<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;C04FSX49eip7ImA9WhRRFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652</id><updated>2011-11-28T00:58:38.062Z</updated><category term="lies" /><category term="statistics" /><category term="numbers" /><title>Nothing out of the ordinary</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>52</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/WBjCN" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/wbjcn" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEDQH84eip7ImA9Wx5SFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-7162447910441760880</id><published>2010-08-11T21:19:00.005Z</published><updated>2010-08-11T22:44:31.132Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-11T22:44:31.132Z</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="statistics" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lies" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="numbers" /><title>Truth hurts</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/7162447910441760880/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=7162447910441760880&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/7162447910441760880?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/7162447910441760880?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/c4a3I3txy58/truth-hurts.html" title="Truth hurts" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> Today I got negative feedback. Few days ago, during a meeting, after hearing lots of percentages and how they are different, I asked “did you run any significance test?“. The answer was worse than I expected: “what’s that?”. I said a plain “thank you” and tried to listen further. Someone asked “what’s a significance test?” and I said shortly “it’s a test that shows you if those numbers are 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DMYexhhihvyrH1vhK0Y5eXZqco8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DMYexhhihvyrH1vhK0Y5eXZqco8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DMYexhhihvyrH1vhK0Y5eXZqco8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DMYexhhihvyrH1vhK0Y5eXZqco8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/c4a3I3txy58" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/08/truth-hurts.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQGQHo6eip7ImA9Wx5SFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-7209185848170700359</id><published>2010-07-15T21:48:00.009Z</published><updated>2010-08-11T21:32:01.412Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-11T21:32:01.412Z</app:edited><title>Owls are not what they seem</title><link rel="related" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7ONE4JrehQ" title="Owls are not what they seem" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/7209185848170700359/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=7209185848170700359&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/7209185848170700359?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/7209185848170700359?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/nC6dkNZ7220/owls-are-not-what-they-seem.html" title="Owls are not what they seem" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">  These days I have the opportunity to watch live the TED conferences. Today, computational neuroscientist Sebastian Seung, while talking about connectome said something like “…when we’ll be able to test and prove…” At that point I had a flash: two words that sounded wired together. We can test but can we really prove?As a statistics person it just crossed my mind that every experiment designed 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AWOdD5C8U8X3mVQoFpm3ZXJ07is/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AWOdD5C8U8X3mVQoFpm3ZXJ07is/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AWOdD5C8U8X3mVQoFpm3ZXJ07is/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AWOdD5C8U8X3mVQoFpm3ZXJ07is/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/nC6dkNZ7220" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/07/owls-are-not-what-they-seem.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YDSHw4fyp7ImA9WxFaEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-4739241657107843372</id><published>2010-06-10T22:04:00.007Z</published><updated>2010-07-15T21:59:39.237Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-07-15T21:59:39.237Z</app:edited><title>The power of No</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/4739241657107843372/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=4739241657107843372&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/4739241657107843372?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/4739241657107843372?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/EgzWrncg7J4/power-of-no.html" title="The power of No" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html"> I bet at least once in your life you couldn’t say No. For example when a lady asked you “doesn’t this dress make me look slimmer?” You couldn’t say even “it seems the same to me” not to mention “No”! And I bet at least once in your life you were afraid of hearing No. Like not saying someone you have some special feelings just because you were afraid of hearing “No, I don’t share your feelings”. 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kqAshsLbp_V5JWTRaf9LkcCfxKI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kqAshsLbp_V5JWTRaf9LkcCfxKI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kqAshsLbp_V5JWTRaf9LkcCfxKI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kqAshsLbp_V5JWTRaf9LkcCfxKI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/EgzWrncg7J4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/06/power-of-no.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU4DQX06fSp7ImA9WxFVEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-5416386708360618806</id><published>2010-06-04T21:28:00.004Z</published><updated>2010-06-10T22:12:50.315Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-06-10T22:12:50.315Z</app:edited><title>To give or not to give</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/5416386708360618806/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=5416386708360618806&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5416386708360618806?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5416386708360618806?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/nL2Rdj2lPgs/to-give-or-not-to-give.html" title="To give or not to give" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> Few years ago I was commuting between two jobs by tram. I had two jobs because the full time one meant in fact just six hours of work and I had enough time to work part-time for a second company. It was a very good period of my life: both jobs offered me the opportunity to do two very different things I like, plus one was more physical while the other was more intellectual. I felt like being 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9rE3OVqWVD2SnZlqPtLZSIoG9Cc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9rE3OVqWVD2SnZlqPtLZSIoG9Cc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9rE3OVqWVD2SnZlqPtLZSIoG9Cc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9rE3OVqWVD2SnZlqPtLZSIoG9Cc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/nL2Rdj2lPgs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/06/to-give-or-not-to-give.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcHSHw5cCp7ImA9WxFWFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-2528280205587242888</id><published>2010-04-20T18:11:00.008Z</published><updated>2010-06-04T21:30:39.228Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-06-04T21:30:39.228Z</app:edited><title>Verify when you'll die</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/2528280205587242888/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=2528280205587242888&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/2528280205587242888?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/2528280205587242888?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/9YYGB_X68I0/verify-when-youll-die.html" title="Verify when you'll die" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> I’m in the mood for classical music so I was searching the Internet for the full version of Ravel’s Boléro. I have found a video with the Russian ballet so I watched. For a moment I looked on the right side of the page and saw a Google add that draw my attention - title: Verify when you’ll die, second line: Find out the date of your death, how much left for you to live. I imagined immediately 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JSLNjoY2EHQlkLbRkoC2dvcyMTc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JSLNjoY2EHQlkLbRkoC2dvcyMTc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JSLNjoY2EHQlkLbRkoC2dvcyMTc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JSLNjoY2EHQlkLbRkoC2dvcyMTc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/9YYGB_X68I0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/04/verify-when-youll-die.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUDQ3o-fCp7ImA9WxFSF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-6198327391384692595</id><published>2010-04-10T19:58:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-04-20T18:14:32.454Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-20T18:14:32.454Z</app:edited><title>Beauty is in the eyes of the reader</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/6198327391384692595/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=6198327391384692595&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/6198327391384692595?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/6198327391384692595?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/mTlODMCXuAg/beauty-is-in-eyes-of-reader.html" title="Beauty is in the eyes of the reader" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> There is about a half a year I’m watching every weekend the astrological predictions of a renowned Romanian that calls herself Urania. Her predictions are quite accurate, or at least you can recognize yourself in them. At the beginning of this year I was in a bad state of mind and I told to myself that I have to change this. So every single minute when I was unhappy of something I said to myself
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RlU4Yn5J0s1jvf6F36_t1H7Hvts/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RlU4Yn5J0s1jvf6F36_t1H7Hvts/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RlU4Yn5J0s1jvf6F36_t1H7Hvts/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RlU4Yn5J0s1jvf6F36_t1H7Hvts/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/mTlODMCXuAg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/04/beauty-is-in-eyes-of-reader.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EFRXc8eSp7ImA9WxFTGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-4247984890279008655</id><published>2010-04-07T20:13:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-04-10T20:00:14.971Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-10T20:00:14.971Z</app:edited><title>Living two lives</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/4247984890279008655/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=4247984890279008655&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/4247984890279008655?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/4247984890279008655?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/v99kA8WaQio/living-two-lives.html" title="Living two lives" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> I live in two worlds – the real one and the one in my head. At least I thought so until a while ago. The real one is in my home town. Each day I commute to get where I have to be. I walk on the streets, I take the buss or tram. Everywhere I see people. Crowd. They seldom look at me and more rarely they even see me. And those who see me look so surprised that I get surprised too. One day I 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MwJTW6paOQK5hSZDJuYmS_wPdeQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MwJTW6paOQK5hSZDJuYmS_wPdeQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MwJTW6paOQK5hSZDJuYmS_wPdeQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MwJTW6paOQK5hSZDJuYmS_wPdeQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/v99kA8WaQio" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/04/living-two-lives.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQFQ38-fCp7ImA9Wx9QFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-5636728888490229617</id><published>2010-03-30T21:50:00.008Z</published><updated>2010-12-28T09:25:12.154Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-12-28T09:25:12.154Z</app:edited><title>When a No means Yes</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/5636728888490229617/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=5636728888490229617&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5636728888490229617?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5636728888490229617?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/sNsXlR_BoF0/when-no-means-yes.html" title="When a No means Yes" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> I was reading in Tor Nørretranders’ book, The User Illusion, about the information (the embodiment of an idea, its summary or the least amount of bits needed to transmit a message that trigger a certain reality into the receptor) and about the exformation (the bits that are removed but that can be decoded by a receptor with a common codec with the transmitter). Nothing new so far – we learnt in 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1Kp4lh7r4w4s48ULQraK8CigLgg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1Kp4lh7r4w4s48ULQraK8CigLgg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/sNsXlR_BoF0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/03/when-no-means-yes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUBQnY-fCp7ImA9WxBaGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-5071763436855181280</id><published>2010-03-24T20:36:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-03-30T21:57:33.854Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-30T21:57:33.854Z</app:edited><title>Flood of feelings</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/5071763436855181280/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=5071763436855181280&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5071763436855181280?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5071763436855181280?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/7n5i4Of4l50/flood-of-feelings.html" title="Flood of feelings" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> Brain tempest, heart storm, Words caressing the soul,Sounds remembering aliveness,Inflections awakening the feelings.Emotions rising up,Flocking towards the throat,Holding fast with pain,Kept by a dam of thoughts.They crystallize into wordsLike diamonds under pressure,Making a murmur noiseIncreasing to thunder.They burst into vocables,You say them out loud,Repeat them over and overHoping to ease
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RFno42ol1PSOBUVRehfK91EoOfY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RFno42ol1PSOBUVRehfK91EoOfY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RFno42ol1PSOBUVRehfK91EoOfY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RFno42ol1PSOBUVRehfK91EoOfY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/7n5i4Of4l50" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/03/flood-of-feelings.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYCQ3w6eip7ImA9WxBaFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-5136510446992871745</id><published>2010-02-23T20:10:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-03-24T20:39:22.212Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-24T20:39:22.212Z</app:edited><title>Unspoken words</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/5136510446992871745/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=5136510446992871745&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5136510446992871745?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5136510446992871745?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/0HoKhkGksD4/unspoken-words.html" title="Unspoken words" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> Three little words carrying a universe of feelingsnever articulated but floating always around us,they were never uttered nor whispered,they were never even thought but just felt.You carried me into your arms when I was sick,you caressed me gently when I was sad,you taught me to get up when I was falling down,you showed me how to be a human.But you never said those three words.I worked with you,
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eSgL3AKgHgZDRvtSPWcecbx3PBc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eSgL3AKgHgZDRvtSPWcecbx3PBc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eSgL3AKgHgZDRvtSPWcecbx3PBc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eSgL3AKgHgZDRvtSPWcecbx3PBc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/0HoKhkGksD4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2010/02/unspoken-words.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYDRnYycSp7ImA9WxBVGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-7713182420546265500</id><published>2008-12-29T12:26:00.006Z</published><updated>2010-02-23T20:16:17.899Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-23T20:16:17.899Z</app:edited><title>Sounds</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/7713182420546265500/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=7713182420546265500&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/7713182420546265500?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/7713182420546265500?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/HsyRMqCbxUQ/sounds.html" title="Sounds" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> Denaturized Christmas carolshounding your brains out,too much drum beats, too little melody.A cohort of nervous, puzzled dogs barking even louder.The always drunk neighbor shouting and cursing at the same hour,heating your adrenaline till the point of boiling.Saw and hammer screechesscratching your overloaded brain.All of a sudden, a miracle lasting about an hour:the perfect sound of 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XhKDDpAYnEl8OTUwXHwrdqP3s0E/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XhKDDpAYnEl8OTUwXHwrdqP3s0E/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XhKDDpAYnEl8OTUwXHwrdqP3s0E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XhKDDpAYnEl8OTUwXHwrdqP3s0E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/HsyRMqCbxUQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2008/12/sounds.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0MARnw6eSp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-2530084519694204922</id><published>2008-11-27T22:33:00.005Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:04:07.211Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:04:07.211Z</app:edited><title>Déjà vu</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/2530084519694204922/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=2530084519694204922&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/2530084519694204922?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/2530084519694204922?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/2KdY862sTPc/dj-vu_27.html" title="Déjà vu" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> When past amalgamates with the present, when fulfilled past wishes mix with the current ones, when future emerges from lost thoughts, an avalanche of words floods your head, a paralyzing sickness, a déjà vu sensation freezes you, making you feel like trapped in a certain moment in time. If you struggle to escape you'll feel nausea and even more trapped, so you'll fight back even harder. Like in 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/04Pkf67Molu_YYEzdUZoGmx1Yzc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/04Pkf67Molu_YYEzdUZoGmx1Yzc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/04Pkf67Molu_YYEzdUZoGmx1Yzc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/04Pkf67Molu_YYEzdUZoGmx1Yzc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/2KdY862sTPc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2008/11/dj-vu_27.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IHSXs8cSp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-5664027465903783989</id><published>2008-01-22T11:13:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:05:38.579Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:05:38.579Z</app:edited><title>Empty words</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/5664027465903783989/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=5664027465903783989&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5664027465903783989?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/5664027465903783989?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/all_Fy_F4Dc/empty-words-vibrating-like-broken.html" title="Empty words" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Empty words, vibrating like a broken church bellShallow words caressing and petting our egoFlooding words overrunning our brainsNasty words tormenting our soulWords of hate, words of loveWords of rage, words of pityWords of folly, words of wisdomWords of sorrow, words of joyWords in life and words in deathWe cannot live withoutWe cannot die withoutWe aren’t entirely happy or sad withoutWe fight 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ueKAXAvbVLSNKZfex8kVDrlgafQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ueKAXAvbVLSNKZfex8kVDrlgafQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ueKAXAvbVLSNKZfex8kVDrlgafQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ueKAXAvbVLSNKZfex8kVDrlgafQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/all_Fy_F4Dc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2008/01/empty-words-vibrating-like-broken.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ICQXs_cSp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-116413937774740634</id><published>2006-11-21T22:00:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:06:00.549Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:06:00.549Z</app:edited><title>VIP - a benefit or a handicap?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/116413937774740634/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=116413937774740634&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/116413937774740634?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/116413937774740634?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/aIOd-dH7KWU/vip-benefit-or-handicap.html" title="VIP - a benefit or a handicap?" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Every human has dreamed at least once to become famous. Some were famous even as children. Some struggles and schemes to become famous. A chief, a manger, a leader. Something. But it's not so simple: you can learn and graduate several schools but you might end up as unknown as any other guy. On the other hand, you can become the center of your society without any effort and moreover, without 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JNLPj9IHmYa7dYn4TBYJPkGc5eQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JNLPj9IHmYa7dYn4TBYJPkGc5eQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JNLPj9IHmYa7dYn4TBYJPkGc5eQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JNLPj9IHmYa7dYn4TBYJPkGc5eQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/aIOd-dH7KWU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/11/vip-benefit-or-handicap.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EGSXo9fip7ImA9WBBXEU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115869409341268900</id><published>2006-09-19T19:26:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-21T20:07:08.466Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-11-21T20:07:08.466Z</app:edited><title>Silver and Gold</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115869409341268900?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115869409341268900?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/5O53CBDtcCc/silver-and-gold.html" title="Silver and Gold" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><content type="html">moon and suncold and warmrebellion and acceptationdrown and burnblack and color-teen and -typessimism and optimismwater and fire &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous | Back to summary | Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z_dhcptn3BXiNOU9LRsR2Z56vU8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z_dhcptn3BXiNOU9LRsR2Z56vU8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z_dhcptn3BXiNOU9LRsR2Z56vU8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z_dhcptn3BXiNOU9LRsR2Z56vU8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/5O53CBDtcCc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/09/silver-and-gold.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0INQn49eip7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115826030551233473</id><published>2006-09-14T21:49:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:06:33.062Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:06:33.062Z</app:edited><title>BBC Statistics</title><link rel="related" href="http://www.bbcworldpanel.com/reports.php" title="BBC Statistics" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115826030551233473/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115826030551233473&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115826030551233473?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115826030551233473?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/8_FOKXyOsjk/bbc-statistics.html" title="BBC Statistics" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">First get your facts; then you can distort them at your leisure.Mark TwainMore quotesIn August 2006 BBC World conducted the Peacemakers survey. The figures are interesting. Some are as we might expect but others are surprising. Let’s see:It’s not surprising to see that the top three qualities a Peacemaker should have are Problem solving, Persuasive skills and Judgement. But we may ask why 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1Tw8NmjHM35bhpBhRjQ_gGv8FPQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1Tw8NmjHM35bhpBhRjQ_gGv8FPQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1Tw8NmjHM35bhpBhRjQ_gGv8FPQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1Tw8NmjHM35bhpBhRjQ_gGv8FPQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/8_FOKXyOsjk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/09/bbc-statistics.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YFQn8yfip7ImA9WBNbEks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115605900407270340</id><published>2006-08-20T10:26:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-09-14T19:11:53.196Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-09-14T19:11:53.196Z</app:edited><title>Statement</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115605900407270340?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115605900407270340?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/FmuJij48K3U/statement.html" title="Statement" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><content type="html">There are just few hours till my train will leave. After a week in the mountains at the summer school I'll fly to my wet recurring dream: the sea. This time the Aegean one.If I won't come back, if you have no news about me or just bad news don't be scared. I have no unfinished businesses with this world. No debts. No unkept promises. Of course I have lots of plans, much more than I ever had 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5E-LITBWUfcZSwsBNXvgfDN_KJc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5E-LITBWUfcZSwsBNXvgfDN_KJc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5E-LITBWUfcZSwsBNXvgfDN_KJc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5E-LITBWUfcZSwsBNXvgfDN_KJc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/FmuJij48K3U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/08/statement.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EGSXszeip7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115591303476958173</id><published>2006-08-18T17:56:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:07:08.582Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:07:08.582Z</app:edited><title>I was walking in sunshine…</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115591303476958173/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115591303476958173&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115591303476958173?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115591303476958173?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/9xVdVj3E5S0/i-was-walking-in-sunshine.html" title="I was walking in sunshine…" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">...  heading for home. The soft ray of the afternoon sun tenderly caressed my skin but hurt my eyes. So, I surrendered and I closed them. Being unable to see a thing with my eyes I started to see with my soul. Not only that I managed to avoid any obstacle but I also managed to see myself inside. I was pleasantly surprised realizing that I like what I see.Happiness. No yearning. Fulfillment. No 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/68WIdIKWb4XYJruRFosrrM2TKqo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/68WIdIKWb4XYJruRFosrrM2TKqo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/68WIdIKWb4XYJruRFosrrM2TKqo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/68WIdIKWb4XYJruRFosrrM2TKqo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/9xVdVj3E5S0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/08/i-was-walking-in-sunshine.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EAR3c9fyp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115524073289337507</id><published>2006-08-10T20:08:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:07:26.967Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:07:26.967Z</app:edited><title>Numbness</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115524073289337507/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115524073289337507&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115524073289337507?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115524073289337507?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/zrI_BG0ixdo/numbness.html" title="Numbness" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">High heels. Impeccable pedicure. Nail polish almost the same shade with the skin and also with sandals’ color. Her toes, straight, in harmony with each other, following beautifully the line of the sole. Thin ankles, pleasant curves, nice knees. It was a sight that you hardly find even on models. I felt the urge to see her face. So, I raised my eyes slowly, admiring her elegant yet not fancy 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Xl1T-WTjB799kV1yNWAL3Bm60vU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Xl1T-WTjB799kV1yNWAL3Bm60vU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Xl1T-WTjB799kV1yNWAL3Bm60vU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Xl1T-WTjB799kV1yNWAL3Bm60vU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/zrI_BG0ixdo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/08/numbness.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ECQ3g_eSp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115515350236071996</id><published>2006-08-09T19:54:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:07:42.641Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:07:42.641Z</app:edited><title>Wonder</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115515350236071996/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115515350236071996&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115515350236071996?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115515350236071996?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/duAjVT4PxzY/wonder.html" title="Wonder" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Can they die twice?! &amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous | Back to summary | Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3E5XXQkV1nlvJdO3QIQpH2EfWVA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3E5XXQkV1nlvJdO3QIQpH2EfWVA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3E5XXQkV1nlvJdO3QIQpH2EfWVA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3E5XXQkV1nlvJdO3QIQpH2EfWVA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/duAjVT4PxzY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/08/wonder.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EDR3g8cCp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115502142632657458</id><published>2006-08-08T07:15:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:07:56.678Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:07:56.678Z</app:edited><title>Melancholia</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115502142632657458/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115502142632657458&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115502142632657458?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115502142632657458?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/oE_xAyY0ez8/melancholia.html" title="Melancholia" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Each summer end is a new fall falling over my soul like a waterfall, washing away my hopes. The only hard rock hope is the thought that a new summer is yet to come!&amp;lt;&amp;lt; Previous | Back to summary | Next &amp;gt;&amp;gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gCJlC74JrtO3j64_GMxLAQTJY58/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gCJlC74JrtO3j64_GMxLAQTJY58/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gCJlC74JrtO3j64_GMxLAQTJY58/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gCJlC74JrtO3j64_GMxLAQTJY58/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/oE_xAyY0ez8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/08/melancholia.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ENRXw4eSp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115446763035056270</id><published>2006-08-02T01:00:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:08:14.231Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:08:14.231Z</app:edited><title>A quiet scream for help</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115446763035056270/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115446763035056270&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115446763035056270?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115446763035056270?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/bxmOPkEU5S0/quiet-scream-for-help.html" title="A quiet scream for help" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Prompters are bleeding words of death, scratching my eyes, stabbing my soul.Radio news are flowing slowly but steadilylike drying blood, poisoning the air.Apocalypse images are wounding TV screensshowing a palpable nightmare.I'm just sitting staring at the wall.The inner wall.Can I cross it? Can I break it?What should I do? How should I act? If I would turn my words into bombsit'll be useless: 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KYjkhZ7kcIiJny9i-GY18APeHEQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KYjkhZ7kcIiJny9i-GY18APeHEQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KYjkhZ7kcIiJny9i-GY18APeHEQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KYjkhZ7kcIiJny9i-GY18APeHEQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/bxmOPkEU5S0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/08/quiet-scream-for-help.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0AFQHk9fyp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115446522740491821</id><published>2006-08-01T23:37:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:08:31.767Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:08:31.767Z</app:edited><title>Freedom</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115446522740491821/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115446522740491821&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115446522740491821?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115446522740491821?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/H-uRLc-8fww/freedom.html" title="Freedom" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">1986, Romania under Ceauşescu’s dictatorship, first philosophy seminarShe entered the class, no books, no papers. - Our theme today is freedom. Can anyone define freedom?Nobody dared to answer. She asked again.One rebel colleague shouted:- Freedom is to be able to do everything!- But you are able to kill, right? Does this make you free?- I meant to be allowed to do everything!- Let's say you are 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-tN9dUE5WB-oN6BYBw_RxHGoiQE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-tN9dUE5WB-oN6BYBw_RxHGoiQE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-tN9dUE5WB-oN6BYBw_RxHGoiQE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-tN9dUE5WB-oN6BYBw_RxHGoiQE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/H-uRLc-8fww" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/08/freedom.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0AAQHozeSp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115437272833694347</id><published>2006-07-31T18:58:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:09:01.481Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:09:01.481Z</app:edited><title>37</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115437272833694347/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115437272833694347&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115437272833694347?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115437272833694347?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/HVBfp833G9k/37.html" title="37" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">37 what? No, it's not my age.Could it be the 37 years that passed from the Six-Day War?Close but not!It's a prime number, right?Yes, but 37 what?I'll give you a hint: 37 out of 52.52 might be a deck of cards but 37? Maybe 36!?No, 37!I don't know any game with 37.It's not a game though some might take it as a game.Can you play it just with cards?No, they usually play it with guns!And who wins?
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mETCp5WK-7D3Q4O2ATVYOoisq2I/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mETCp5WK-7D3Q4O2ATVYOoisq2I/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/HVBfp833G9k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/07/37.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ACQ3gyfSp7ImA9WxBWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30529652.post-115417566671272076</id><published>2006-07-29T15:17:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-07T19:09:22.695Z</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-07T19:09:22.695Z</app:edited><title>The ring</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/feeds/115417566671272076/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30529652&amp;postID=115417566671272076&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115417566671272076?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30529652/posts/default/115417566671272076?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~3/oZ_VGiKHuts/ring.html" title="The ring" /><author><name>Sanda</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">New Year's Eve. She said to herself  "This year I'll gonna marry!" knowing that isn't even the slightest possibility. She decided to put an end to those three years of nonvoluntary celibacy. She knew that there was no chance to do it but she set herself this goal. All her friends were married, all her friends' friends were married. Where would she might meet a decent guy? Three months she was 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QsHhTA-N7zeLpq0c-uB1ZAWaqSo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QsHhTA-N7zeLpq0c-uB1ZAWaqSo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/WBjCN/~4/oZ_VGiKHuts" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://sandavladescu.blogspot.com/2006/07/ring.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

