Oregon, May 1972. Nobody then knew that a brand new brand was going to demolish the sportswear competition. Hoopla! 50 years now. One of the world-wide most iconic name comes from afar. The goddess of victory. European operations from The Netherlands—who did work in Hilversum? Ah, Carolijn.
Run, jump, shoot. Whatever an athlete may perform. Best young prospects. Marketing testimonials truly in action. People recognize those branded shoes: prospect is a potential consumer too. Swoosh!
I wore sport shoes at work. White 5ive and silver motif. Along the wards I'm in white uniform. Help the elderly: touch, power, speed.
Walking the paths, need all black shoes. Court Vision. Made in Vietnam. Asian labor force sew it better. How is my foot long? Cm 27. Size EUR_42.5. I sew up my black and blue socks. Never throw something out. Hooded track suit in winter. Dri-Fit polyester 100%, not cold under the rain. Splash! Swoosh!
Summer vacations. Cotton cap, marching for hours under a hot sun. Athlete. I'm promoting trademarks of Global Brand.



City Life

"E cammina, cammina..." He was him, our R.T., weaver of silk. Silkworms, cocoons. Two days running, from the lake to Milano. Today he would be travelling at least by train. TreNord. One ticket at 4 euro 80. City Life is less then an hour away. In between SMEs sheds. Neverending outskirts. Industrial tissue social. Smalltown stations: Amazon hub on the platforms. New economy. Do not cross the railway! Porta Comacina, Porta Nuova, Porta Orientale. Outside of that, the leprosarium. Shelter. "C'eran ordini severissimi di non lasciar entrar nessuno, senza bolletta di sanità". End of the journey. Metropolis. He feels the pangs of hunger... remembering that year... wheat was sold up to 80 lire per moggio!
That foreign war made the grain be scarce, the town council increased the price of bread. Turmoil of 1628. «Al forno! Al forno!»
Back to the central market. I'm asking the baker for a slice of carrot pie. Tiptop. Now for the jakes, smells of men. All agog to see City Life.

P.S. (To be continued...)


Italia Nostra

I resume the story where we had left off. Wrote a manuscript on the railroads. Now going to share it. Two maybe three chapters under the caption 'Milano City Life'.
"Quanto la nobilißima Città di Milano sia bella, grande, forte e populata..." (from 1573 Antonio Lafrèry's Map of Milan in perspective, Sforza Castle).
Don't tell that to the 'Promised Spouses', they don't like the city life. They came from the lakes' region. "Quel ramo del lago di Como...". Six words, nine syllables. What a famous incipit! Where all that began. So I find myself at the Como Lake. Lakeshore walk, 3100 metres from Villa O to Villa G. Who lived in these country residences? Nobility here hosting monarchs, virtues, honors. The disclosed ones went for public offices and parks, museums. The hidden exclusive ones kept by actors and oligarchs. Both public and private affairs. Pliny the Elder, Pliny the Younger. Shining marble Cathedral. Venite adoremus. Former monastery, now school.
Italia Nostra.
Late evening, don't stop raining. The purple. I would like to dry my bones with hot onion soup. Waitress! "Qualcosa da mettere in castello."

PS. (To be continued...)



K.I.S.S.! Writing short haiku is good exercise to make your marketing copy easier to read.
 From shelves to the cart 
 checkout counter for free bag 
 thanks to debit card. 

P.S. Haiku collection!



The rite begins at the train central station after a 2-hour journey. For the ninth time this football season. A personal record.
Brief lunch at the market attached to the station. Michetta with porkmeat and Moretti Baffo d'Oro beer, progressive music on the background. Hooligans would hardly eat here but the menu sounds right. Daily bread, fat, and protein. Now to the stadium taking the metro, for Milano means metropolis. The rite consists just in moving myself through the earliest route, same of the first time here many manyfold years ago. How long are four decades? Central station—San Siro. Down to M2, the green line. At Cadorna stop to change. Take M1, the red line. Until Lotto stop. Exit. Lotto, who was this chap? A painter who couldn't live in Venice, exile.
From this piazza on count the final walk for 10 minutes. While passing through the Saint's residential quarter, resume of the forthcoming steps: show ID card, ticket downloaded on the cell phone, rucksack empty of bottles and lighters. Three regular checkpoints before admission.
Get a look to the hippodrome, surrounded by graffiti art. When the line of stalls starts, it's the zone. Stadium appears sizably.
1980 the city of Milano named it after Giuseppe Meazza, local footballer. The eulogy plaque reads "the humble servant of yours". Milanesi. 288 goals with the Inter jersey before passing to the other side. And then Ambrosiana-Inter after St. Ambrose, doctor of the Church.
The stadium keeps on being commonly known as San Siro. Monument. They call us nostalgic while they are planning to build a modern stadium for the futuristic football game. Real estate investment. Milano City Life. O, saints above, I am drenched. Meanwhile at the turnstile my digital ticket is enlightened. GooglePay. Wear the official cap and get up to the second or third ring. Pictures inside the stadium, maybe for the last time. Who knows. Instagram. Video and music around you waiting for the match. Inter Beats. The Curva Nord brothers firmly chanting to the left.
C'è solo l'Inter!

PS. Green-pass no more required.


Bookmark (pt.IV)

Two hundred years ago Alessandro Manzoni began putting it down on paper. The historical novel titled The Promised Spouses. First draft never published yet. Milan and outskirts in the 17th century. A plausible subtitle!
Better about a whole region, Lombardy, then divided: in part Spanish domain, in part Venetian state. The French did wait and see. Landsknecht, mercenary soldiers to come: eight days they passed through the Milanese dukedom.
I had read it as high schooler. Second class, Italian ministerial program. A story of compassion at the mercy of overwhelming forces. Everything could happen those times to a young couple of peasants. Tyrants, war, famine, leprony, power trips by... gentlemen. No more acts of chivalry. Novel commented with schoolmates and teacher. Plot suitable for a 1967 popular TV film. That's history, now available on RaiPlay.it.
Priced Lit. 3,400 VAT included, Le Monnier publisher's book in good condition. Pleased to read again.



Red Line

War means to cross the red line. Point of no return. Safety no more guaranteed. From the Crimean War to the common speech. Damnation, damned nations.
Ten years the Greeks made war on Troy. A wooden mare while retreating. The Thin Red Line: Terence Malick's movie. No heroes.
I met Sara out of the shopping mall. Promoter to #Emergency . Fundraising. "Please, wait a moment—she said—We need recurring donation". Then and there I support Ξ because it needs care, humanity, solidarity and peace. Since 1994 the coat of (no) arms.

PS. Emergency.it


Me & Prince

1984 I met Prince, musically speaking. 'When Doves Cry', Minneapolis sound. Dig if you will the picture...(Cit.) Rock movie. Nine million LPs sold. Prince & The Revolution.
Dance Music Sex Romance.
How time flies eh? Dearly beloved, all the blows of his voice. Live concerts, the world admires. I heard his guitar go four times. Erotic city. It curves, curves are beauty. He's dancing and swirling and jumping. Harmful to the hips. Slave! Dub a new name. O(+> for emancipated music. My CDs collection, it sounds musicology. Akashic records.

P.S. Visit www.paisleypark.com


Bookmark (pt.III)

Many books I read for studying. Remember when I got home just graduate saying: university finished, what's next? Military service. Mandatory. Books to hell. From those academic years it survives on my bookshelf a handful of texts. 'Planning and Control Systems' by Robert N. Anthony (1965). Harvard Business School. A monumental impact on organizational theory of management control. The intelligence function. Advisor to Robert McNamara, U.S. Secretary of Defense, Kennedy Administration. Cold War.
4-year course on economics. Learning from my parents too. Budget control. Make ends meet.
Beside that, two-tome 'Marketing Management' by Philip Kotler (1967). Reckoned as one of the 50 greatest business books of all times. For I had read while apprenticed to product manager. Marketing mix, 4Ps: consumer wants and needs. American way of life we bought. That is looking, discerning, measuring. Trove of data.
Two economics classics thus far.
Third book in a row: 'Freakonomics' by Steven D. Levitt (2006*). A diverse economist. His work ranging on various economics topics including crime, politics, and sports. No unifying theme. Maybe the problem is asymmetrical information. Occult circle. Disinformation. Like dictators do. Fear. Again and again: gangs of criminals, real-state agents, funeral directors. Remove the hidden intelligence from the control of limited groups and put it at disposal of the public opinion and awareness. Now among microeconomics classics.
Best-selling books need follow-ups. Radio to Blog. Freakonomics co-author is Stephen J. Dubner, writer and journalist. 2018 I have emailed to him a remark on the sequel titled 'Think Like a Freak'!

P.S. He replied ":-) many thanks, sjd".
(*) Revised edition including bonus material.


Special Offer!

As usual as #coop supermarket. It's not small but not too large either. Would say a man-sized store. Plus: I'm confortable with. Like an industrious blind finding things at the same place. Corner, aisle, shelf. Household goods to the left. Special offer: 108 cycles equal six months of washing. Buy two get one FREE! Personal care. Which razor blades do the best for my grey sprouting beard. Thousand and one things to pick out. Chemicals. Multinational corporates behind familiar brands. I'm single, can't believe them. Just private label.
"For a good and cheap Easter". Pè-ssa'h, pass over! Food to the right. Dove-shaped cakes and candied products on pallets. Modern barrows. Paltry cut-prices. Pass over! Easter eggs every colour and size. Kinder, Teddy Friends, You Pretty!, Chiara Ferragni. I don't need sweetness. Eat Italian, regional traditions. Temporary stalls mimicking an old market. I should eat lamb legs. Pè-ssa'h. You are what you eat. Animals taken in trucks. Slaughterhouses to dead meat trade. Maybe this time I go vegan. Falafel and radicchio, allowable. Salted porkmeat from Km.0 vs. Norwegian salmon. Argentinian prawns, sustainable fishing? Roasted beef for Easter Monday. Stay light. Pass over! Redlabelled bottle of sparking wine for the feast of the Passover. Seder. Bring me out of the Land of Consumers... At the checkout counter my cart almost empty. A bargain.
"Buy Azalea, support the research against Alzheimer!" Don't forget. I am firstborn, won't forget.



Creative Commons

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Download forms. Procedure: application form, description, attached mark's image, fields it would be applied to, owner's ID. Et cetera. Paperless? But chamber of commerce wants printed documents. Patents & Marks Office supervises. Databank.
Exposed on the Internet, DMLR's contents are free of charge, according to general terms of Creative Commons License as follows.

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Easy Movie

I didn't tear up the last cinema ticket. It reads Euro 7.50: B-screen: Title: Licorice Pizza. Critics say 'very good film', an Oscar nominee. Oh, fine fine. And 133' without advertising intrusion.
Stepping into the multiplex, I approach my seat. Who is my neighbour? Empty row. Four viewers at the first projection, Sunday lunch rules habits.
Young actors directed by P.T. Anderson. She & He. Jews and Gentiles. Many characters around two protagonists. They share social discomfort and competition. Call her. Don't call. Show biz hides his pimples. Water mattress, liquid thing. Needs telemarketing. She's not afraid of words. Self-centered adults bore them? Run away together to seventh heaven.
At home searching for Alana Haim: on twitter found @HAIMtheband possibly three sisters doing music together, and acting on their music videos mainly directed by P.T. Anderson!

P.S. Have you listened yet?


Champions of Sport (pt.III)

On July 11, 1971, I quietly stood beside a radio to listen to the news. Made summertime at my grandparents home. Last news by the afternoon edition about one Mexican racing driver who was died in Germany.
Pedro Rodríguez De La Vega. Not Zorro's concealed identity, healthy parents. A younger brother perished before him, always at high speed.
Then I was very fond of sportscars. Blue-collar, my father working on the largest automobile factory in Italy. Gates 1,2,3, until 18: where is he going in for the morning shift? Adolescence. At the end of 1960s I drive die-cast auto models lifted on the tile floor. Races everyday.
Why is Rodríguez my favourite driver? Silver racing helmet with black bands on it. Has won a Grand Prix on Cooper-Maserati! That engine maker headquartered in the city where my father was born. 100 metres from the plant. Now Rodríguez steers for B.R.M., Mexican very British. He's quick and neat. Can't be a F1 World Champion but there are endurance racing cars too. Very fast and furious, Porsche 917. He seats on that legendary model, performing and winning on races as long as 24 Hours or 1000 Km.—Daytona, Spa, Monza...—18 months in the lead.
A weekend without main competitions. A minor motorsport event would fill in the calendar of a top driver. I stood beside the radio and I thought back to what I had just heard. Adolescence. Silly season.

PS. Back in 1970?


To be continued...

I like to express some thoughts from this long-run blog. On the previous B-side vol.IX you might retrieve articles, stories and posts, all available in Italian too. Otherwise just type in the search-box down here any keyword terms or phrases to optimize your own time on www.dmlr.org!

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