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From the New York Times, March 20, 2008: “Sebastian Horsley, a British author who has written an eyebrow-raising memoir detailing a life of rampant drug use and voluminous encounters with prostitutes, was turned back at Newark Liberty International Airport on Tuesday as he tried to enter the United States for a book party and New York news media tour. Mr. Horsley, whose memoir, “Dandy in the Underworld,” was published last week…said he was detained by United States customs authorities for eight hours and questioned about his former drug addiction, use of prostitutes and activity as a male escort. “I’m absolutely shattered and upset and gutted about not being able to come to America,” Mr. Horsley said in a telephone interview from London…

“In “Dandy of the Underworld” Mr. Horsley, who is notorious in Britain, writes of being raised by alcoholic, sexually promiscuous parents and bouncing through several schools. He details a debauched life of cocaine, heroin, opium and amphetamine use, writing that he spent more than £100,000 (nearly $200,000) on crack cocaine and £100,000 to consort with more than 1,000 prostitutes. He also chronicles his trip to the Philippines to be hung from a cross, an event that was recorded by a photographer and videographer and formed part of an art exhibition that was extensively covered by the news media in his home country…”

Hmm, drug-taking dandies and Crucifixion. Very much on the Pinoy public’s mind right now. The article quotes a US Customs and Border Protection spokeswoman as saying that under a waiver program that allows British citizens to enter the United States without a visa, “travelers who have been convicted of a crime involving moral turpitude (which includes controlled-substance violations) or admit to previously having a drug addiction are not admissible.” Two words: Keith Richards. (Always confused about Keith’s surname. Apparently it was the singular form till 78, plural after that. So now I know.)

They’ve got an ad in The Daily Telegraph, demanding the formal restoration of the order. The last time anyone heard from them was in 1314, when their grand master was burned at the stake. Apparently they’re represented by a West London accountant who also does the books for the Wiggles. Patrick Barkham investigates. First the Ark of the Covenant is reportedly found, then the Templars—supposedly the keepers of the Holy Grail—allegedly resurface. Funny these news should emerge on the year of a new Indiana Jones movie. 

Have you seen those tarpaulins attached to the pillars under the MRT? The ones with the portrait of MMDA Chair Bayani Fernando looking sternly at the motorists? Is this supposed to be a deterrent to traffic violations? Will Manila’s drivers observe traffic rules and regulations because an authority figure/bureaucrat/father substitute is standing there in a barong tagalog glowering at them? Is this anywhere as effective as, say, knowing that if you break the rules you will certainly get caught and penalized, and that if you get pulled over it’s for a real, actual violation?

Note the words printed at the bottom of the tarp: “Mere possession of this sign is punishable by law”. Meaning the MMDA is aware that these reminders for motorists will likely be stolen. So maybe there should be a second tarp of Mr Fernando glaring at the culprits who intend to steal these signs. These tarps are government property. They belong to the people. Stealing is wrong. But then you’d have to put signs everywhere to remind thieves that what they’re doing is bad, and then. . .

Meanwhile, there are bumper stickers saying Erap 2010. Oy, the theory of eternal recurrence. We can’t even say “Now I’ve heard everything”, because we already said it years ago.

Arthur C. Clarke, science fiction writer, died today in Sri Lanka. He was 90.

In 1945, he wrote a paper predicting a globe-spanning network of communications satellites. He showed that “space stations” parked in a circular orbit above the equator would exactly match the Earth’s rotation period of 24 hours. The satellite would remain above the same spot, providing a “stationary” target for transmitted signals, which could then be retransmitted to wide swaths of territory below. This so-called geostationary orbit has been officially designated the Clarke Orbit by the International Astronomical Union. He called this paper the most important thing he’d ever written. Then there were the stories and novels. His story The Sentinel was the basis for Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. Clarke worked on the screenplay with Kubrick, then wrote the book. When the Apollo astronauts orbited the moon, they were tempted to report “a black monolith” on the surface. Here’s a summary of his brilliant career.

Clarke formulated the three laws of prediction:
I. When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.
II. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.
III. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

He was one of the sages who imagined our world into being.

The English director Anthony Minghella is dead. He was 54. No cause of death was given. He had just finished shooting the film adaptation of The Number One Ladies Detective Agency in Botswana.

Minghella directed several episodes of Jim Henson’s Storyteller TV series before making the feature, Truly, Madly, Deeply. Truly, Madly, Deeply is a romantic comedy about death. Juliet Stevenson stars as a woman who is so grief-stricken at the death of her lover, it’s as if she’s died, too. Then her lover, played by Alan Rickman, returns as a ghost. At first they’re very happy, but before long she gets ticked off because there are ghosts in her living room all the time, watching Brief Encounter.

Minghella also wrote/adapted and directed Mr. Wonderful, The English Patient, The Talented Mr. Ripley (Jude Law has never been as beautiful, and Philip Seymour Hoffman stole every scene he was in), Cold Mountain, and Breaking and Entering. He was recently seen in Atonement as the man interviewing the aged Briony Tallis (Vanessa Redgrave). He will be missed. Watch clips from his movies.

Mood ring, originally uploaded by 160507.

Weekday, round 9pm, while eating suman and turon.

Grungella: One of my cats emailed Poland.

Grover: Explain.

Grungella: I got a “mail delivery failed” message. Apparently someone sent email to (consults notebook) txtww.tyminska@dz.com.pl. I’m guessing pl is Poland? I never emailed Poland, so it must be one of my cats. They like to walk on my keyboard while I’m working, and they must’ve stepped on the right combination of letters. It’s happened before.

Guy Smiley: That’s a nice ring.

Grungella: It’s a mood ring. The color changes according to your mood.

Grover: How does it work?

Grungella: It detects changes in your body temperature.

Grover: (puts it on) What’s my mood?

Grungella: Wait a minute. It turned green, so you’re in an okay mood.

Guy Smiley: Let me try. It turned orange.

Grungella: It means you’re agitated. Blue is supposed to mean you’re calm, and dark blue means you’re romantic or passionate.

Grover: I should wear a mood ring on a date, and announce what the color is, but not what it means!

Grungella: Or make your date wear it, and observe what color it turns into!

Guy Smiley stares at the mood ring.

Grungella: What are you doing?

Guy Smiley: I’m waiting for it to turn dark blue.

Grungella: You’re in love?

Guy Smiley: I’m in love with this mood ring, so it should turn dark blue! (Goes on staring at the ring.)

Grungella: Are you trying to make the ring change color by sheer force of will?

Guy Smiley: Yes.

Grungella: This is why we’re friends.

Winding Stair bookshop, originally uploaded by 160507.

Twisted 8 is now available at The Winding Stair bookshop in Dublin, Ireland. Retail price: 10 euros. The Winding Stair is on Dublin’s northern Quays, close to the Ha’penny Bridge, just 5 minutes’ walk from O’Connell Street. Ige Ramos, who designed and co-published our book, also lugged the copies to Dublin and delivered them yesterday. We love the Irish. Especially Daniel Day-Lewis. And James Joyce. W. B. Yeats. The makers of Guinness. And the people who made Once, and Colin Farrell. . .

Twisted 8 will soon be available in other bookshops in Ireland and Europe. For inquiries, email zeusbooks.twisted8@gmail.com.

REMINDER: If your comment appears in Dibs! the book you asked for is yours. You can pick it up during office hours at Anvil Publishing, 8007B Pioneer St Mandaluyong near Shaw Boulevard. Look for Ms Jo Pantorillo.

Because I used to be on TV, I may be described as “semi-famous”. Semi-famous means total strangers sort of recognize you, but they don’t know why or from where.

Recently I was sort-of-recognized twice on the same day in Greenbelt 4 (Note: I don’t shop at Greenbelt 4, but they have a nice washroom. Mostly I get dragged along by a friend who loves handbags. My role is to point out how many bags he already has and ask, “Is this a midlife crisis?” I cannot make a judgment on the merchandise itself as it would qualify as sour grapes.) A woman stopped in mid-stride and cried, “I know you!” I said, “Hello,” because I’ve learned that if you say, “No you don’t,” even if it’s a statement of fact, people regard it as hostile. She said, “Did I see you on TV? Were you on a show?” There was something odd about her—she was a bit too enthusiastic. Oh, and she looked to be in her 40s but she had no teeth.

“Yes,” I said, “But not anymore.” Then she stepped right in my path and started asking questions. What was the show, who were those people, what happened to that guy, what day was it on, lots of questions. At one point she tried to put her hand on my arm, which caused me to jump back three feet because I can’t abide touchy-feeliness. I answered her questions and made my getaway as fast as I could.

That same afternoon Chus and I were leaving a store as an extremely tall man was walking in. Right outside the store we were accosted by a guy in his 20s, cute, Chus’s type. He literally jumped in our path. “What’s the name of that guy?” he said in high excitement. “That basketball player who just went in?” Chus and I shrugged, we don’t follow basketball. “Hey, I know you, you’re a TV personality!” the guy cried. “Can I have your numbers?”

“No,” we chorused. The guy handed out his business card. “Email addresses?” So we wrote them on the brown envelope he was holding. “If you’re trying to sell condos, I’m not interested,” I said. “What about land?” he cried. “Nope,” I said, although Chus looked like he was assessing his feelings about real estate.

When Mr. Enthusiastic had bounced off, Chus and I discussed the incident. “You realize that if he were ugly, we would’ve fled instantly?” We agreed that looks matter, not that it was ever in doubt, and attractive people have an unfair genetic advantage. A toothless, hyper middle-aged female stranger asks you a lot of questions, and you find her odd. A cute, hyper young male stranger asks a lot of questions, and you find him amusing. We’re shallow.
Ironically the archaic definition of “cute” was “short, cross-eyed, and bowlegged”.

Pere Lachaise, originally uploaded by 160507.

In the cemetery in Paris I went looking for the grave of Max Ophuls. My all-time favorite movie list consists of a bunch of screwball comedies and one romantic tragedy: Letter From An Unknown Woman by Ophuls. Based on a story by Stefan Zweig, Letter is the story of Liesl, a woman who falls in love with a handsome jerk. She’s so consumed by her passion, she can’t see that, one, he’s a jerk, and two, she’s being bonkers. Liesl is played by Joan Fontaine, who is so fabulous that instead of wanting to slap her (Masochist!! But she would’ve liked that), you sort of understand her. The man is played by Louis Jourdan, who is so handsome it’s ridiculous.

We see in a flashback how Liesl, 16, yearns for the pianist who lives upstairs. But she’s a child and he doesn’t know she’s alive. He’s the toast of Vienna, and beautiful women are in and out of his apartment at all hours. Then her family moves to Linz, but she does not forget him. Years later she returns to Vienna and goes to all the places he goes. Stalks him, basically. He notices her at last, seduces her, and then leaves.

In his long absence, she bears him a son, but does not tell him. (Martyr!!) She meets a rich man who falls in love with her, marries her, and brings up her son. Many years later the pianist, having squandered his talent, returns to Vienna. He spots Liesl with her husband at the opera. . .and seduces her again! And here’s the kicker: He doesn’t remember who she is! Liesl suffers and suffers and suffers, but she does it so exquisitely that there must be something in that torment. All this time the camera never stops moving, taking us right into Liesl’s soul.

There was no monument to Max Ophuls. His ashes and those of his wife were in the columbarium, their names engraved on a plain slab of marble. I wondered if people came to visit him. Liesl would, all fluttery and nervous, eyes darting about in search of her forgetful pianist.

Click on the photo to see pictures of Pere Lachaise cemetery.

This is what happens when people know too much about movies and too little about botany. Carlo, Noel, and I are having coffee when I notice the vase of flowers on the table.

Me: That’s a fragrant plant. What is it?

Carlo: Oh they have that in funeral parlors.

Noel: What’s it called?

Carlo: I’ll remember it in a minute. It starts with a C…It’s the title of a Rosanna Roces movie.

Me: Curacha?

Carlo: No.

Noel: Machete 2?

Me: Patikim Ng Pinya?

Noel: Ligaya Ang Itawag Mo Sa Akin?

Carlo: No, I think it starts in A.

Me: Azucena! That’s not even a Rosanna Roces movie.

Noel: It’s a Carlitos Siguion-Reyna movie.

Carlo: Didn’t you love Ikaw Pa Lang Ang Minahal?

Noel: Yes, I saw it twice, then I realized it was a remake of The Heiress with Olivia De Havilland.

Me: Was Olivia De Havilland the sister of Joan Fontaine?

Carlo: Yes! But they didn’t get along.

Me: Joan Fontaine was brilliant in the Ophuls movie, Letter From An Unknown Woman.

Carlo: She reminded me of me. But I don’t like Vienna. Although they have good pastries.

For several days Manila and the blogosphere were riveted to the $70,000 blog. Its revelations were so titillating that readers actually got more information than they wanted. It even started to write itself—anonymous commenters sent the stories spinning off in many directions while offering insights into celebrity culture, class warfare, and changing social mores. It raised questions as to cyberspace jurisprudence. For a few days, it may have been bigger than the NBN ZTE scandal. Plus I could not get The Smiths’ song Panic out of my head.

Last night the blog came to an end (Note: That was at 11; things change quickly), and you could feel the city’s withdrawal symptoms. Two people at dinner actually shrieked, “NO!” As someone put it, “Ay, balik-ZTE na naman.” The discussion turned to whether the scandal had helped perpetuate those in power by distracting the public from the previous, more expensive scandal.

This whole affair is a demonstration of the power of new media. Yesterday, Noel and I were wondering if the papers would pick up the story. (The story itself may have been minor by news standards, but the audience reaction was not.) We quickly realized that this would just be a formality. More people have probably read that blog than read the papers. In the digital age, you get information direct from the source, raw and unfiltered, but without the benefit of the fact-checking, copy-editing, objectivity, analysis, and intellectual rigor that print media and television are supposed to bring to a story.

If food just shot out of your nose, you are not alone. The traditional media have been remiss in their responsibilities, not just here but everywhere. They have set their audience adrift without a paddle in an ocean of information. And they wonder why they’re losing the audience to blogs. If our guides have deserted us, we might as well make our own way.

For perspective, from the Guardian: The world’s 50 most powerful blogs.

P.S. Old media pick up the story when everyone (or everyone who would take an interest) has already heard it. The scandal is not the story, how news of it spread is the story.

Question that’s bugged me for years: Whatever happened to the aviary that used to be in Greenbelt Park? (Where did the birds go? They had some exotic birds in there, were they set free?)

Finally it occurred to me to ask. The answer: The birds and the net were donated to a wildlife institution in Quezon City. So now we know.

Ige alerted me to this advertisement for the metro in Madrid, Spain. . .set in Madrid, Surigao del Sur. It’s in Tagalog, and features Filipino actors like Ronnie Lazaro and Junix Inocian.