Las Cantigas!

This is just a little message to let everyone know that I'm still alive. My life is pretty much consumed right now by the Cantigas de Santa Maria, as the second draft of my dissertation is due in a few days.

Anyhow, here's a detail from one of the illuminations: it's the Madonna and Child, hanging out in a beehive! God, do I ever love this stuff.

Broad-built Hydroxysuccinic Acid Reference Library

Here's another one, courtesy of Bennett Rucker. This time there's a fishing theme. Google picked up on words like 'alligator,' 'sea cucumber,' 'brook,' 'fish-fed,' and, I suppose, 'cholera,' and generated some very helpful links to sites boasting Catfish Fishing Secrets and so on. I'm glad that lodge in Canada made the list.

Rainbow Chasing Diaphragm

This appeared in my spam folder this morning [click to enlarge!]. I hesitated before opening it, as I usually do, because my mother keeps on telling me that every piece of spam is harbouring a twisted virus that will destroy the hard drive of my computer and make all of my friends explode. But Sharity Bauer had me hooked. What was my future going to be like? And why did it involve 'pseudo-modesty?'

Once opened, the email did nothing but fuel more burning questions. OK, there's the usual money-for-nothing spiel. But WHAT is that mad free-verse cluster at the bottom? WHAT DOES IT MEAN? Is it code for something sinister? Should I be jumping into a leather catsuit and sharpening the knives/stocking up on deadly ammo? I can hardly believe that Sharity Bauer intended to send out these cryptic (and vaguely sexual) messages to everyone. What purpose could that possibly serve? Why, Sharity, why? Sharity, are you my real mom?

I think the most hilarious thing about this email is that Google picked up on all the references to oil, drilling, wire, and armatures and flooded me with sponsored links to all sorts of hardcore industrial suppliers. Thanks, Google. As usual, you're on top of everything.

I chose to completely forget about this message and move on with the rest of my day. Then - another urgent dispatch, this time from Amaleta Mejia. She also wanted to tell me about my life. My FRANCO-BRITISH life. Am I to marry a Frenchman and live in Britain? Or vice-versa? Why can't I marry a dashing Brit and live in GB as well? What about money? Will I ever have a glass conservatory for my exotic plants? Is it true that you can't always get what you want?

Wow, I really hope these keep on coming. It's like receiving cryptic advice from a flaky psychic who channels e.e. cummings.

Monday Morning Survey: Suspicious or No?

I recently found this small ad in one of Zoe's old issues of The New Yorker. Please take some time to reflect on it. Isn't the whole thing sort of odd? Bluebirds? Hollyhocks? BELTED COWS? Am I the only one who has no idea what a belted cow is?

... And fascinating people of all ages. That's pretty bizarre. The only thing I can think about when I read that phrase is 'hypnosis.' And 'multigenerational cult.' Yeah, I think 'RETIRE' is merely a euphemism for 'DISAPPEAR INEXPLICABLY.' And by 'DISAPPEAR INEXPLICABLY,' I mean 'DIE.' Yeah, that's right. DIE.

Salisbury and Stonehenge: Take 2

I've updated my photo site with new pictures taken at Hampton Court Palace, Salisbury, Avebury, Old Sarum, and Stonehenge.

My first visit to Stonehenge (over a year ago) was a miserable disaster, as the rain and wind lashing at my face barely allowed me to look up at those eerie old stones. This visit (with Lara, her brother, and his friend) was a kabillion times better because we were lucky enough to amble amongst the stones after closing time - when hugging various parts of this ancient monument, we were told, was permitted. Also: the weather was stunning.

I'm still working on the photos snapped in Auxerre and Paris. I hope to have them up towards the end of the week. In the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy the dozens of pictures of giant rocks.

See it all and more at: http://nathalie.burnimage.com.

C is for Children and "Catastrophe, Cataclysmic"

As many of you already know, I'm not particularly fond of children. Children make me uneasy and they slow me down when I'm walking down the street. I have been shamed on too many occasions into believing that something is terribly wrong with me for exhibiting very little interest in holding babies.

Recently, however, I have been giving some thought to the idea of children. This is because I have been informed by my father that one of my eldest cousins, Karine (whom I have not spoken to for about 7 years), is 7 months pregnant. I also have been reading Margaret Atwood's latest book, The Penelopiad, in which the protagonist (Penelope of Homer's Odyssey) has this to say about offspring:

Marriages were for having children, and children were not toys and pets. Children were vehicles for passing things along. These things could be kingdoms, rich wedding gifts, stories, grudges, blood feuds. Through children, alliances were forged; through children, wrongs were avenged. To have a child was to set loose a force in the world.

The main point of this post is to share that last sentence with you. I think it's a pretty stunning statement. To date, I have experienced only one moment of maternal instinct (two summers ago in Old Montreal, when standing in line for ice cream and chatting with friends - I involuntarily reached out for a rambunctious child bouncing around nearby, briefly believing she was mine and that I needed to calm her down). This, of course, simply could have been caused by a sudden and severely acute loss of touch with reality. Who's to know?

Sometimes I stop (usually whilst musing about things like duty and sacrifice and my failure in becoming a doctor or when watching Kill Bill) and ask myself whether my personal share of maternal instinct has arrived (along with, "Do I feel any desire to cook and/or bake?"). The answer is always no - but I think I have hope after encountering the above quote. I'm pretty comfortable with the idea of sending out various forces into the world. That sounds interesting. And, you know, totally APOCALYPTIC.

Vatican Priest of the Month: May Edition

Anne returned from Italy with a very peculiar birthday gift for me: a calendar composed of photographs of Vatican priests. Now, apparently, they sell this puzzling variety of calendar all over Rome while leaving many questions unanswered: Are these photographs of Catholic priests actually meant to function as pin-ups? Why is no explanation offered by the calendar-distributing authority? Okay, this chart listing all the Popes (minus the Anti-Popes) since St. Peter is pretty handy, and this information on Vatican passports and currency probably will be useful for future quiz nights, but WHAT ABOUT THE MODELS? Who are they, really? Do they seriously work for the Vatican? Or is it in the Vatican? Why are some of them posed with strange hats and a cat so as to resemble twisted assassins?

Anyhow, in my bid to keep you entertained, here is the first installment of Vatican Priest Monthly (hopefully we'll get through all twelve if I don't get bored or feel disappointed with some of the months. Or, you know, if I DIE. And by die, I mean run away and live out the rest of my life being slightly tipsy in Monaco).

I don't really care for May's face, so we're starting off with August. His name is Agosto, because they ain't giving out names and Agosto is Italian for August and it totally jives with this guy's dangerous 'tude. Even though this kid is not my type (clearly not Jewish), I do have to admit that he's pretty hot. Hot in a 'I'd totally throw you up against a wall and threaten to run you over in my sleek Lamborghini and Valentino suit and you would shatter with ecstasy' kind of way. Nothing like a smoldering Mediterranean-type wearing white gloves, I tell you.

So, truly, if this guy is a Vatican priest (and therefore a Roman Catholic priest), he practices serious abstinence, no? (Can one practice abstinence?) Everybody now, look closely at the photograph and try to argue anything other than the fact that Agosto is a raging sex fiend. I think the abuse of power and snappy haute couture get him off in a major way. Wouldn't you agree? Hmmm, maybe he is my type.