Just a coffee in London: CUSTOMIZATION

giovedì 10 gennaio 2008

CUSTOMIZATION

A me gli occhi Siore e Siori, a me gli occhi!

Dopo i tre mesi di Natale (che è un po' come il brodo di pollo... un po' allungato è più leggero e digeribile, troppo annacquato perde il suo sapore!), eccoci pronti per una nuova stagione.

Sono entrata stamattina e mi sono trovata tutto cambiato... quadri, poster, panini, dolcetti, cioccolate, tazze...

LIGHT, ORGANIC, FARETRADE sono le 3 parole più ricorrenti...

LIGHT?

ORGANIC?

FARETRADE?

Lasciamo stare...rischio di essere polemica, oltre che cinica.

- La parola d'ordine della nuova promozione è CUSTOMIZE! - mi spiega Darek - Bisogna invitare il cliente a provare nuove cobinazioni. -

Parla piano e mi guarda come fossi ritardata.

- Ok...ok...

- Skinny latte? Any syroup? Cream? Any cake?

- Ok...ok...

- Do you understand?

- Ok...

- Non ripetere ok.

- Ok, cioè sì.

- Bisogna arrivare a 180 Add al giorno.

- Ok...

- Che significa?

- Che bisogna cercare di convincere uno che vuole il suo normale buon cappuccino a infilarci qualcosa di nuovo e strano...uno sciroppo, un biscotto... qualcosa che non vuole, perchè se lo volesse lo chiederebbe da sè.

- 180 Add al giorno.

- Ok!

- Don't say ok. Basta ripetere ok!

Non dico nulla. Che posso dire? Cerco di memorizzare i nuovi nomi di muffin, torte e tortine.

- Queste campagne se le inventa lo stesso che dà i nomi ai dolci?

- C'è un ufficio apposta.

Voglio il trasferimento!

Customizzare il CUSTOMER. Interessante...sarà un ottimo esercizio per il mio inglese!

1 commento:

Anonimo ha detto...: customize? Anche starbucks diventa 2.0?
Betta; 9:13 AM

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People help people

God knows what is hiding in that weak and drunken heart
I guess you kissed the girls and made them cry
those Hardfaced Queens of misadventure
God knows what is hiding in those weak and sunken eyes
a Fiery throng of muted angels
Giving love and getting nothing back

People help the people
And if your homesick, give me your hand and i'll hold it
People help the people
And nothing will drag you down
Oh and if I had a brain, Oh and if I had a brain
I'd be cold as a stone and rich as the fool

That turned, all those good hearts away
God knows what is hiding, in that world of little consequence Behind the tears, inside the lies
A thousand slowly dying sunsets
God knows what is hiding in those weak and drunken hearts
I guess the loneliness came knocking
No on needs to be alone, oh save me

People help the people
And if your homesick, give me your hand and i'll hold it
People help the people
Nothing will drag you down
Oh and if I had a brain, Oh and if I had a brain
I'd be cold as a stone and rich as the fool
That turned, all those good hearts away

People help the people
And if your homesick, give me your hand and I'll hold it
People help the people
Nothing will drag you down
Oh and if I had a brain, Oh and if I had a brain
I'd be cold as a stone and rich as the fool
That turned, all those good hearts away

(Cherry Ghost)

How to safe a life

Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong (where did I go wrong),
I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up (I would of stayed up)
with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

(The Fray)

Mad world

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head
I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World
Mad world

Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
And I feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me
And I find it kind of funnyI find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World
Mad World
Enlarging your world
Mad World.

(Tears for fears - Donnie Darko)

A tutti coloro che hanno un cuore...

e anche a quelli che se lo sono inventati a regola d'arte!

one night to be confused
one night to speed up truth
we had a promise made
four hands and then away
both under influense
we had demons in
to know what to say
mind is a razorblade
to call for hands of above
to lean onwouldn't be good enough
for me, noone night of magic rush
the start of simple touchone night to push and scream
and make believes.

ten days of perfect tunes
the colors red and blue
we had a promise made
we were in love
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
and you, you knew you had to fight devil
and you, kept us away with wolf teeths
sharing different heartbeat
sin one night
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
for me, no

(Heartbeats - J. Gonzales)

Accetta il consiglio...

Goditi potere e bellezza della tua gioventù. Non ci pensare. Il potere di bellezza e gioventù lo capirai solo una volta appassite. Ma credimi tra vent'anni guarderai quelle tue vecchie foto. E in un modo che non puoi immaginare adesso. Quante possibilità avevi di fronte e che aspetto magnifico avevi! Non eri per niente grasso come ti sembrava. Non preoccuparti del futuro. Oppure preoccupati, ma sapendo che questo ti aiuta quanto masticare un chewing-gum per risolvere un'equazionealgebrica. I veri problemi della vita saranno sicuramente cose che non t'erano mai passate per la mente. Di quelle che ti pigliano di sorpresa alle quattro di un pigro martedì pomeriggio. Fa' una cosa, ogni giorno che sei spaventato... canta. Non esser crudele col cuore degli altri. Non tollerare la gente che è crudele col tuo. Lavati i denti. Non perder tempo con l'invidia. A volte sei in testa. A volte resti indietro. La corsa è lunga e alla fine è solo con te stesso. Ricorda i complimenti che ricevi, scordati gli insulti. Se ci riesci veramente dimmi come si fa. Conserva tutte le vecchie lettere d'amore, butta i vecchi estratti conto. Rilassati. Non sentirti in colpa se non sai cosa vuoi fare della tua vita. Le persone più interessanti che conosco, a ventidue anni non sapevano che fare della loro vita. I quarantenni più interessanti che conosco ancora non lo sanno. Prendi molto calcio. Sii gentile con le tue ginocchia, quando saranno partite ti mancheranno. Forse ti sposerai o forse no. Forse avrai figli o forse no. Forse divorzierai a quarant'anni. Forse ballerai con lei al settantacinquesimo anniversario di matrimonio. Comunque vada, non congratularti troppo con te stesso, ma non rimproverarti neanche. Le tue scelte sono scommesse. Come quelle di chiunque altro. Goditi il tuo corpo. Usalo in tutti i modi che puoi. Senza paura e senza temere quel che pensa la gente. E' il più grande strumento che potrai mai avere. Balla. Anche se il solo posto che hai per farlo è il tuo soggiorno. Leggi le istruzioni, anche se poi non le seguirai. Non leggere le riviste di bellezza. Ti faranno solo sentire orrendo. Cerca di conoscere i tuoi genitori. Non puoi sapere quando se ne andranno per sempre. Tratta bene i tuoi fratelli. Sono il migliore legame con il passato e quelli che più probabilmente avranno cura di te in futuro. Renditi conto che gli amici vanno e vengono. Ma alcuni, i più preziosi, rimarranno. Datti da fare per colmare le distanze geografiche e di stili di vita, perche più diventi vecchio, più hai bisogno delle persone che conoscevi da giovane. Vivi a New York per un po', ma lasciala prima che ti indurisca. Vivi anche in California per un po', ma lasciala prima che ti rammollisca. Non fare pasticci coi capelli, se no quando avrai quarant'anni sembreranno di un 85nne. Sii cauto nell'accettare consigli, mal sii paziente con chi li dispensa. I consigli sono una forma di nostalgia. Dispensarli è un modo di ripescare il passato dal dimenticatoio, ripulirlo, passare la vernice sulle parti più brutte e riciclarlo per più di quel che valga. Ma accetta il consiglio...

per questa volta...

(The Big Kahuna)

Negromante

Ah, Faustus.

Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damn'd perpetually!
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come;
Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again, and make
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul!
O lente, lente currite, noctis equi!
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd.
O, I'll leap up to my God!--Who pulls me down?--
See, see, where Christ's blood streams in the firmament!
One drop would save my soul, half a drop: ah, my Christ!--
Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ!
Yet will I call on him: O, spare me, Lucifer!--
Where is it now? tis gone: and see, where God
Stretcheth out his arm, and bends his ireful brows!
Mountains and hills, come, come, and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of God!
No, no!
Then will I headlong run into the earth:
Earth, gape! O, no, it will not harbour me!
You stars that reign'd at my nativity,
Whose influence hath alotted death and hell,
Now draw up Faustus, like a foggy mist,
Into the entrails of yon labouring clouds,
That, when you vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths,
So that my soul may but ascend to heaven!

[The clock strikes the half-hour.]

Ah, half the hour is past! 'twill all be past anon.
O God,
If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul,
Yet for Christ's sake, whose blood hath ransom'd me,
Impose some end to my incessant pain;
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years,
A hundred thousand, and at last be sav'd!
O, no end is limited to damned souls!
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?
Or why is this immortal that thou hast?
Ah, Pythagoras' metempsychosis, were that true,
This soul should fly from me, and I be chang'd
Unto some brutish beast! all beasts are happy,
For, when they die,
Their souls are soon dissolv'd in elements;
But mine must live still to be plagu'd in hell.
Curs'd be the parents that engender'd me!
No, Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer
That hath depriv'd thee of the joys of heaven.

[The clock strikes twelve.]

O, it strikes, it strikes! Now, body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell!

[Thunder and lightning.]

O soul, be chang'd into little water-drops,
And fall into the ocean, ne'er be found!

[Enter Devils.]

My God, my God, look not so fierce on me!
Adders and serpents, let me breathe a while!
Ugly hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer!
I'll burn my books!

(Faust - Marlowe)

25th HOUR

Well, fuck you, too.

Fuck me, fuck you, fuck this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores, stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for FUCKING LIFE! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Worldcom! Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos. Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermes scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on! Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin' Otisville, J! Fuck Osama Bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass! Fuck Jacob Elinsky, whining malcontent. Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. Fuck Naturelle Riviera, I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back, sold me up the river, fucking bitch. Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar sipping on club sodas, selling whisky to firemen, cheering the Bronx bombers. Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place.

No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you dumb fuck!

(25th Hour - S. Lee)

Just wor(l)ds

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack,
the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths
—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound,
its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

(W. Whitman)

Oh! I would like as much as you
happy days where we were friends.
In this time the life was more beautiful,
And the sun more burning than today.
The dead leaves collected with the shovel.
You see, I did not forget...
The dead leaves collected with the shovel,
The memories and the regrets also
And the wind of North carries them
In the cold night of the lapse of memory.
You see, I did not forget
The song that you sang me.

This is a song which resembles to us.
You, you loved me and I loved you
And we lived both together,
You who loved me, me who loved you.
But the life separate those which love themselves,
All softly, without making noise
And the sea erases on the sand
The Steps of divided lovers.

(J. Prevert)

This Is My Letter To The World
This is my letter to the world,That never wrote to me,--The simple news that Nature told,With tender majesty.Her message is committedTo hands I cannot see;For love of her, sweet countrymen,Judge tenderly of me!

(E. Dickinson)

In all its raucous impudence
Life writhes, cavorts in pallid light,
With little cause or consequence;
And when, with darkling skies, the night

Casts over all its sensuous balm,
Quells hunger's pangs and, in like wise,
Quells shame beneath its pall of calm,
"Aha, at last!" the Poet sighs.

"My mind, my bones, yearn, clamoring
For sweet repose unburdening.
Heart full of dire, funeral thought,

I will lie out; your folds will cling
About me: veils of shadow wrought,
O darkness, cool and comforting!"

(C. Baudelaire)