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For years my friend Bernard-Henri Not Levy has been railing that Occam’s Razor–the principle that the simplest explanation is probably the best–does not work in the Philippines. He is terribly disappointed that no one disagrees with him. Now he goes around railing that we fail the Turing Test, and if no one has disagreed with him it may be because no one is sure what the Turing Test is.

Occam’s Razor Does Not Cut Here in Emotional Weather Report, today in the Star.

Ernie and Grungella are sitting in a coffee shop late Saturday night when they sense a disturbance in The Force. As if magnetized, they turn to the next table, where they behold a stunning sight: an extremely good-looking teenage boy, a Young Clooney, having a latte with his friends.

Grungella: Extraordinary.
Ernie: Spectacular.
Grungella: Ach, pedophilia.
Ernie: Too old to attract pedophiles they are.

The Young Clooney’s table is joined by another extremely good-looking teenage boy hobbling on crutches, probably a sports injury.

Ernie: Consider Young Pitt joining Young Clooney.
Grungella: Consider not. Gawk. Or gawk not. There is no consider.
Ernie: More handsome is Young Clooney, yet sympathy Young Pitt generates.
Grungella: Are the crutches an equalizer?
Ernie: Oh yes. I sprained my arm once. Never got so many pick-up lines as when I was wearing a sling.

A quarter of an hour later, Young Clooney and Company leave, and the table is taken over by yet another good-looking teenage boy and his friends.

Grungella: In another galaxy we definitely are.
Ernie: Not nearly as handsome as the earlier ones is this new arrival, yet totally confident he is.
Grungella: Just an ass he would be if ugly he were.
Ernie: Fair life is not.

A series of strange text messages

Grungella: I’ll be in Grimbelt 6ish if anyone wants din-din.

Ernie: I’ll join you if I finish work early.

Big Bird: I can’t join you. Looking for something in my room that may kill me. Tell you bout it later.

Grungella: Killer cockroach? Air Supply albums? Gas leak? Voodoo doll?

Big Bird: A snake entered my room and hid under my bed. The moment I stepped out door to garden, it slipped in. I turned round and saw about 2 ft of it. Yesterday I looked for it but didn’t see it. Got so confused, was thinking someone had bewitched my imagination. But I’m positive I saw it. Been sleeping in my parents’ room. They’re away.

Grungella: Eek! Find it! Call animal control! Get out of the house!

Big Bird: I accidentally nudged it with my foot and it didn’t attack so it must not be poisonous.

Grungella: Indiana Jones has nothing on my snake fear! I couldn’t open the green Walt Disney encyclopedia!

Big Bird: If I still don’t find it I’m consulting the tarot card reader.

Grungella: Big Bird looking for snake in house, literally.

Ernie: He’d have better luck looking in that mall.

Grungella: Maybe he can lure it out with Alice Dixon or Snooky as Galema.

Ernie: Or he could get a mongoose. Do they have mongooses in Bio-Research?

Grungella: Is it mongooses or mongeese?

Panchito (not his real name) and his six-year-old son boarded the elevator in their building. There were two other passengers on the lift: a middle-aged Australian and his young Filipina wife. The Australian was a friendly sort–he looked at Panchito’s son and boomed, “Hello! How old are you?”

“I’m six,” the little boy replied.

“You’re too big to be a six-year-old!” the friendly Australian said.

“You’re too old to have a yaya (nanny),” the little boy said.

Panchito was unable to take note of the Australian’s reaction, or that of his wife. He was too busy looking for an elevator shaft he could throw himself into.

Big Bird, Ernie, Grungella, and Big Bird’s Non-Imaginary Friend had dessert and coffee at a newish restaurant. Big Bird tried the apple pie. His friends awaited his opinion.

“Hmm,” he said portentously. “Um. . .urhm. . .the crust is good.”

“That’s it?” Ernie asked. “Good crust?”

Big Bird pushed the uneaten slice around his plate. “And look, the china is beautiful. Such detail.”

“This is a new school of criticism,” Grungella declared. “We only say positive things–”

“And you read between the lines!” Ernie said. “Note the decor: subtle baroque.”

“I didn’t even think that was possible,” Grungella said. “This restaurant brings oxymorons to life!”

“What about the food?” BB’s NIF pointed out.

“For maximum enjoyment,” Ernie replied, “Be sure to sit under a chandelier!”

“More chandeliers per square meter than other restaurants in this mall!” Grungella added.

They had started a new movement.

This last weekend Grungella and Ernie escaped the summer torment by hanging out at Gateway mall in Cubao. Grungella told Ernie about a Roz Chast cartoon she’d seen that morning. “It’s in three panels. Bad: Person over 40 with a MySpace page. Worse: Your dad with a MySpace page. Worst: Your dad’s band with a MySpace page.”

“Sad, sadder, saddest,” said Ernie. Little did they know that this would be the recurring theme of the day.

They wandered into a T-shirt store that was having a sale. Ernie bought two shirts. The salesperson informed him that his purchase entitled him to free tickets to a concert that same night at the Araneta Coliseum. “That’s terrific!” Ernie and Grungella chorused. “Who’s playing?”

According to the ticket the show was called “Lost 80s Live”, and it featured three New Wave acts from their distant youth: When In Rome, Real Life, and A Flock of Seagulls.

Sad: The show’s title made it clear that the performers were has-beens: “Lost” pretty much sums up their careers.
Sadder: There’s always an audience in Manila for bands two (more often, four) decades past their sell-by date.
Saddest: Ernie and Grungella knew A Flock Of Seagulls but weren’t exactly sure who When In Rome and Real Life were. Our apologies to hardcore fans of these bands; our characters were not hip in the 80s. Or today. In fact they disapprove of ‘hip’ as an adjective. (Continue reading.)
Sad, Sadder, Saddest in Emotional Weather Report, today in the Star.

Kermit the human RSS feed showed us a video he found on the Internet of a French guy who has achieved total self-sufficiency. How shall I put this delicately? The appendage was of sufficient length as to allow subject to vacuum himself with very minimal contortion.
Bert: Wow, he’s cute And French.

Ernie: But he doesn’t need anyone.

Big Bird: He has nice eyes.

Grungella: That’s what you notice about this anatomical wonder? His eyes?

Big Bird: Do we have to watch this?

Everyone: Yes.

Big Bird: But there’s a lady present!

Grungella: The only lady here is you.

Bert: That’s Big Bird. He’s half-manang, half-manyak.

Kermit: Question. Technically that guy (in the video) is having sex with a guy. Does that make him gay?

Ernie: No, because it’s with himself.

Later I put this conundrum to Cookie Monster.

Cookie Monster: No, but it makes him a cannibal. He’s eating his own children.

Grungella: What are you, a Vatican fundamentalist?

Cookie Monster: Who’s that guy in Greek mythology who swallowed his own children?

Grungella: Cronos. Hey, nerdiness Is contagious!

In the late 80s, my friends Otsu and Valmont went to school in Scotland. There they became friends with Colum, an Irish librarian. One evening they were all having dinner at Colum’s place when he announced that he had a surprise for them. He then produced a small, hard, hairy coconut. “Ta-daaa!”

Being true Pinoys, Otsu and Valmont smiled like contestants in the question-and-answer portion of a beauty contest. “Oh,” Otsu said, though her thought balloon read, “Luma na ang niyog, copra na yata yan.” “Ah,” said Valmont, who was really thinking, “Am I expected to dance the maglalatik?”

“I searched all over,” Colum announced, “Before I found one in an Indian grocery.” Being a nice white boy, he had assumed that we tropical islanders would plotz with joy at the sight of a coconut in the temperate zone. (See the swallow sketch in The Holy Grail.) “What do you think?”

Without losing the dazzling smile, Otsu said, “It’s a little. . .dry.” Valmont avoided eye contact with anyone or he would burst out laughing.

“How do you open it?” Colum asked. Otsu and Valmont were stumped, as neither of them had ever personally cracked open a coconut—it usually arrived at the table already opened and with a straw, or as fresh lumpia or a guinataan dish. “Um. . .we’ve never. . .” Otsu and Valmont told their lovely host, who had probably seen too many movies of island natives running up trees and bagging coconuts. “Should I tell him that the servants do it for us?” read Otsu’s thought balloon. “Should I tell him we have electricity back home?” Valmont wondered.

So Colum produced a hatchet and a hammer. “Omigod this is how people get murdered,” Otsu thought. “Help!” Valmont squealed silently, but still smiling like a beauty contestant who can’t understand the question. “We’re Pinoy,” Otsu said as she recounted the story. “If we keep smiling, they won’t kill us.”

While Colum attacked the coconut with carpentry tools, Otsu and Valmont maintained a safe distance. “Those shards can be painful,” Otsu pointed out. “Shrapnel,” Valmont added. After much effort the coconut was opened and Colum ate it.

*My life as a talky movie. Grover and Guy Smiley have requested that their pseudonyms be changed to Bert and Ernie, respectively, as they feel they resemble these Sesame Street characters more than they do Grover and Guy. Obviously Bert and Ernie are the perfect characters for our non-adventures series, because they care about the accuracy of their muppet avatars. Kermit is now Big Bird because he has imaginary friends (Snuffleupagi) who might turn out to be real, and The Count is now Kermit. Since we are basically nerds and most of our action is mental, the movie would be less Less Than Zero, than Less Than Coke Zero.

Weekday, 9pm.

Bert: Have you seen my writing bag?
Ernie and Grungella: It’s beautiful! I want one!
Ernie: Look, the manufacturer’s tag says ‘Isle Manilhe’. Manilhe, not Manille.
Grungella: Is that correct?
Ernie: Maybe it’s not French, but another language.
There is a crash.
Bert: I cut my toe.
Grungella: What happened?
Bert: The clock fell on it.
Grungella: The clock fell on it?
Bert: It was on the stepladder.
Grungella: Why was the clock on the stepladder?
Ernie: Let’s check the French dictionary. Oh look, ‘Manilhe’ is an alternate spelling.
Bert: Should I let it bleed?
Grungella: Is it bleeding? (Note: The cut is 2mm long.)
Bert: Maybe it’s bleeding internally.
Ernie: So ‘Manilhe’ is correct. Shouldn’t ‘Isle’ be ‘Ile’, though?
Bert: What should I do with it?
Ernie: Maybe it’s an alternate spelling. No, it’s not here. Let’s look at another dictionary.
Bert: It’s painful.
Ernie: Disinfect it. Maybe it’s archaic French.
Bert: Should I bandage it?
Grungella: Leave it alone, let your antibodies do the work.
Ernie: No, ‘isle’ is incorrect.
Grungella: And even if it were correct, Manila is not an island!
Bert wonders if he should take his toe to the ER.

So your time isn’t entirely wasted: Descended from Salinger in the NYT.

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.

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”.

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.