I remember how a colleague from the University came to scandalized class because his little brother played Big Brother in the courtyard of school. In 2001, 2002, it was no longer profitable to saturate the grill with cartoons. As of 2008, the kids arrived at the Institute’s house and tasted the philias and phobias of the little ones of . In that program, “you are not my prototype” began, and almost 20 years later, I continue to visualize the Emilio Robot receiving the rejection with melancholic resignation.
Those who currently compete in realities They have grown up with this program, but also with a free education for all. They do not know how to combine irregular verbs, or make subordinate. That for the professors. A few days ago I had a rifirrafe with Marta Riesco, my favorite character of the “off mediaset”, that muse that is at the same time a Heroine of Scott Fitzgerald fallen in disgrace and an unlikely reporter canyon that could well have left the pen of. I regretted that the journalist had conjugated a verb badly, and she said they were the hours of direct. I will not be the one who machaizes Riesco (for that needy there are already his two most misogynist partners), but whoever indicates that the level, Nor we were (Channel Ten), it is very small, no matter how good entertainment product that is. If the dictionary could be a natural person, he would denounce that panda of orange and tangerines for crimes against humanity. In the answers, a very frequent accusation: to ask for grammatical correction to a journalist is classism. As if speaking one’s language with the solvency of a primary child was a privilege reserved for elites. A people who have paid a body rubber body (and I do not talk about Riesco) is so poor that they have not been able to go to school, but to a cosmetic surgery clinic. In a talk of the, he said they had us Said that culture was a flame that had to be carried and that nobody wants it now and nobody cares. The light of civilization, the one that separated the monsters from ignorance for millennia, is now a class, expendable. “Where there is a comic, tomorrow there will be a book,” said an ad. But where there is nothing, tomorrow there will be nothing.
