JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

My new favorite shirt Spoilt. Contains spoilers. Thanks, Mark., originally uploaded by 160507.

If you write movie reviews, you hope that one of two things will happen every time you see a movie. One, that the movie is very good, so you can devote a whole column to explaining how it works, or two, that it is very bad, so you can devote a whole column to mocking it. It’s the mediocrities that are of no use to me.

Therefore I am pleased to report that The Other Boleyn Girl (You pronounce it ‘Bullen’) is awful!! It’s like a Tudor teen Dynasty with bad accents. I can’t deny that it’s fun to see history reduced to a soap opera, but other than Henry VIII being king and divorcing Catherine to marry Anne Boleyn, I wouldn’t believe anything in the movie. I remember that when Shekar Kapoor’s first Elizabeth movie opened, Ted my publisher was spitting nails over its historical inaccuracies. Someone get the tasers ready.

So the ambitious Boleyn at the urging of his brother-in-law the Duke of Norfolk pimps his daughter Anne to Henry VIII, who goes for her sister Mary instead. But Anne the scheming wench manages to steal Henry from the good-hearted Mary. Catfight! Vamping! Batted eyelashes! Cleavage and bad acting all around. Still, this movie will appeal to the following demographics:

1. Those who find Eric Bana hot, i.e. 85 percent of everyone I know, plus myself.
2. Those who find Jim Sturgess hot, i.e. Across The Universe fans, esp. Kermit.
3. Those who find Natalie Portman hot, i.e. Star Wars fans and the pervs who watched Leon twenty times.
4. Those who find Scarlett Johansson hot, i.e. males of the species.

First, you find the Pinoy. One of the basic tenets of my World Domination Theory is that nearly every famous/influential/rich person on earth has a Filipino in their employ. (If you are not familiar with World Domination Theory, you can look it up in Twisted #1 or Flip #1.)

On a recent visit to New York City, a Filipino student got into an elevator in an apartment building and was promptly addressed by the elevator man. “Pilipino ka?” said the elevator man. “Oho,” said the student.

“Wanna meet Anne Hathaway, star of The Devil Wears Prada?” said the elevator man. No preamble necessary—we Pinoys know what really matters.

“Yes,” said the student. The elevator man then introduced her to Anne Hathaway’s Pinay maid, who told her to come back the following afternoon. “Can I bring a friend?” asked the student. “Of course,” said the maid.

The following day the student appeared at the building with not one but seven Pinoy friends. Hey, we like to travel in groups. The student thought that they would catch a glimpse of Anne Hathaway from the kitchen. However, when she and her seven friends rang the bell, Ms Hathaway herself opened the door. A tea party was in progress, and Ms Hathaway graciously invited them to join the other guests.

So the Filipino student and her companions ended up having tea with the star of The Princess Diaries and Brokeback Mountain. She even poured the tea herself. After the tea party, the Pinoys got into the elevator, and the elevator man said, “Now do you want to meet Nicolas Cage?”

A study published in the Journal of Neuroinflammation says a daily cup of coffee may protect your brain. It may cut the risk of dementia by blocking the damage inflicted by cholesterol. Apparently coffee creates a “blood brain barrier” which shields the central nervous system from the harmful chemicals carried around in the bloodstream.

We’re talking about coffee, the good bitter black stuff, not the sugar or artificial sweeteners, whipped cream, syrups and junk that people ingest with it.

Recently a friend asked me if, as a child, my favorite story in Edith Hamilton’s Mythology was Perseus vs. Medusa. “I liked the Perseus story,” I said, “But my favorite was the House of Atreus.” “That explains so much,” she said.

The House of Atreus was a spectacularly unlucky royal clan: bloodshed, murder, matricide, human sacrifice, hounding by The Furies, curses and eternal punishment. The cause of the family’s doom was their ancestor, Tantalus.

Tantalus was a favorite of the gods, but he turned against them for no particular reason. He invited them to a banquet at his palace, where he served them a meat stew made of his son Pelops. But his immortal guests knew what the dish was made of. They restored Pelops to life—a feat, as he had been chopped up and cooked—and condemned Tantalus to an eternity of torment. He was set in a pool in the underworld, in a state of perpetual hunger and thirst. Every time he stooped to have a drink of water, the water would drain away instantly. Around the pool were the low-hanging branches of trees heavily laden with fruit. Every time he reached for the fruit, the branches would move away. Tantalus was surrounded by food and drink, but he could never slake his hunger and thirst. I think the verb “to tantalize” comes from his name.

House Atreides in Frank Herbert’s science-fiction epic Dune was probably descended from the House of Atreus, hence their bad luck. The original Atreus, by the way, discovered that his brother was in love with his (Atreus’s) wife. So he had his brother’s children killed, cooked, and served to the unsuspecting brother. What a recipe to be handed down for generations.

Published in 1942, Mythology by Edith Hamilton is a retelling of myths and legends from ancient Greece, Rome, and Scandinavia. The creation myths, the heroic tales of Jason, Hercules and Theseus (the early superheroes), the Iliad, Odyssey, and Aeneid, the Norse sagas, they’re all here. These stories are not meant to convey moral lessons (The ancient gods behaved very badly, much worse than the humans) or to teach people how to live (I do know that eating people is wrong). They’re just great stories, and a solid foundation for appreciating literature. These myths were the subjects of classical art, opera, poetry, and theatre, and knowing them enriches one’s understanding of all these works. Those classical allusions in Shakespeare, James Joyce, and everyone else—they’re all here. Those women in helmets and long blonde braids in eight-hour Wagner operas—this is what they’re bellowing about. If you plan to take up reading, this is a good place to start.

Here’s one of my favorite stories of all time: Bullet In The Brain by Tobias Wolff.

If you prefer to hear it, here’s T. Coraghessan Boyle reading Bullet In The Brain, then discussing the story with the New Yorker’s fiction editor. This podcast is also on iTunes.

The new Tobias Wolff book is Our Story Begins: New and Selected Stories. I’ve looked in Powerbooks, Fully Booked, A Different Bookstore and National, and not only do they not have Our Story Begins, they do not have anything whatsoever by Tobias Wolff. If you spot Our Story Begins, or In Pharaoh’s Army, This Boy’s Life, In the Garden of the North American Martyrs or The Barracks Thief, could you alert me?

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.