered politely and punctually, although his answers were not always entirely relevant by human standards.

The Swintons lived in one of the ritziest city-blocks, half a kilometer above the ground. Embedded in other apartments, their apartment had no windows to the outside; nobody wanted to see the overcrowded external world. Henry unlocked the door with his retina pattern-scanner and walked in, followed by the serving-man.

At once, Henry was sur-rounded by the friendly illusion of gardens set in eternal summer. It was amazing what Whologram could do to create huge mirages in small spaces. Behind its roses and wisteria stood their house; the deception was complete: a Georgian mansion appeared to welcome him.

"How do you like it?" he asked the serving-man.

"Roses occasionally suffer from black spot."

"These roses are guaranteed free from any imperfections."

"It is always advisable to purchase goods with guarantees, even if they cost slightly more."

"Thanks for the information," Henry said dryly. Synthetic life-forms were less than ten years old, the old android mechanicals less than sixteen; the faults of their systems were still being ironed out, year by year.

He opened the door and called to Monica.

She came out of the sitting-room immediately and flung her arms round him, kissing him ardently on cheek and lips. Henry was amazed.

Pulling back to look at her face, he saw how she seemed to generate light and beauty. It was months since he had seen her so excited. Instinctively, he clasped her tighter.

"Darling, what’s happened?"

"Henry, Henry - oh, my darling, I was in despair ... but I’ve just dialed the afternoon post and - you’ll never believe it! Oh, it’s wonderful!"

"For heaven’s sake, woman, what’s wonderful?"

He caught a glimpse of the heading on the photostat in her hand, still moist from the wall-receiver: Ministry of Population. He felt the color drain from his face in sudden shock and hope.

"Monica ... oh ... Don’t tell me our number’s come up!"

"Yes, my darling, yes, we’ve won this week’s parenthood lottery! We can go ahead and conceive a child at once!"

He let out a yell of joy. They danced round the room. Pressure of population was such that reproduction had to be strict, controlled. Childbirth required government permission. For this moment, they had waited four years. Incoherently they cried their delight.

They paused at last, gasping, and stood in the middle of the room to laugh at each other’s happiness. When she had come down from the nursery, Monica had de-opaqued the windows, so that they now revealed the vista of garden beyond. Artificial sunlight was growing long and golden across the lawn - and David and Teddy were staring through the window at them.

Seeing their faces, Henry and his wife grew serious.

"What do we do about them?" Henry asked.

"Teddy’s no trouble. He works well."

"Is David malfunctioning?"

"His verbal communication-center is still giving trouble. I think he’ll have to go back to the factory again."

"Okay. We’ll see how he does before the baby’s born. Which reminds me - I have a surprise for you: help just when help is needed! Come into the hall and see what I’ve got."

As the two adults disappeared from the room, boy and bear sat down beneath the standard roses.

"Teddy - I suppose Mummy and Daddy are real, aren’t they?"

Teddy said, "You ask such silly questions, David. Nobody knows what ’real’ really means. Let’s go indoors."

"First I’m going to have another rose!" Plucking a bright pink flower, he carried it with him into the house. It could lie on the pillow as he went to sleep. Its beauty and softness reminded him of Mummy.

又见宝新书

Thu, 25 May 2006 11:41:31 GMT

做生意就是要与时俱进啊……最近书店里关于足球方面的书明显增多。

搭风世界杯和宝重返赛场的双重话题，又一本关于宝宝的图文集上市。

书名就叫弗朗西斯柯-托蒂，副标题‘只有一个队长’。和宝的自传不同，我觉得这本纯属借着他的名义出本小生平的感觉。里面以赛季为单位收录了他从92年以来每赛季的重要事件记录和图片。

虽然直观上看这本定价14.5而且全彩页的书似乎要比他自己出的那本10块钱小册子划算，不过这本的大部分照片都是早就流传网上的旧照，分辨率也不高，很多图片都是糊的，清晰度和我的手机拍照有的拼……我是觉得随便翻翻就够了，不值得购买:P

话说，在另一家书店看销售榜，他那本“俺要踢勺子”居然排在第八名耶，了不起。

超划算的一本杂志——Men's Health

Wed, 24 May 2006 11:22:24 GMT

咳咳，光看这名字似乎跟咱是沾不上啥边儿的，可是一旦亮出封面来这购买意图就非常明显了。不过不止这样哦，否则名利场那本大卡俺也早买回家了。还要继续往里看。

很明显跟风世界杯主题，所以这期邀请了足球界名人做运动相关访谈，共计十名。按顺序分别是内斯塔、拖蒂、罗纳尔迪尼奥、齐达内、贝克汉姆、多尼、罗纳尔多（葡萄牙）、加图索、迪达、科利纳以及贝利。编辑部真有骨气，生生把小贝排在第五个出场，不过从小罗纳尔多往后的照片就没那么有吸引力了，既然编辑们都不掩饰这种嫌丑爱俊的态度，那俺也没啥不好意思的了，所以多尼以后的都没照……

然后哦，杂志里还有大卡同学带领国家队更衣室内裤照的广告、还有宝宝never without you的广告，不仅如此，还有伊斯特伍德和肖恩康那利还有罗伯特德尼罗的访谈，还有若干男色广告……

不看不知道……那个……现在的男性杂志开始走这种调调了么？重视同性恋者市场？还是为了吸引像俺这种无节操的女色狼？—_—///

不管怎么说，这次的2.6花得很划算XD

宝新自传出炉："Mo je faccio er cucchiaio"

Wed, 17 May 2006 12:17:49 GMT

本来是常规去书店帮阿拓看米兰写真的……

结果在铺天盖地的‘密码解密’之外看到了宝宝的封面，因为又是小册子，所以开始还以为是新笑话集，结果发现居然是自传

以2000年对荷兰的那场四分之一赛踢出的勺子为题眼，书里还收入了不少黑白照，手感和质量都还不错

打算这几天没事就去书店翻翻，看过之后再决定要不要买

http://www.bol.it/libri/scheda/ea978880455733.html

书报后续：

花了两天的时间在书店看了个七七八八，嗯……感觉还不错

按宝自己的话说“与其说是书，不如说是一本个人小册子，……不想把这本书弄得太严肃太沉重”，所以使用了第一人称口述的方式，讲了他关于足球、家庭、训练、球队、家人、教练、荣誉、不幸等方面的内容。

既然是闲聊天，内容就不是很多，我估计字数不会比《小王子》更多，也就一万来字的样子，字号和排版稀松程度基本相当儿童读物。不过好的一面是里面收集了大量资料照片，大部分都是穿者紧身球衣、笑得很可爱的宝宝，让我在书店里就几乎要口水直流。最后几页收录了马佐尼、卡佩罗、安切洛蒂等教练和裁判科利纳对他的评价。

不在国内，一样败家

Mon, 24 Apr 2006 16:09:19 GMT

挠头，就算出国当穷学生也没停止败家

不但国内该买的一样不落，而且以前不方便买的外国花痴品也变得唾手可得，实在是人生的悲哀……

Milan Dolce & Gabbana

http://www.lafeltrinelli.it/istituzionale/catalogo/scheda_prodotto.aspx?i=2317526

前两天瞄上这个，刚好我的学生卡可以在这家书店打折，其实可以不买的……但是总觉得可以买到的时候不买是一大浪费……于是跟自己说如果这个月打的零工凑得够这笔钱就买……然后现在凑够了……

看天……

我还是应该去找个正经的兼职工作来挣花痴钱才是正道！

Pride & Prejudice——可惜不是莉莎

Fri, 10 Mar 2006 21:44:02 GMT

这是我最喜欢的一本书。

已经忘了是什么时候第一次看到，只记得看过之后就爱不释手，从此以后几乎每年都要重看好几次，就算所有的情节对白都已经熟记心头，也仍每个一段时间就要拿出来看一次。

大学上英国文学鉴赏课的时候，老师问大家都喜欢什么书，我献宝一样拿这本出来说，并且强调是每年都回重看好几次的最爱之物，结果老师的评价是：少女的玩意儿。

其实真的只是一本古代爱情小说而已吧，尽管有那么多大部头的书会研究它到底在资产阶级革命阶段文学作品中占有多大的地位，说来说去，也不过是少女对英俊多金又体贴的白马王子梦想。

也许老大不小的我，一直在无意中等待的，就是我的达西也说不定。可惜现在也很少还有那样英俊多金又正直善良的温柔好男人还有到处寻找有可爱眼睛的少女的爱好。而且，就算遇到了，可惜我不是莉莎，我没有那样明亮可爱的眼睛，也没有她那种敢爱敢恨大胆表达的勇气。

怯懦的躲在一边等着男人来搭讪却又挑三拣四的老女人，达西先生是看不到的……