<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913</id><updated>2011-07-08T00:44:42.808-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Nilmar Barcelos</title><subtitle type='html'>Comunicação, antropologia, artes</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-7486210791914550906</id><published>2010-05-27T11:06:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:15:18.193-03:00</updated><title type='text'>I4. Japão, a grande angular de Wim Wenders</title><summary type='text'>Nos documentários Tokyo-ga e Anotações sobre roupas e cidades, o diretor alemão Wim Wenders revela uma Tóquio muito além de Paris ou TexasEspada da penitência (Zange no yaiba, 1927), Sonhos de juventude (Wakodo no yume, 1928), Casal em mudanças (Hikkoshi fufu, 1928), Corpo belo (Nikutaibi, 1928), Esposa perdida (Nyobo funshitsu, 1928), Abóbora (Kabocha, 1928), Dias de juventude (Wakaki hi, 1929),</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/7486210791914550906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/7486210791914550906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2010_05_01_archive.html#7486210791914550906' title='I4. Japão, a grande angular de Wim Wenders'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/S_587mFG65I/AAAAAAAAAVk/c8p6yTW3O9A/s72-c/yohji-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-3116020439298287125</id><published>2008-09-01T23:22:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2010-07-03T09:50:23.081-03:00</updated><title type='text'>13. A regressão de Assis</title><summary type='text'>Após vitoriosa incursão                  político-discursiva no filme Amarelo Manga, o diretor pernambucano                  Cláudio Assis se perde em meio ao panfletário mundo                  de Baixio das Bestas e renega o cinema como arte“Amarelo é a cor das                  mesas, dos bancos, dos tamboretes, dos cabos das peixeiras, da                  enxada e da estrovenga. Do carro-de-boi</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/3116020439298287125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/3116020439298287125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_09_01_archive.html#3116020439298287125' title='13. A regressão de Assis'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/S5-ITGp3-RI/AAAAAAAAATM/hj6OspY1bC8/s72-c/assis.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-8982592747659712360</id><published>2008-08-03T18:26:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:20:18.103-03:00</updated><title type='text'>I2. A cabo: 25 anos privatizando o “rock”</title><summary type='text'>Shows de rock produzidos                        por grandes conglomerados de comunicação,                        como o Sky Live Titãs e Paralamas, só me fazem                        pensar que, em tal relação “naturalmente”                        contraditória, o que existe de fato é uma                        busca de reavivar aquilo que jaz sôfrego e moribundo                        na cama - </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/8982592747659712360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/8982592747659712360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#8982592747659712360' title='I2. A cabo: 25 anos privatizando o “rock”'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/SJYi_hCvyOI/AAAAAAAAAMA/0-RCFC9nmpI/s72-c/5.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-8650904163073970775</id><published>2008-08-03T18:12:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:36:39.187-03:00</updated><title type='text'>1I. Otto, o combatente nordestino</title><summary type='text'>Se Jorge Mautner é realmente o homem mais livre do mundo, como ele mesmo se auto-intitula, este artista pernambucano poderia candidatar-se ao cargo de homem mais sereno, simples, sincero, simpático, entre outros tantos “s”.Após energético e divertido show no Mangue Beat in Concert, nos camarins da Concha Acústica (Salvador), tal músico, transbordando calmaria, concede entrevista para a revista </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/8650904163073970775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/8650904163073970775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#8650904163073970775' title='1I. Otto, o combatente nordestino'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/SJYfl1CU75I/AAAAAAAAAL4/EcN8ie03Img/s72-c/4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-4092649503062149618</id><published>2008-08-03T17:57:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:41:01.106-03:00</updated><title type='text'>1O. Corpo fechado, invasões pernambucanas</title><summary type='text'>Sob                        comando do "selvagem imperador" Otto Maximiliano                        Pereira de Cordeiro Ferreira e a "tropa" Mundo                        Livre S/A, Salvador é tomada de assalto no Mangue                        Beat in Concert, show-homenagem aos dez anos sem Chico ScienceDe costas para a famosa casa                        de shows Concha Acústica, em Salvador, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/4092649503062149618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/4092649503062149618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#4092649503062149618' title='1O. Corpo fechado, invasões pernambucanas'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/SJYcArHNceI/AAAAAAAAALw/pXPp5E1nzLU/s72-c/3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-1348157687908394875</id><published>2008-08-03T17:42:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:38:48.427-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o9. Baleiro mundo-cão, com credenciais</title><summary type='text'>Vira-latas, acorrentado                        a uma credencial que, paradoxalmente, concedia-me livre                        acesso às balas azedas, doces e, muitas vezes, amargas                        do ex-proprietário da doceria maranhense Fazdocinhá                        e grande artista brasileiro ”Zé” Ribamar                        Coelho SantosPessoa muito especial. Very</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/1348157687908394875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/1348157687908394875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#1348157687908394875' title='o9. Baleiro mundo-cão, com credenciais'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/SJYY11bWRUI/AAAAAAAAALo/UbVN9DS_wIM/s72-c/2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-5847277351745058774</id><published>2008-08-03T17:18:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:39:43.070-03:00</updated><title type='text'>08. Entre Tóquio e Salvador, escalas de uma longa ponte chamada desconstrução</title><summary type='text'>Após oito anos da árdua tentativa wenderiana                        de relatar, pela ótica alemã, uma Tóquio                        nostálgica e já não existente no documentário                        Tokyo-Ga (1985), a diretora americana Sofia Coppola repete                        a tarefa e traz a tona sua síntese por meio da ficção                        Lost in translation (2003): um Japão </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/5847277351745058774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/5847277351745058774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#5847277351745058774' title='08. Entre Tóquio e Salvador, escalas de uma longa ponte chamada desconstrução'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/SJYStDwBOGI/AAAAAAAAALg/9LDKLWe7A6k/s72-c/1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-7406038403647204472</id><published>2008-08-02T19:47:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:42:58.004-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o7. Catarse coletiva: o delírio no verbo falar</title><summary type='text'>Cia. Pierrot Lunar coloca espectadores em situações nada confortáveis com a peça “Atrás dos olhos das meninas sérias”, gerando ácidas reflexões sobre temas existenciais como a felicidade e o sofrimentoUm lugar pequeno. Cerca de 80 pessoas em meio à escuridão. Uns sentados em cadeiras, outros acomodados em almofadas espalhadas pelo chão. No centro - enquanto uma sonoplastia minimalista simula o </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/7406038403647204472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/7406038403647204472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#7406038403647204472' title='o7. Catarse coletiva: o delírio no verbo falar'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/S5-T9zHlXwI/AAAAAAAAATU/GGIiyNQrc2Q/s72-c/AtrasdosOlhos031.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-3749314957614949651</id><published>2008-08-02T18:32:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:51:18.771-03:00</updated><title type='text'>06. O homem dos mil braços</title><summary type='text'>“A nossa crítica                        chega a ser estúpida porque ela não cumpre                        função nenhuma, a não ser de sustentar                        uma visão parcial e totalmente subjetiva”. É                        com essa contundente frase e propriedade de causa - quatro                        premiações e onze peças teatrais no                        currículo, entre </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/3749314957614949651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/3749314957614949651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#3749314957614949651' title='06. O homem dos mil braços'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/SJTUDlK5cpI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/OKvedCjlSAc/s72-c/jua.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-2686277929565435565</id><published>2008-08-02T18:26:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:44:04.817-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o5. Os santos e seus tortuosos caminhos</title><summary type='text'>Sem                  lágrimas de sangue ou mágicas: doutora em Sociologia                  afirma que, desde João Paulo II, qualquer fiel pode se                  tornar beato sem milagre nenhum Trajando um surrado macacão de trabalho, e com enorme lentidão,                  ele sobe as escadarias do prédio, em direção                  ao 302. Buscava, supostamente, terminar a montagem do armário</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/2686277929565435565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/2686277929565435565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#2686277929565435565' title='o5. Os santos e seus tortuosos caminhos'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-8146409801442126731</id><published>2008-08-02T18:12:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:45:15.894-03:00</updated><title type='text'>04. O Frankenstein da Vila</title><summary type='text'>Retratando                  o cotidiano de forma política e apurada, numa vida composta                  de boemia e tragédias, Noel Rosa marcou sua época                  com ironia, inteligência, sinceridade e poesia“Boa                  impressão nunca se tem/ Quando se encontra um certo alguém/                  Que até parece um Frankenstein/ Mas, como diz o rifão:                  por uma </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/8146409801442126731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/8146409801442126731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#8146409801442126731' title='04. O Frankenstein da Vila'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/S5-5IK4ZI3I/AAAAAAAAATc/NsFKzalc7lg/s72-c/noel-rosa.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-5818185521521533652</id><published>2008-08-02T18:05:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:46:34.955-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o3. Diálogos imaginários de um alterego ensandecido</title><summary type='text'>Com                  escrita contundente no significado e significante, o psicólogo                  Ézio Flávio Bazzo prossegue como herdeiro de Nietzsche                  na arte de filosofar com o martelo“Bokodori                  – E entao, Nietzsche, como e que vai a morte?”.“Nietzsche                  – Bem morto! Absolutamente morto! Nem sombras de um mundo                  ‘depois da </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/5818185521521533652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/5818185521521533652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#5818185521521533652' title='o3. Diálogos imaginários de um alterego ensandecido'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-1153075211933645072</id><published>2008-08-02T18:01:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T11:48:23.420-03:00</updated><title type='text'>02. Manual prático de realismo e descrença</title><summary type='text'>Em alto mar de sangue, o escritor pernambucano Marcelino Freire traz a tona reflexões sarcásticas sobre o descaso, a omissão e os vários ângulos da nossa guerra particular É como se o cinema marginal, transubstanciado em sangue, escorresse lentamente em velhas e amareladas folhas de livros imaginários, só restando em nossas memórias as manchas e a crueza da vida – ou as migalhas desta. Um engodo </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/1153075211933645072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/1153075211933645072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#1153075211933645072' title='02. Manual prático de realismo e descrença'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/S5-8OYkzGyI/AAAAAAAAATk/9IkPhFYUUbo/s72-c/rosto_gde.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296892606221659913.post-5853326558873139748</id><published>2008-08-02T17:50:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2010-07-03T09:50:05.692-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o1. Belo dia de piscina</title><summary type='text'>Filme “Pecados íntimos” trata com delicadeza questões como a culpa, o desejo incessante de vida, a monotonia, o sonho, a angústia e os diversos dilemas existenciais que tomam de assalto o nosso cotidianoPorcelanas delicadas, porcelanas pintadas, com olhares detalhados, expressivos. Porcelanas-gente, que, como a vida, foram produzidas, feitas. Porcelanas frágeis, que nos olham com extrema </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/5853326558873139748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/296892606221659913/posts/default/5853326558873139748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nilmarbarcelos.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html#5853326558873139748' title='o1. Belo dia de piscina'/><author><name>Nilmar Barcelos</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12098024564912674964</uri><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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E2LX9akfK3Y/S5-_kjxCJ8I/AAAAAAAAATs/b6kjunyxKa4/s72-c/story.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry></feed>
