As promised, pix of karaoke at the school's first communion disco. And what did the brother sing? Find out.

It doesn't matter that we're over the pond, the media here is just as obsessed with the shootings at Virginia Tech. I don't get it. Doesn't all the media interest just feed into this guy's madness? It says loads to me that he took the time to contact the media in between shootings. Urgh. I'm probably a jerk for saying this, but my first thought on hearing how alienated and lonely he felt, was why didn't he behave like a normal depressed person, and kill only himself. Was it misogyny that pushed him over the edge? All around hatred? My response is not very Buddhist, I know, but part of me is just so sick of these assholes.

The best books I've read on violence are Gavin de Becker's Gift of Fear and Fear Less. He's pretty harsh on how the media whips us up into a state of fear, esp. regarding 9/11 and domestic terrorism. After 9/11 I was "news addicted" - I'd leave CNN on all night and snooze in front of the TV, just 'cos I didn't want to miss any "breaking" news. I did this for months. I stopped, partly from reading de Becker's second book, and partly 'cos my friend Brook, who is an early riser, said she'd phone me if there was "breaking" news.

So... here I am in Ireland, not watching the news. Instead I'm taking photos for stock. Today? Cheese sandwiches.

Just back from a mini-trip to Dublin to take a class on lith printing with Tim Rudman. I really enjoyed it, both for what I learned, and for being able to hang out with a bunch of photographers for the day. I found a cheap way to get there and a cheap place to stay, which made the whole thing do-able.

Tim said something about how photographers spend their lives "hanging out over the chemicals, staring into the dark, and willing something to happen." That is *so* true, and applies to my Friday nights at the pub, as well. I stare at the object of my affection and will something to happen. No luck as of yet, but you'll be the first to know.

I was reminded of late night trips on a Brooklyn-bound "F" after a night at Print Space. I'd forgive you for thinking I was enjoying the scent of a hot woman, but it was the smell of fixer that lingered on my skin. I'd curl up in a corner seat, look at my box of prints, sniff my fingers, and grin like a lunatic.

Today I was chased across the field by cows! Yikes. Every time I turned to look they'd freeze, but I could see 'em exchange shady looks. Then I'd start off again, but I could hear 'em closing on me ... gallomp. gallomp. gallomp.

Happy Easter! Today I made hot cross buns. They are a sweet, yeasty bun with spices, mixed peel, and a cross on top. These tasty Easter treats are traditionally eaten on Good Friday. I used this recipe.



In the Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson tells us "The mark is of ancient origin, connectd with religious offerings of bread, which replaced earlier, less civilized offerings of blood. The Egyptians offered small round cakes, marked with a representation of the horns of an ox, to the goddess of the moon. The Greeks and Romans had similar practices and the Saxons ate buns marked with a cross in honor of the goddess of light, Eostre, whose name was transferred to Easter. According to superstition, hot cross buns and loaves baked on Good Friday never went mouldy, and were sometimes kept as charms from one year to the next. Like Chelsea buns, hot cross buns were sold in great quantities by the Chelsea Bun House; in the 18th century large numbers of people flocked to Chelsea during the Easter period expressly to visit this establishment."

Spiced buns were even a matter for a royal decree "...issued in 1592, the thirty-sixth year of the reign of Elizabeth I, by the London Clerk of the Markets: That no bakers, etc, at any time or times hereafter make, utter, or sell by retail, within or without their houses, unto any of the Queen's subject any spice cakes, buns, biscuits, or other spice bread (being bread out of size and not by law allowed) except it be at burials, or on Friday before Easter, or at Christmas, upon pain or forfeiture of all such spiced bread...."

In our house, we learned to chant "Hot cross buns, Hot cross buns, one ha' penny, two a penny, hot cross buns. If you have no daughters, give them to your sons, one ha' penny, two a penny, Hot cross buns."

Sunday dinner: roast chicken, a bottle of 1988 Chateau Lynch-Bages (delicious, and it should be at $400), and a salad created by me: baby lettuce, cucumber, roasted butternut squash, cherry tomatoes, spring onion and toasted sunflower seeds with balsamic vinaigrette. Yum.