JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

In an extraordinary art performance, British performance artist Mark McGowan will dress up as the President George Bush and crawl on his hands and knees for nonstop for an incredible 72 hours. He will be covering 36 miles on the streets of New York. McGowan will have a sign on his posterior saying KICK MY ASS. He will be inviting members of the public, New Yorkers and allcomers to kick the sign. The event will start at Scope Art Fair on Thursday, February 22nd, 2007 at 3pm, and circumnavigate New York. McGowan will be wearing knee pads and a cushion will be placed inside his pants.

Qantas flight attendant denies having had sex with Ralph Fiennes in a toilet in business class during a flight from Darwin to Mumbai.
a. She’s clearly telling the truth because why would she deny it.
b. The crew members who reported her must’ve had it in for her because this sort of thing happens all the time.
c. It’s Rafe.
d. This is the sort of tacky news that boosts an actor’s profile.
e. She issued a 1500-word denial when “No, I didn’t” would have sufficed.
f. Time to watch The English Patient/The End of the Affair again, unless you prefer him without a nose in the Harry Potter movie.
g. Could be worse: she could’ve been a man.
h. Could be worse: they could’ve been in coach.

Love your quads

Originally uploaded by Koosama.

Contest! Post your caption for this photo in the comments box. Best three entries get a prize: Afraid: The Best Philippine Ghost Stories, or Maligayang Pagdating Sa Sitio Catacutan by Tony Perez, or Malagim Ang Gabi Sa Sitio Catacutan.

(I don’t know who took this picture. If you do, let me know so I can credit the photographer.)

That Roger. Always doing the things we wish we could do.

Zen Garden by Steph Palallos

Originally uploaded by Koosama.

It’s really very simple. Do not be daunted by the sheer number of candidates vying for your vote. The fact that there are so many candidates does not mean there are too many choices, only the appearance of choice. I mean, look at them. By a simple process of elimination you can figure out whose names land in your ballot.
Bear in mind that the desire to serve your country, no matter how sincere, does not in itself make you fit to hold public office. I want to play in a Wimbledon final, but am prevented by my total lack of tennis-playing ability. As for popularity, it is a qualification for winning elections, but not for doing the job (or knowing what it is). In the absence of a real party system, you have to look at the individuals. Here is a partial list of the candidates you cannot vote for.
A. Flaming idiots. That should get rid of at least half, and I’m being charitable.
B. The illiterate and ignorant.
C. The demonstrably inept.
D. The obviously corrupt.
E. Mayoral and gubernatorial candidates with no managerial experience whatsoever.
F. Senatorial wannabes and congressional aspirants who have no idea what the Constitution is.
G. Candidates with no actual plan.
You’ll find it is a very short list. Yes, we all wish we could elect the best that the nation has to offer, but often we have to settle for the least atrocious of a disastrous lot.

I love Penguin Books. I want a room lined with shelves full of Penguin Books with spines in the same color. For their 60th anniversary they reissued chosen classics in lower-priced Penguin Red editions (P249) and hundreds of titles in the silver editions (P499) with new cover designs and introductions (e.g. P.G. Wodehouse’s The Mating Season with an introduction by Christopher Hitchens). The My Penguin series—Books By the Greats, Covers By You (P249)—has blank white covers so you can do your own artwork. The coverless classics are Emma, The Waves, The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Tales of the Brothers Grimm, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and Crime and Punishment. Dammit, why can’t I draw.

One more movie and I’ll be convinced that Mayans are stalking me. There they are sacrificing their captives to Kukulkan in Apocalypto; there they are guarding the hidden pyramid and the Tree of Life in The Fountain. I’ve always been curious about the Mayans—curious and scared, because when I was a kid I saw these Tagalog komiks (Was it Zuma? Anak ni Zuma? I saw the movie on cable years ago—a scream!) in which they practised human sacrifice (Drawing of a hand clutching a throbbing heart). Or were those Aztecs? Incans? The Mayans came earlier, I think, and after their great cities died, some Mayan communities survived. They were an advanced civilization. They built pyramids, invented the idea of zero, and set an exact date for the apocalypse. They played football with human heads. A documentary called Ancient Apocalypses says the Mayans were done in by a terrible drought. The more they suffered, the more humans they sacrificed, hoping to propitiate their gods. Their underworld was called Xibalba. Some new age practitioners claim to incorporate the beliefs of the Mayans in their teachings. I suspect that the Mayans would decapitate them and play football with their heads. Even before they hear music by Yanni.
The Spanish Inquisition (No one expects the—!) also figures in The Fountain and Alatriste. I read somewhere that there was an Inquisitor’s Office in Manila in the 1600s. Who did they torture, I wonder? Must look it up in Blair and Robertson, or ask Ambeth.

Lupercalia. A perfectly good Roman holiday (light whipping) ruined by Christianity (self-flagellation) and Hallmark (flogging bad verse). Grace pointed out that the heart is a highly overrated organ; the hypothalamus is where the action is.

My druid had a nostalgic craving for the Valentine cookies of her Malate childhood. Nobody makes them anymore, but we went to Hizon’s in Ermita anyway. While I was inhaling my egg pie I asked my druid if we should mark the beginning of the Year of the Fire Pig by eating lechon (Fire and pig, get it?). “No!” she scoffed. “Why would you consume your good luck?”

I got a text message saying I could send a person’s name and mobile phone number to 7000 and for five pesos per text they would track the person for me. The very idea that there is a service that can pinpoint my location without my knowing creeps me out. So my druid and I tested the service by texting them each other’s name and phone number. In seconds we got the same reply: “Sorry no (name, phone number) found within your area.” We were sitting across the table from each other. On one hand I was relieved that I had not been tracked; on the other hand they just got my five pesos for nothing.

Afterwards we went to see The Fountain. I make it a point to see Darren Aronofsky’s movies on the first day, not just because I’m a huge fan, but because there’s a good chance they will close after one day.

The Fountain is so freaking beautiful I won’t even try to explain it in terms of plot. It’s a meditation on love, death, and eternity rendered in such exquisite detail (No CGI!) that the nib of a fountain pen is the miniature of a sacred dagger that holds a map of the sky and Queen Isabella’s ring is a pinpoint of light is a dead star wrapped in a nebula. Darren Aronofsky is a prodigy. So the critics didn’t know what to make of it and the audience stayed away, the hell with them. Cinema is about awe.

While I was expelling tears and snot I got to thinking about immortality and how, if we got it, it would not only put the Church out of business, but people would be falling all over each other to kill themselves. Warning to my friends: You’re getting dragged to the cinema this week.

All Blacks - Haka

Originally uploaded by Koosama.

That’s definitely Middle Earth. Judging from the topography it’s the area around Mordor, maybe Ithilien. Those are not Hobbits, more like Uruks. Run awaaay!
I don’t know much about rugby, but that’s the proper length of shorts for sports. Why are men’s tennis shorts so long? The women’s dresses are so short we can see their underwear when they serve. The men might as well be wearing white flannel pants. Marat Safin’s shorts go down almost to his knees, and yet the man’s legs are at least ten feet long. In the Borg-McEnroe era the men wore what looked to be hot pants. And this was back when tennis players didn’t go to the gym everyday (I think that started with Ivan Lendl and Martina Navratilova). Mac used to work out by playing doubles. If the ATP is serious about making tennis more popular, they should look into the shorts issue.

Buddha Boy used to write an advice column in Flip (when it existed). We never got around to revealing his secret identity, not that it was that big a secret: it’s Gabe Mercado of DaPulis, SPIT, and now Geek Chorus. They’re doing an Anti-Valentine show tomorrow.
Meanwhile, here’s something from the Buddha Boy archive.
Dear Buddha Boy,
I’m in this very sticky situation. I have this friend, her name
is Cathy. Cathy and I have been good friends. The problem is I fell in love
with her. I want to tell her what I’m feeling for her, but I am afraid that
things won’t be the same if she decided that it would be better if we just
remain friends. Should I tell her?? Advice naman, o.
Nababaliw,
Baliw

Dear Baliw
Alam mo, I also have this friend pero hindi Cathy ang name niya. Allan ang name niya and we’ve been friends for the longest time. Pero may friend rin ako na Cathy ang pangalan. Unfortunately mga five years na kaming hindi nagkikita. Kaya hindi ako sure kung friends pa rin nga talaga kami. Kasi I believe that friendships, if they are true, can stand the test of time, but if they are false, are just a waste of time. Don’t you agree?
Anyway, minsan natutulog siya dito sa bahay tapos minsan nagpupunta kami out of town (kami ni Allan). We do lots of things together and we share many secrets between us (kami ni Allan). Kaso nga lang lalake siya (si Allan). Kaya hindi ako ma-in love sa kanya kahit sayang pa kung isipin mo since we’re such good friends. Hindi kasi ako mahilig sa mga maiitim at kulot. Mas gusto ko yung mga tipo ni Angela Velez. For me, she’s perfect. Parang masarap amoy-amoyin mula umaga hangang sa susunod na umaga. Anyway, buti na lang di ako na-in love sa kanya (kay Allan kasi in love na ako kay Angela eh). Kasi masisira ang friendship namin kung bigla ko na lang siyang gapangin one night di ba? Kaya for me friendship pa rin is the best. Huwag na huwag lang niyang subukang agawin si Angela sa akin. Suntukan yan.
Nagmamahal,
Buddha Boy

Time for Reading
By LINDSAY WATERS
The Chronicle Review, 9 Feb 2007

I want to start a new movement, now.

From the 19th century on, more and more segments of our society —
farmers, factory workers, doctors, professors — have been urged to
speed things up in order to produce more eggs or automobiles, or to
heal or educate more people. Charles Dickens gave expression to the
pathos of life under such a regime in his novel Hard Times; so did
Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times, a work of cinematic art that gets to
the heart of what ails society. The Monty Python crew made fun of this
imperative in its “All-England Summarize Proust Competition” for the
best synopsis of Proust’s seven-volume Remembrance of Things Past in
15 seconds. The fun poked at attempts to speed-read the classics was
as painful as Chaplin’s effort to survive industrialization. And it’s
no joke: Imagine radiologists forced to read 13 mammograms per hour,
without interrupting their reading to speak to the women whose scans
they are analyzing. I know of at least one such case.

Is it any surprise that there is now a reading crisis worldwide that
affects people at all levels, from preschool to graduate school, the
affluent and the poor alike? Don’t assume you are immune, people of
higher education. (continues)

Movie Guide
Curse of the Golden Flower - You mean Curse of the Golden Pushup Bra.
Holiday - I love Jack Black, but from a purely lookist perspective hindi ba lugi si Kate Winslet?
Apocalypto - Mmm, raw tapir balls.
Hannibal Rising - Mmm, pre-chewed tripe.
The History Boys - Of course they’re gay, they’re too clever.
The Fountain opens on Wednesday!

Atia survives a poisoning attempt. Octavian, looking older and slightly bigger (Simon Woods has taken over the role from Max Pirkis), has kicked Mark Antony’s ass in Gaul. Alia has Servilia tortured; Timon has a crisis of conscience. Vorenus and Pullo rescue Vorenus’ children from slavery.
Carnage: Two torture scenes
Sex: Suggested
Nudity: No one worth mentioning
I recently read two novels set in the Roman Empire: Imperium by Robert Harris, and I, Claudius by Robert Graves. Imperium is gripping, fast-paced, full of information about Republican politics and elections. The narrator is the scribe Tiro, and the hero is Cicero. For some reason I did not like Cicero, and then I realized why: in the TV series he is portrayed as a wuss (plus he never kills anyone with his bare hands or has a nude scene). I, Claudius is riveting, peopled with the most fascinating and appalling characters. Livia, Octavian/Augustus’ second wife, poisons or banishes anyone who stands in the way of her favorites’ succession (I know why Tony Soprano’s mother was called Livia). The monster Caligula, direct descendant of Augustus, Agrippa, and Antony, commits the most unspeakable acts. I know, I know, there was a BBC series. And a Penthouse movie—we actually met the director Tinto Brass in Udine. Chris Martinez got his autograph. It cracked us up.