It's 1482...how long until Minimalism?

While fooling around on the internet today, looking for medium- to high-quality images to steal and thus avoid having to scan anything, I came across this painting, from the Badia Church in Florence (c. 1482), painted by Renaissance master Fra Filippo Lippi:

This is one of the most crowded paintings I have ever seen. It's really quite dreadful.

The Virgin, surrounded by (how many? four!) little angels/cherubs who look exactly like they are late to ballet practice and who are on the verge of poking one another until somebody ends up crying...where was I? Oh, yes, the hassled Virgin is talking to St. Bernard of Clairvaux (who is, interestingly enough, patron saint of beekeepers. Just in case you wanted to know). We, of course, know and love good ol' Bernard as the Cistercian responsible for many of the reforms of Cîteaux and for his lifelong virulent hatred of Peter Abelard (who lost his bits).

Bernard, rather than sitting at a desk like a sensible human being, has decided to get a little fresh air and is writing in the Great Outdoors, having stacked up his books on a nearby rock/bookshelf/fireplace. This is somewhat problematic, as one gets the sense that the entire affair is going to collapse any minute now.

This piece is called Apparition of the Virgin to Saint Bernard, but Fra Lippi has created a scene that looks more like Apparition of the Virgin (Yes, We're Going, Just Hang On A Minute) to St. (Julie! You Stop Touching That RIGHT NOW, I'm NOT Kidding)...What? to St. Bernard (JESUS, All Your Books Are Falling Onto Your Head, Watch Out!) And Now We're Late, Thank You Very Much. Obviously Lippi's original title is much easier to put into the Art History textbooks.

Can't find your keys? The illuminati probably took 'em, the bastards.

And now, In A Model Environment is pleased to present:

Rules for Living or How Not to Look Stupid

1. Don't fight a land war in Russia.
2. Don't drink red wine on a date. It turns your teeth purple.
3. If the checker at Wal-Mart asks, "is the information on this check correct," say yes. Even if it isn't and you're committing check fraud, just say yes. Otherwise you'll confuse her.
   
4. And last, but not least...

If someone is taunting you, either crush them into oblivion (this includes death, mayhem, razing houses to the ground, selling wives and children into bondage, etc)
OR
simply ignore it. Let it go. There is no middle ground.

Unfortunately, people usually fail to follow rule four and end up looking terribly silly. You know how it is...

YOU: No, look, it's in the cupboard, right behind the pasta.
THEM: I can't find it.
YOU: Did you look? It's in there, really it is.
THEM: Of course I looked! I'm not stupid!
YOU: (aside, to self) Yes, you are. Otherwise you'd have found it by now. (aloud) Hm, I'll come have a look...oh, there it is, right behind the pasta. Fancy that.
THEM: You're an asshole.
YOU: (beatific smile)

So. This is all evident. Sadly, the Most Holy and Apostolic Roman Catholic Church (MHARCC) has forgotten all about good old rule four. Perhaps some of you are aware that Dan Brown's poorly-written and factually-challenged bestseller, The Da Vinci Code, is an international bestseller.*

*Editor's note: In A Model Environment will not attempt to explain this phenomenon, save to observe that Homo sapiens as a rule laugh whenever other creatures fall down stairs, wear funny hats, or get hit on the head. As a species, our standards are perhaps a trifle low.

You may also be aware that the Church comes off rather badly in Brown's book. I'm not going to explain it all to you, because if you haven't read it then find a brief plot summary here, and if you have, you'll know what I'm on about. Nor am I going to tell you why the book is bad. If you can't figure that out for yourself, either, then you're probably, um...no, of course it's in the cupboard, behind the pasta! I'll come have a a look (beatific smile).

The Church, always a bit slow to react to things like blatant criticism, the Holocaust, and gravity, has finally come out with a position on the book - a position articulated by Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, Archbishop of Genoa. Bertone, who has suggested that miracles as a prerequisite for sainthood are "anachronistic" and who is currently a poor bet in the papal pool (at last check, 84/1, trailing favorites Francis Arinze of Nigeria and Oscar Rodruiguez Maradiaga, both at 4/1), announced this week to every media outlet he could find that Brown's book was not in the good graces of the Church. In an interview with the BBC:

I want to warn many people who have read or are reading this book, especially young people. There's this stereotype that a young person isn't modern if they haven't read the Da Vinci Code and a family isn't adult if they don't have it at home. We need to put people who have simple faith and unsophisticated culture on their guard, so they are not bewitched by the lies in this book.

First of all, what? Isn't modern? Isn't adult? Does that strike anyone as tremendously strange thing to say? I can think of several indicators of modernity - oh, say, electricity, access to the Internet, or shoes - which would rank way ahead of the the Da Vinci Code. But okay, Cardinal. On to your next point, the morons and the hicks - oh, I'm sorry, the simple faithful and those of unsophisticated culture. Now, I wouldn't call Brown's book smart, but anyone at or above a fifth-grade reading level can handle it. And if it sells in airports (and boy, does it sell), then obviously people all over the sophistication spectrum adore it.

Instead of ignoring the DaVinci Code and letting it run its course as a conspiracy theory (it worked with the Freemasons...now everybody thinks they just like to wear hats and ride around in tiny cars, perhaps for insidious reasons of international domination, perhaps because Ethel wasn't watching how many beers made it over to Frank this time), the Church is denying denying denying which EVERYONE knows only makes you look more guilty. Rule four, Your Eminence! Rule four! If you really wanted people to stop reading the DaVinci Code, here's what you should have done:

• Offer indulgences to anyone who turns in a copy. Indulgences=$5.
• Try Dan Brown as a heretic and then torture and burn him publicly. On Pay-Per-View (to make up what you lost on printing indulgences).
• Burn his house to the ground, sell his entire family and publishing association into slavery. Sow the ashes with salt. Check for infidels before leaving.
  
• Bring back the Index of Forbidden Books and slap the sucker on there.
• Invade North Korea (all right, that one's just fun).
  
• Avoid a land war in Russia.

This plan, if not practicable or even possessing a remote chance of success, would at least have made people take you a little more seriously. Because looking silly is never good when you're responsible for millions of souls.

Cognitive dissonance or Erin go bragh!

(1) Today is St. Patrick's feastday, celebrate it, learn about him - it makes me incredibly sad that not yet having read for class, I can't justify posting on the foine man. Unfortunately, there's so much there (he was stolen by pirates!) that it would take quite some time. And I can't really justify skipping class to tell you about Paddy.

(2) There's a post forthcoming on the Church's reaction to the Da Vinci Code. All of you who have ever spoken to me (in real life) probably know what I think about the book, but as you'll see, we finally have evidence that the Most Holy and Apostolic Roman Catholic Church has finally lost it. However, it too will have to wait until Spring Break officially starts (in about 36 hours), so check back.

After these messages, we'll be right back!

L'angoisse of Jean-Paul Sartre

Do you know what the word mordant means? You might think, congnoscenti, with your knowledge of Latin roots, that it has something to do with death or dying. But you'd be wrong.

Mordant is indeed of Latin derivation, but not from the third conjugation deponent verb morior (to die). Rather, it derives, through French, from the second conjugation mordere (to bite, to cut, to corrode, to consume). As an adjective in modern English, it means "caustic, corrosive, biting" and usually refers to speech. For example:

Jean-Paul Sartre's mordant pen would eviscerate the Bibliothèque Nationale de France if he knew what they'd done to his picture.

But lest you think that this is merely a clever example sentence, check out this article from the Telegraph. Apparently, in preparation for an exhibition celebrating the centennial of Satre's birth, the BNF had a poster made up, but to avoid prosecution under anti-tobacco laws and to placate various special interests, they airbrushed out Satre's famous gauloise.

Editor's note: this is not the photo they airbrushed. But practically every photo of Satre shows him smoking something. So you get the idea.

Jean-Paul Sartre, mes amis! The existentialist who was so French he was almost a caricature! Sartre, who gave us beautiful French prose like this, from La Nausée:

Nous restons un moment silencieux. Le soir tombe; je distingue à peine la tâche pâle de son visage. Son vêtement noir se confond avec l'ombre qui a envahi la pièce. Machinalement, je prends ma tasse, où reste encore un peu de thé et je la porte à mes lèvres. Le thé est froid. J'ai envie de fumer, mais je n'ose pas. J'ai l'impression pénible que nous n'avons plus rien à nous dire.

We are passing a silent moment. Night falls, I can barely make out the pale stain of her face. Her black clothing is confused with the shadows that have overtaken the room. Mechanically, I take up my cup, which still has a little bit of tea left in it, and I lift it to my lips. The tea is cold. I want to smoke, but I don't dare. I have the tiresome impression that we no longer have anything to say to one another.

J'ai envie de fumer, mais je n'ose pas. Now, he can't even choose. Satre, the ultimate prophet of personal responsibility in the face of an uncaring universe, has been utterly humiliated. BNF, je suis honteuse de toi. This is a dreadful sell-out. Do you know what Michel Foucault would say to you? Next thing you know, we won't even be able to say that Foucault was, hmmm, le plus alternatif...no, he and Satre just sat around in their ivory towers, producing works of sublime brilliance drawn from lives of absolutely no interest or eventfulness. That makes beaucoup de sense.

And incidentally, BNF, have you ever actually been to a café in France? Mais mon Dieu, after only four seconds you will smell like the inside of a Parisian ash-tray! So who cares if Satre smoked like a chimney? In case you haven't noticed, so does everyone else in France. And England. And Belgium. The whole damn Continent is predicated on a pack of cigarettes. Doctoring a photo won't post a défense de penser sign anywhere except in the halls of the BNF. Bon travail.

Editor's note: the second part of this sign, défense de cracher, means "no spitting allowed."

Dans laquelle une bibliothèque m'agaçait

I'm scrambling to get everything done right now, so nothing new is up. I know, I know...life is tremendously unfair, please don't weep like a little girl. But if you do, can I watch?

To tide you over until the next Pope of the Day makes it up, though, Mistress Katia is back and full of ire, relating a recent experience with the help at an area library.

Do you think lamp oil grows on trees?

It's been ages since we've had a Pope of the Day, I know. So today's papal fix comes to us from Pope Sabinian (604-606), another short but busy pope in the Early Church. I have to say, I'm not really on fire about Pope Sabinian. He didn't do a whole lot, so my characterization of him as "busy" is, in fact, a lie. Sue me.

Right, Sabinian. Blah blah blah, he was pope for two years, regulated the ringing of church bells at canonical hours, declared that lamps be left burning in the sanctuary at all times, etc. Who really cares? History remembers Sabinian as the man who...

Editor's Note: History has completely failed to remember Sabinian. Because he completely failed to be even slightly interesting. He wasn't even a looker:

However, I pride myself on making up relatively interesting history, and a completely unreliable internet source tells me that once elected pope, he tried to discredit Gregory with groundless accusations as he was jealous of him as his predessor who was held in great esteem. His death may have been a violent one.

Sabinian, you're getting slightly better. Consulting the peerless pope chart, we learn that the Gregory whom Sabinian was upset with was none other than St. Gregory I, known to us as (dum dum dee dum)...Gregory the Great! And he must have enjoyed many a bowl of Tony's Frosted Flakes which brought out the tiger in him, because he was grrrrrrrrrrrrreat, too: he invented Gregorian Chant, wrote tons of famous letters, was a Doctor of the Church (cough, please), renamed the Castel Sant'Angelo on the advice of an architecturally-minded angel, and lots more besides. Read about it.

So. What could lame old Sabinian possibly have used to discredit Gregory?

SABINIAN
I think Gregory the Great was a complete hack as pope.

CARDINAL RANDOM
No, no, he was Great! It's in his name! This accusation is groundless.

SABINIAN
No, really, don't tell anybody, but I heard that he totally sold out. I mean, for awhile it was all, "you gotta be real about the chant, man" but then it was all pimps and hos and bling.

CARDINAL RANDOM
What in God's name are you talking about? It's 604 AD! I don't even know how to say "bling" in Latin!

SABINIAN
Oh. Well, whatever, he was still crap as a pope.

enter BISHOP GULLIBLE

BISHOP GULLIBLE
What's going on here at the Castel Sant'Angelo?! My gosh, I can't believe Gregory was given credit for building this place, as it was really the mausoleum of the Roman Emperor Hadrian! Isn't it funny and round?! My goodness, I only speak in exclamatory sentences!

Editor's Note: please note the subtle clues to time, place, and action. Thank you.

CARDINAL RANDOM
Not much, Pope Sabinian is making groundless accusations against Gregory the Great because he is a jealous tool.

BISHOP GULLIBLE
Yes, he certainly is a jealous tool!

SABINIAN
No, I'm not.

BISHOP GULLIBLE
No, you're not! After all, you have done important things in your year as pope, like leaving the lamps on all the time in the churches! And additionally, you leave open the front door because you say that God has told you to air-condition the entire neighborhood! Fantastic!

CARDINAL RANDOM, overcome by the exclamatory power of BISHOP GULLIBLE, throws a heavy box set of Gregorian Chant CDs at GULLIBLE, who ducks; the box strikes SABINIAN instead.

CARDINAL RANDOM
Oh, crap, I hit the pope.

SABINIAN dies.

BISHOP GULLIBLE
My, he certainly met a peculiar end! I daresay his death may have been a violent one!

CARDINAL RANDOM
Shut the hell up.

Cenhinen or cenhinen pedr? You decide.

Today, the first of March, In A Model Environment salutes the proud people of Wales, and their proud custom of wearing herbs.

Editor's note: Pronounced "hurbs" because, as Eddie reminds us, there's a fucking "h" in it.

So, right, the Welsh. Well, today is the feastday of St. David (Dewi), patron saint of Wales (542-601). David, an earthy sort, is the chappie first credited with associating Wales with the leek (as opposed to sheep, which is what everyone else associates Wales with). Waaaay back in the day, Saxon pagan invaders were pillaging and invading the Welsh countryside (as was their wont, being pagan invaders; unlike the Vandals, the Saxons had very little appreciation for fine art). It so happened that one of the battles betwixt the Welsh and the Saxons was about to take place in a marshy area where leeks grew in abundance. For those of you who aren't familiar with the leek, it's a green onion on steroids:

So, St. David suggested to his fellow Welsh that they tuck a leek in their caps to (a) distinguish friend (leeky-smelling Welsh) from foe (leek-less Saxon), (b) blend in (an early and fragrant attempt at camouflage), and (c) maintain the element of surprise. One imagines the Saxon reaction would have been something like this:

FRIDWULF (A SAXON)
Why the hell are the Welsh wearing vegetables on their heads?

AELFGAR (ANOTHER SAXON)
No clue. It's rather surprising, don't you think? My, it's fun to be a marauding Saxon. I never liked art much anyway.

FRIDWULF (A SAXON)
Odin's missing eye, they've got spears! Damn!

AELFGAR (ANOTHER SAXON)
Also rather surprising. Note how well they blend in with the surrounding countryside. And also note how odd they smell.

Needless to say, the Welsh carried the day (as often happens when you put produce in your hat) and ever since then, the leek has been an emblem of Wales. Hence the famous Welsh proverb, "Gwisg cenhinen yn dy gap a gwisg hi yn dy galon" (Wear a leek in your cap, but also in your heart).

Editor's Note: I am not making this up.

Shakespeare cites the wearin' of the green (onion) as well, in Act IV scene vii of Henry V. On the battlefield of Agincourt, Fluellen questions Henry about the produce in his hat:

FLUELLEN
Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is
remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a
garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their
Monmouth caps; which, your majesty know, to this
hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do
believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek
upon Saint Tavy's day.

KING HENRY V
I wear it for a memorable honour;
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.

So. King Henry is wearing his leek proudly on St. Tavy's Day (St. David's Day), which is today, and proud Welsh still do this. All the time. But, it has occurred to several people throughout the ages that the leek is not, perhaps, the most attractive emblem to sport on one's lapel (or on one's head, for that matter). One-time prime minister David Lloyd George suggested to the Welsh that they wear daffodils on St. David's Day instead of leeks, as the former were much more attractive and much less smelly. So they do this, too. But why a daffodil? I bet you're wondering, if the leek is "cenhinen," what the heck is "cenhinen pedr"? Well, I'll tell you. Cenhinen pedr is Welsh for "St. Peter's leek," that is to say, the daffodil. Because obviously it looks a lot like a leek. No, I've got nothing. But that's the custom, and who are we to question custom?

Go put a leek on your head.