:(

:'(

Buat yang bingung pengen liat private photo orang…

Caranya cukup simpel, gak perlu pake kode-kodean, gak perlu hosting-hostingan, cukup 2 langkah saja, bagaimana caranya ??

1. Elu tentukan dulu target yang mo di intip private photo-nya, kemudian elu klik kanan di bagian yg ada gemboknya, pilih copy link location, nah hasilnya akan seperti ini

hxxp://www.friendster.com/privatephotos.php?uid=xxxxx

dimana xxxx merupakan id dari FS target, nah elu copy bagian id ini saja

2. silakan masuk ke situs-situs di bawah ini

hxxp://fs.dibatam.com

note : ganti hxxp dg http

Kemudian masukkan id FS-nya ke kolom Go Go Go, setelah di masukkan pencet tombolnya, dan akan muncul gambar thumnail, klik yg gambar gembok, dan akan terbukalah private photo-nya …

Notes: gw gak bertanggung jawab atas hasil penggunaan dari program ini, do at ur own risk !

Mumpung masih di bulan syawal dan sebagai muslim walopun sebenarnya gak usah nunggu bulan syawal buat maaf-maafan ya..... Mohon maaf lahir dan batin. selama ini, blog ini telah menjadi alat propaganda alinisme tanpa dasar :mrgreen: semua keluh kesah, rasa ganjil, kebingungan dan sekedar mengisi kekosongan yang terkadang menjadi bumerang bagi diri sendiri sehingga tumpukan dosa mengendap dalam kepicikan akal dan pikiran (???) intinya gw kadang nulis hal yang menyinggung perasaan 1 atau banyak orang dan gw benar-benar minta maaf.

Gw mau berbagi cerita tentang beberapa buku yang kemarin gw borong di toko buku. Ada beberapa novel aneh yang gw beli dan karena aneh jadi menarik juga, kebanyakan bertema keluarga.

♥ The book of lost things-John Connoly
Sejujurnya: gw jatuh cinta sama covernya... bertema fantasi, dongeng dan keluarga tentunya. Menceritakan tentang seorang anak bernama David yang akibat rasa marahnya terhadap takdir ibunya yang meninggal, ayahnya yang menikah lagi dan ibu tirinya yang akhirnya memberinya adik tiri yang tak diinginkan. Tenggelam dalam rasa marah dan fantasinya, ia pun terdampar di sebuah negeri dimana senja tak pernah berakhir, negeri yang dipimpin oleh seorang raja yang sudah hampa, dan sebuah negeri yang berisi semua fantasi horor anak manusia.
Negeri ini tak pernah tidur meskipun malam-malam terkadang singgah dan menghidupkan kisah tentang si tudung merah yang bercinta dengan serigala, snow white yang diracuni oleh 7 kurcaci yang ditindasnya, putri tidur yang tidak pernah benar-benar tidur dan seorang makhluk jail yang tidak penting namun merupakan poros dari semua mitos, legenda, dan dongeng. Dialah yang mengundang david ke dunia ganjil ciptaannya dan dia ingin david menjadi raja baru di negeri aneh tempatnya memulai kisah-kisah dalam fantasinya. Namun david tak ingin menjadi raja, ia hanya ingin kembali...

♥ The bonesetters doughter-Amy Tan
Bertema keluarga, tentang Ruth yang mencari tahu nama ibunya dan mencari tahu nama neneknya dan akhirnya ia menemukan nama sejatinya. Berlatar belakang budaya cina yang sangat kaku dan penuh tekanan.

♥ A Spanish Lover-Joanna Trollope
Bertem keluarga, sebuah keluarga ganjil yang terdiri dari si kembar Lizzie dan Frances, william-ayah, dan barbara-ibu. Cerita trntang keluarga yang complicated di mana si ibu tak menginginkan anaknya kembar namun merawat anak itu dengan sangat baik namaun pada usia si kembar 10 tahun, ia memutuskan untuk mundur sejenak dari profesi ibu dan pergi ke marrakesh sebagai hippie yang sedang mencari jati diri. Ditinggal istrinya, william berkencan dengan wanita lain bernama juliet yang ternyata disukai si kembar, mereka rukun selama 10 bulan hingga barbara kembali dari perjalanan dan melanjutkan pekerjaan rumahnya sebagai ibu, selama 1/4 abad, keluarga ganjil ini hidup berdampingan hingga si kembar dewasa dan punya kehidupan dan masalah sendiri hingga semua masalah melebur menjadi satu titik dimana sebuah keputusan diambil dan ribuan pelajaran dipetik meski agak terlambat atau terlambat sama sekali namun itulah hidup, menarik karena ada konflik dan tantangan.

♥Speaking in tongues-Jeffery Deaver
Yang ini belum selesai dibaca jadi sabar ya heheh...

Gw bener gak habis pikir kenapa gw bisa lupa beli busana muslim buat lebaran karena keasikan borong buku. Dan akhinya duit gw amblas di kasir gramedia Rp 250.000.

Selebihnya ...
Namanya Idul Fitri, di Sumatera Barat pastilah ramai. Sebabnya adalah banyak perantau pulang ke kampung halaman. Uang beredar dimana-mana, dibagikan buat sanak saudara maupun dibelanjakan. Sampai ke daerah terpencil pun, mobil dengan plat B (asal Jakarta) gampang ditemui.

Dan jika anda orang Bukittinggi atau berdomisili di sekitar kota Bukittinggi, pastilah tau bagaimana wajah kota ini. Orang dari berbagai daerah di Sumatera berkunjung ke Bukittinggi seperti semut mengunjungi tumpahan gula di lantai dapur, dan jelas kota kecil ini jadi ramai dan sesak. Dan jalanan macet.

Konon, hari kedua dan ketiga syawal jalan macet dari Bukittinggi hingga Padang. Itu hampir seratus kilometer. Bukittinggi - Padang Panjang yang biasanya cuma ditempuh 20 menit, bisa sampai 3 jam.

Saya cukup sebal dengan kondisi ini, walaupun sudah bertahun-tahun. Rumah saya di pinggir jalan soalnya, jadinya ribut.

Ketika saya menuju Padang pada 5 Syawal, perjalanan ditempuh 6 jam, padahal biasanya 2 jam saja. Ah ...

I, Marmalade, and a close friend discussed the possibility of working as call girls sometime, somewhere in the future.

"Where could we do it without being seen by someone we know?" I laugh, giddyily high on the cheekiness of out conspiratorial idea.

“Western Australia?” She suggests.

The mines.

We talk about working in a parlour up there, a brothel. I picture the sun-faded red chenille bedspreads, the hotel issue soaps, the smell of latex. We toss the idea around. I list the merits:

“We’d never run into anyone we knew" - being the main one. "The big salaries, (our imagined) lack of female action up there, the buff tradesman bods... he he.”

Yeah, the big salaries seemed a clincher. Both the miners, and potentially our big salaries. We wonder how much you can make. Excited, we laughed off the idea, and had another glass of sauv blanc.

The next day, I still I couldn’t shake the possibility of earning so much money, and living such a wild idea.

I’d looked into stripping before, knew a few girls who had done it. It looked fun, and you'd get pretty fit. But the websites offering "recruitment, all training provided" had a seedy element, seemed intimidating. But maybe that was just my own fear. I’d be on display. God, it’s obvious anyway, but it seemed, well, scary to picture myself gyrating. Hmmm.

I weigh up the pros and cons. The bottom line seems to be that prostitution makes you more money than stripping, by the hour, and several men a week see you, not thousands.

I find it difficult to shake the thought that I am onto something, and I find it less difficult to shake the idea that I am completely OK with the idea of doing it. Is this wrong?

I’m not afraid, and I’m not desperate for money or in debt or on drugs, I’m just excited.

An aside: Me, Marmalade, I love sex. I love men. I love the world and life of the working lady. I have always been drawn towards the biographies and films and blogs which smack of this Clarke Kent-esque secret life. I am addicted to learning about this idea, the hidden life, a secret persona. Think: a blog of closeted drag queen, or the musings of a woman with a secret lover half her age. The clandestine life is titillating. It's the stuff of a good novel, with few twists and turns. Anyway, enough. Back to my research...

Early the next morning, I took my laptop into the courtyard and began to research.

I google “Melbourne escorts”. Working my way down the list, smoking, drinking my coffee, the idea becomes cemented. I feel nervous and exhilarated as I encounter a new type of language, a sexy, fast-paced big-money economy:

The websites of the private escorts, the grand promises, glamorous photos of oiled thighs, and lace covered breasts, acronyms for a sexual repertoire , BBBJ, Reverse Cowgirl, DFK, French, T-girls...

The “rates”. The younger blonder Sydney girls with their nature defeating busts and tiny bottoms charge a small fortune. $800 or more for the hour, some of them. The older ladies, and their niche market "what, is that possible? Oh wow." Fantastic. The selection. The possibilities. You could look like anything, do anything, tattoos, anal, trannies, rub and tug, "big beautiful woman (BBW)". Clients found for everything. It's amazing.

My mind ticks over the possibilities, which as you can imagine are grandiose and dreamy. I feel I am on some kind of high. I think, “I could do that, not that, maybe that, charge that, maybe a little more than her, less than her. Oh my god, this is amazing.” I think:

“I have lived on less than what these girls make in one hour, for a fortnight sometimes.” The dwindling student allowance covering little more than rent, cigarettes and library fines.

I think: “Chanel makeup, a fucking gigantic library and new built-in bookcase, Sass and Bide jeans, a holiday in Noosa this time 5 star, an Audi (God, can you tell my thoughts were a little shallow at this point? he he) an endless supply of Vueve Cliquot, dining in all of those places I can’t afford since I began studying again...”

and realistically, "my own fucking business" (Excuse the pun) "no more financial woes - financial security, fast tracked savings for a house, weekly pedicures... Ah... now I'm getting silly again."

I think: “I have to do this.”

Now, four months later, I have some, but not all of these material things. It’s great, but I've realised that the money is a perk and that I have to put a shitload of effort into the last few months to make this happen.

I own my own business and I am 24. I never thought I would be in this position. It has more perks than a lot of jobs but there is a side to it that is complicated and difficult.

I have had to register as a sex worker. I pay a phenomenal amount of tax. I risk my family and friends coming across an ad which (despite the anonymity of my features thanks to photoshop) may still look a little bit like me. I risk the increased chance of violence, rape, or worse. I have opted out chances to enter into romantic relationship due to the obvious emotional crap my trade would create. I worry about the health risks of my job, despite my exceedingly high level of safe practices. There are risks, massive ones, but other things sometimes outweigh my fears of even those:

Like visiting your two best mates and knowing that while one of them will be cool with your choice, the other wouldn't be able to deal, and it's something you have to hide for ever. And not just from him, from everyone, obviously. But not just the fact that you are sleeping with men for money. You have to hide the money too, and the clothes, and your movements half the time.

For example:

What exactly do you say to your new housemate, as you come home from work, in the early hours when he inquires about your night. I say: "I've been to stay with a old girlfriend from school" - then 5 minutes later he busts into the bathroom whilst you are still struggling out of a breath-restricting La Perla corset with matching teal lace trimmed knickers and stockings? Girlfriend from school, my arse. Unless he holds tight to the College girls gone wild! school of thought, you're in for some curious sideways glances, and your own paranoid thoughts late at night about the whole world finding out...

God, if I had it my way the whole world would know, and respect it too. This is part of the reason I began this blog today, my two cents, venting, my own perspective on an age-old trade. Geez, I know I'm not setting the world on fire, but I like the idea of having POV when alot of workers voices are stifled by puritans and bigots. ANYWAY.

So... The old secret life thing comes at a cost. It requires sometimes imaginative excuses, a pinch of deceit and a daily memo to self to cover your tracks. So far, no one has burst my bubble, so to speak.

Close calls though...

1.

Housemate (Laughing innocently): "Why are there 15 g-strings on the line? I thought you wore Bonds."

Marmalade (me): "Sale at Siren Doll, 75% off. I wash everything before I wear it."

2.

Dad: "Where the hell did you get the money to buy your mother something from Tiffany's on Centerlink?!

Me: "I won a scratchie, Dad. (I seriously said that, fuck).

3.

Receptionist at swish Melbourne hotel: "Can I help you?"

Stiletto-clad Marmalade: " No thank you, I'm just heading back to my room." Said as I glide into... the service lift used by staff for laundry and the room-service trolley. Suave.

Oh well, it's all character building ain't it? He he.

The positive side is that I have earned a lot of cash in a small amount of time, matured and gained perspective on and access to a different lifestyle and a different world. When I compare sex work to, say, my former job as a waitress in a upmarket restaurant, comparatively, I find sex more rewarding. Why?

1. ... Financially of course, I earn the wage I made in a stunning Melbourne restaurant in a 50 hour week in around two hours now.

2. ....Independence. I own my own business, and it has been empowering to suddenly be in charge of my own (so grown up - he he) life. No more rosters, no more weekend work if I don't want it, just a work phone and a laptop and a pretty hefty cab charge card.

3. Men. Now this is where I have had my little old misconceptions shattered. I thought I would meet the biggest jerks as an escort. I was wrong. I might still, but I haven't yet. Compared to some of the guys I've dealt with as a waitress for $18.70 an hour, the punters are amazingly lovely.

Here's an example:

How many times did I experience the following scenario? A table of businessmen on a Friday lunch, perving at my arse, and snickering between themselves about wanting to “tap that”, getting progressively more lewd and sozzled on some lovely full-bodied reds, while I act the servile (fuming) professional, offering port and cheese, while they blatantly stare at my tits? Only to leave an hour later, with food flecked ties and a drunken wink or two across the room in my direction.

Oh, but that’s to be expected. We looked after these types as best we could and laughed off their half-attempts to pull us. They are allowed to be drunk and puerile and chauvinistic over a long business lunch. Provided they left a handsome tip, it was all part and parcel.

See what I’m getting at? Do you think, even one of these businessman would have been willing to pay me $1000 to spend a couple of hours in the sack with him now? Maybe one out of twenty, but hey, now it’s my livelihood, and this is why it’s better than pouring wine and clearing plates:

Imagine: I arrive at his hotel door, dressed to the nines, hair blow-waved, lips pouted, little black dress covering the white silk and lace that cost me a small fortune. I’m there to serve him, yeah sure in a much more intimate way than in the restaurant, but you think the dynamic would be the same, no? The entree and aperitifs, the main course, enjoyed with enthusiasm...

Yeah. Similar, one thing being different.

The power dynamic.

As a waitress, I’m providing a service that is entirely based on professional demands, upholding the restaurant’s reputation, a cog in a machine which provides and experience similar to what the customer had last time, thus pleasing the customer. I run around, fetch, placate, pour wine, describe way the beef is aged, blah blah.

As a private companion, a sex worker, I am providing a service that is based purely on personal demands of the client, discussed or alluded to beforehand, tailored to his desires, yet guided by my own professional boundries. So, he likes kissing for a while, dirty talk, suspenders, you get the picture. I am not a cog in a machine, I am the experience. The product. This is more of an empowering thing than you think.

At least now I'm being paid to be objectified.

What people don't seem to realise is that once I walk through that hotel doorway, I hold the weight of power in my hands. We play by my rules, and this is a business transaction. This man is paying me for sex, and good, upmarket sex, at that. Why? Because he is ugly or fat or depraved. God, no. Well not really in my experience.

He might be too busy to pick up in a bar, lonely on a business trip, craving affection, living a fantasy, whatever. But it doesn't matter, it's not about that on their side, it's about my professionalism and their lust and how it all melds together into a happy picture of two willing parties.

Punters, men, such as the business men I described in restaurant deal in an economy of business, when they book you, they respect that you are trading something, that this is a transaction, and truly, I have never been treated as poorly in the bedroom with one of these men, as I was when I worked in that restaurant.

The pack-mentality he might have had with his pissed collegues in the restaurant has vanished, the man in front of you has transformed into a grateful, polite and, yes very hungry gentleman. A man like this, a powerful affluent man, the broker of many a deal, he might be afraid to touch you, to begin the transaction...

Now, unlike when I was waitressing or doing data entry, or working at a call centre, to get through my education, I don’t leave work feeling shit and too worn out to study.

Now, I might leave work having drunk half a bottle of Moet, with 10 crisp green notes in my purse, having met a polite, busy, wealthy man for 30 minutes of OK/good/great/amazing sex, and an hour and a half of chatting and generally flirting.

Instead of sitting in a cubicle, trying to sell electricity plans over the phone to busy and hassled householders, I might have learned a little today about the pressures of working in finance, and the best place to stay in Ko Samui, and of course, the perfect way to seduce a stockbrocker with penchant for the reserve view of a tanned backside.

I might hail a taxi in front of the Park Hyatt, stopping at David Jones food hall to buy a Alsatian Pinot Gris and a hefty piece of Pont L’evuque on his recommendation. I might arrive home and take off the stilettos, put the outfit aside for dry-cleaning. I'll definitely put on Morcheeba and open the wine and chat to my housemate about the coming week. We’ll go to the gym and work off the amazing cheese we are about to indulge in, hopefully catching a few Melbourne rays, maybe going to see Augie March if we are both free.

I think about the freedom this line of work provides me with, the money means I am more secure financially than I could hope to be even with my degree finished in a year. I think about the amazing ignorance of so many people I know, that the money isn’t worth it, that only girls with low-self esteem or “issues” do it.

That prostitution is degrading.

Ha.

Degrading?

Sure, if someone wanted to shit on your chest, and you let them because you were coerced into doing stuff you didn't want to by a pushy agent. That’s degrading, though some people’s cup of tea, and yes, I respect the variety, though it’s not for me.

I make my rules for the bedroom. They are clear. I partake in vanilla sex, good, erotic fun without kink.

The fantasy my clients pay for is clear-cut. I am an attractive, young woman with a healthy appetite for pleasing men sexually in exchange for money. I am a hooker. A well dressed, polished, articulate, intelligent whore. Some men like that. That’s why they pay.

I often wonder what exactly the degrading part of sex work is, to the general public?

Is it the money, or is it the sex?

Personally, I believe if I took away the money, then I might become confused about with why I am having sex with all of these strange men. But I get paid, and I know why I have chosen this path. Do you think would do it without the cash?

Take away the money, and I’ve got myself a one night stand, without the Louis Vuitton, overseas holidays and five year business plan. Just a one night stand.

And how many of us have done one of those for free?

The bottom line is sex is in our face everywhere. But y'know, I still can't get my head around why there is more offence mustered at mention of the sex work taboo subject of sex work when the good ol' Aussie lifestyle, beer swilling and pub crawls and bucks and hens nights produces the schlock that is Big Brother Up Late. I spin out about people freaking about people like me, then sitting down to enjoy a good dose of the televisual rubbish that mainstreamed the term "turkeyslap".

I'm not offended by much, I am by that.

The message sex invokes in the public sphere may be controversial: as confronting as Bill Henson, or as insipidly provocative as Sam Newman's verbal diarrhoea. But it's there, as I said in our faces, I just like to think that maybe this little musing thing I'm creating might give someone a bit of insight into the bizarre, lovely and scary world that no-one really seems to talk about.

I am a sex worker. I am educated, switched on and I promote positive attitudes about my line of work in my personal and professional life. Sex is all around me, yeah, but somehow since I began doing this, the way I see sex, and all it entails has shifted, and to me a one night stand has taken on a whole different meaning.

________________________________________________________________

*Yes, I know sorry for the tacky reference. As an aside, though few and far between, the Richard Gere-esque clients do exist. Of course, not in terms of combined physical appearance and financial status, he he, but in terms of falling for the working lady. It’s an interesting, dangerous, dynamic, something which has not happened to me, but I have heard many a story about a working girl, a black AMEX, and head-to-toe Oscar De La Renta. I wish. Fingers crossed.

Instead, those moments of downtime are mine again, spent waiting, thinking, or distracted with something not so external: my iPod or DS. One could argue that those distractions are just as guilty of disconnecting oneself from one's immediate surroundings, but I would argue they're fundamentally different from the grasping at familiar territory that the cell phone represents. This is probably an artificial distinction made only to argue my own electronic device guilt away, but it's there nonetheless.

I revel in the fact that I find the cell phone an unnecessary affectation. I make use of others' phones should the circumstances require it; after all, everyone else is operating on the premise that they have the possibility of direct communication with everyone they know and plan (or don't plan) accordingly. But my personal life has been unaffected by my lack of a cell phone, and I don't really have any desire to get one.

This sort of attitude has led me to be mildly irate with others when they enter their cell phone worlds, removing themselves from current surroundings to text or talk when other people are immediately there. Casual conversations in the car are the worst, since those not on the phone are now captive audience to one half of what is most likely a banal conversation better had at home in the company of no one else. That sort of space isn't sacred, but there's something intruding on the nature of that physical space in a way that's unsettling. Better discussions of cell phone manners have been had elsewhere, and this notion of private and public space blending is a common thread in the recent writing on cell phones.

My thought is that the notions of connected and disconnected are very relative. «»

SNL skid with Sarah Palin - hysterical, each time I watch it it gets funnier... 

Facebook.com - just doing updates, and checking out to see new friends...

BusinessWeek.com - reading on technology updates, and I am cheking out their link building service...

Miley Cyrus celebrates Sweet 16 at Disneyland - http://music.yahoo.com/read/news/45612992 ...

Alive From New York, Fey's Palin Paces SNL - http://www.eonline.com/uberblog/b32628_alive_from_new_york_feys_palin_paces_snl.html

Google adwords keyword tool - https://adwords.google.com/select/KeywordToolExternal

1 in 4 Mammals may be threatened - http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/07/science/earth/07mammal.html?hp

Looking at them - seems like a pretty odd bunch right?

A volte sembra vero come una fucilata.

Pesci (19 febbraio - 20 marzo)

Se coltiverai il silenzio, sarai inondato di benedizioni. Non ti sto consigliando solo di ridurre il livello di rumore, ma anche di telefonare meno, di mandare meno messaggi, di ridurre del 70 per cento il tempo che passi su internet, di evitare i tg e di non frequentare persone che saltellano con la mente di qua e di là come uno scimpanzé sotto metadone. Per quanto riguarda la tua mente scimmiesca, vedi se riesci a farla riposare per un po' in un posto tranquillo stando a guardare le nuvole che passano.

I might have done it all wrong, but then I'll do better next time. I need some sort of lens that captures a wider picture, tho - what should I look for?

Friday I had my exam, and it went really well, but I felt kind of... Well, read my former post...

Then I had a date, which was really nice. We met at the harbour, but ended up going to a café in the centre of Roskilde, before picking up our kids and then headed to the swimming pool for the rest of the afternoon. Again had a great time, but I was DEAD the rest of that Friday.

Saturday I frantically went to Ro's Torv (shopping center) to pick up a few items, like a new evening top, a dress and some hair accesories. I got the hair stuff, but the rest... No... But a cute shirt for Helena.

Then home again, trying to make the apartment look decent, before my girls came.

They arrived, two Swedish girls and one Korean. We had a great time, gossiping, developing theories on everything from penis sizes to men's interest in car tires. Don't ask, it was very complicated, and you have to have a certain amount of oestrogen in your body to understand. Karin and Jenny (the Swedish league) had brought Kanelbullar (cinnamon buns), so we started of by eating those, then we went on to cooking a lot of Korean food under supervision and help from Minwha (my Korean friend), and it came out okay.

Then I dropped of Helena at my dad's place, and went back home to the ladies, got all dolled up to go out, and then we went out... First a stop at a café in Copenhagen, primarily to get a kiss, and then we went on to Kellerdirk, which is a small, cosy night club in Copenhagen. An old friend from college met us there, and guess what... Abba jam was on!!! Jeeez!!!

But it was really fun, and it was five in the morning, before I was in bed, so I was really tired all day yesterday. We went out for brunch, but to be honest... I have no idea, what I had to eat or if it was tasty or not.

Back home I spend the afternoon sleeping, reconstructing my apartment and getting stuff ready for today. Later on an old friend of mine, Thomas came over and hung out. It was really nice, and he ended up staying over, and leaving really early this morning.

Now I am class... Having no clue what is going on, or rather feeling like it is a waste of time, since we only have three weeks to prepare this next synopsis, before we have yet another exam in the start of November. I will be in a three person group this time, but I know the girls, and they are even some of my friends in my private life, so I am not concerned at all.

Language class tonight... I really hope, I can keep up!

And... short visit tonight as well.

Tomorrow we plant the visit a shopping mall to get some new SD-Cards for our digi cams and some mini DVDs for the camcorder - Yes, they are already full and yes, after one of the three weeks! ;). In the afternoon we want to visit Bel Air and Santa Monica beach and of course sunset strip where we, or at least I hope to see some stars! Currently everything is fine over here and on Tuesday we're going on with our journey to Joshua Tree National Park and Laughlin in Nevada where we'll spend the night.

I hope I get another chance to get an internet connection (yeah.... in the hotel in LA we don't have free access to the WLAN :( ) to post some more updates!

Till then I can just one thing say: Have fun!

finalmente en el frontis de la Iglesia

que ya hace mucho que aprendí a volar y muy bien.

Mientras, sin que lo notes,

vuelo bajito para estar junto a vos.

La suite, dans le reste de l'article

DD:Doing Different: Livedoor Readerに戻るべきか？ LDR touchリリース！！

Bylineを購入したのに・・・、とも考えたのですが、Bylineについては違うFEEDを読ませようかとも思っています。

”ピン機能”、この一つの機能につきるのですが、この機能をやはり僕としては使いたいという感じでしょうか。

まあ面倒なんですが、ここ1ヶ月くらいはそうは言ってもGoogle Readerのフィードは削除せずに置いておこうと思ってます。（また、戻るかもしれないし。その時はBylineのバージョンアップのタイミングかもしれませんね^^;）