Vatican Priest of the Month: Special August Edition

You may remember that all of this began with Agosto. Desperately eager to share the photographs from my strange Vatican Priest calendar with everyone (kind of like needing to share especially tasty gossip as soon as humanly possible), I tore through the months until I found a guy that actually appealed to me (ever so slightly). That's how we began with the 'smouldering' model from the month of August (wouldn't 'smouldy' be a hilarious way to describe someone?).

Now that it actually is August, though, I have to be clever in order to keep you entertained. Also, a problem: I no longer find Agosto even remotely attractive. This unfortunate development may be the result of a better quality scan. Otherwise, some dust was on the calendar, giving Agosto the appearance of being unpleasantly gap-toothed (that's right, not in a cute way at all). In short, my passion has waned and I yearn for another.

Flipping through an old i-D magazine (The 'Faith' Issue) just over a month ago, however, I stumbled across this entirely bizarre fashion spread. It's called 'The Messenger,' and it's all about sexy priest-types or whatever. Thankfully, then, I can fill up the August Edition with these dudes.

The opening photograph: an anaemic-looking kid with slicked-back hair and a concave chest (apparently). He looks like the kid they might have used on some cheesy Unsolved Mysteries episode for a dramatization of the devil appearing in human form before a bewildered and terrorized Italian villager. That's a poorly constructed run-on sentence, but I have no intention of altering it.

Second picture: I think we can all agree that this one is terribly contrived. The half-hearted pose, the pouting lips, the inexpert use of crosses. Really, if you're going to accessorize with religious trinkets, either keep it simple or go for broke. Remember Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet? It was all about the costumes and the gaudy religious imagery. Also, I'd like to know whether they actually ordered the flowered wreath for the shoot or simply lifted it from a nearby grave (note the wilting blooms, they are not fresh). The cap makes it very confusing as well: is the kid about to seduce you, sell you a newspaper, or go hunting?

Third pose: the mafioso kid who dresses like a priest and has a very flexible neck. Here, the rosary replaces the requisite pair of brass knuckles. Nobody likes this kid but is still very afraid of him. He does look like he has some serious connections. They've apparently used Photoshop to smooth out his bad skin.

Fourth photo: The one who doesn't belong. Awkwardly posed yet again, this guy holds the bouquet of flowers (calla lilies, I believe) like he would hold a shotgun, or the morning newspaper, perhaps. There's no chemistry between him and the flowers. Clearly he cares even less about you than he does about the bouquet. The white shoes perturb me as well. Suddenly we're dealing with an entirely different, Floridian theme. It's all very benign yet tremendously menacing at the same time.

Sixth shot: The colour photo with disquieting shades of beige. Again, a definite problem with the holding of the flowers. Is this the same model as in the previous photograph? The outfit is cute, though - although kind of Germanic, does anyone else feel the same way? The off-kilter quality of the photo really bothers me, too.

The final picture: anaemic devil kid again, wearing another long jacket. It's just a disaster. Would you ever believe that this guy was a priest if you crossed him in the street? Maybe Catholic priests are supposed to be hot or something, but possessed humans have never really been my type.

Given the title of this spread ('The Messenger'), I guess we're supposed to be turned on by these otherworldly creatures appearing in remote and desperately depressing locales. Or at least desire the couture they are wearing. I suppose it would be cool to walk down the street with a hypothetical boyfriend wearing this stuff, looking intense and deadly (or, in fact, just dead). But the allure would wear off pretty quickly. Especially if he was so undead he didn't have the strength to hold up my bouquet of flowers.

Dark Moment of Despair

I am frantic with worry about finding a job here in London, not to mention a relatively inexpensive flat. I am also consumed with guilt about continuing to spend my parents' money like some sort of idiot prodigal child. I could say a lot more, but perhaps it's best not to moan on and on about various forms of crippling panic.

I have been brooding a lot about my future career and have decided that there are very few things in life that I enjoy to no end, and therefore would be able to make a financially rewarding and personally satisfying career out of. For instance: I love music (listening to it, playing it, singing along to it, dancing to it, etc.), composing and taking photographs, driving, graphic design, drawing, architecture (I'll file real estate under this one), the Middle Ages (umbrella term which does NOT include dressing up in medieval costume on the weekends and re-enacting various battles), reading, making people laugh, taking care of people, movie previews, the theatre, shopping for clothing and handbags (somewhat ashamed to list that one but I suppose we are all a little shallow in some way or another), and the noble profession of emergency medecine. I also kind of really enjoy playing cards. There must be other things I could list here that would make me sound a lot less boring, but I'll just hope in my vulnerable state that everyone knows that there is, in fact, a lot more to me than the aforementioned interests.

Obviously, I cannot make a living out of playing cards. I do not have the discipline nor the skill to develop gambling tricks. I like the idea of being a martyred doctor, but only on my own time. Could I become a personal shopper, an investor in rare handbags and vintage clothing? How could I justify such a life? Fashion designer? But I'm a nice girl and the fashion industry is vicious. I don't know how to sew or make patterns, either. I would be a terrible theatre critic, and an even worse actress, so those are out. Taking care of people: that should have been filed under the noble profession of emergency medecine. I can't be bothered to become a physiotherapist. I think I would make an excellent personal assistant, though. Making people laugh: no career there. Nobody appreciates the monetary value of good humour. Reading, out. More of a cherished hobby than anything else. I could become a serious medieval art historian instead of pretending to be one. Not sure, not sure, seems like a big commitment. I can't bear the idea of doing physics again in order to become an architect. Maybe I could be like Frank Gehry, though, and just make crazy drawings of seemingly structurally unsound buildings and foist everything on a team of dedicated engineers. Graphic design, yes. The old internal battle of graphic design vs. art history?? Art history won last year, maybe it's time to moon over taking graphic design courses again. Finding sponsors for my career as a race-car driver might be difficult. I also don't think I would be paid to manage a synchronized-driving league. A driver for those annoying car commericals? Sometimes they do cool shit. Mostly not. I wonder how much car companies pay those drivers to elegantly sweep through piles of autumn leaves? Photography, yes. Music? I would be thrilled to work on film soundtracks. My singing is not so hot (but not terrible either!) and I'm too old to become a dancer. I don't think I'm coordinated enough to dance anyway. Voice-overs? Audio books?

So the results of this are:

a) Become an inspired architectural designer.
b) Develop into an acclaimed photographer or intrepid photojournalist. Fashion photographer?
c) Join the hordes and become a cool hipster graphic designer.
d) Morph overnight into a brilliant and very wealthy real-estate mogul (preferably one who lives in New York).
e) Become a racecar driver (young and very cute drivers are always in demand!).
f) Reclusive fashion designer.
g) Medieval illuminated manuscript specialist.
h) Brilliant and overpaid personal assistant to an understanding and laid-back employer.
i) Soundtrack-technician-type-person for movies, plays, shorts, etc. I spend a lot of time dreaming up the beginnings of movies and what songs should accompany the opening sequence.
j) Choosy audio-book reader.
k) Baker. Not discussed above, but of some interest to me. The excruciatingly early hours are a bit of a problem, though.

I should quit talking about myself. This blog is really going downhill, just like Vanity Fair.

Blacklisted: Tate Modern

Update regarding my job situation in London: Tate Modern did not hire me. Tate Britain chose not to hire me, either, but I've decided to hate Modern for all of my career problems because two of its employees made me feel extra awkward at my interview. And they asked me really bizarre questions. Case in point: "Please tell us about a work-related experience of yours where accuracy was critical." Accuracy. That time that I was a military sniper? Will that do?

This is a bit difficult, because I really admire Tate Modern's architecture. I also really like its permanent collection. And its bookstore is one of the best I've ever seen. Deep down, however, I sense that I must cut Tate Modern out of my life in order to move on and continue evolving as a sane, balanced, and healthy person. ...This is truly a very confusing period in my life.