JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

Tina called my attention to a Wapedia entry about me. 

“Her work has been the subject of academic study (1). Content analysis of the Twisted series reveals Zafra’s disdain for men in general, and Filipino men in particular, whom she finds “stupid and weak” (2). Most of her positive descriptions of men were reserved for foreign celebrities like Mel Gibson (3), David Duchovny (4), Goran Ivanisevic (5) and Sting (6).”

(1) I do not participate in academic studies of my work because I already spend too much time talking about myself, plus it is not for me to pass judgment on my own output. 

(2) This is what happens when the academic study does not factor in the most important ingredient in my work: Irony. But I guess a sense of irony cannot be taught. I’ll say this once: I love men. Maybe not you in particular, but I am a great admirer of the male of the species, regardless of nationality. All my friends are men, straight and gay. It’s women friends who have almost vanished from my directory, because they’re all busy saving the world. I see my gay guy friends everyday, and what do we talk about 70 percent of the time? Men.

I feel for you guys. I think you should be liberated from having to carry your wives/girlfriends’ handbags (You should offer to carry laptop bags and heavy packages because you are physically stronger, generally), or from waiting outside fitting rooms and being ordered to fetch clothes in other sizes or colors. I would not mind at all if you always picked up the tab, after all you’re hardwired to be the hunter-gatherers (while we discover agriculture, quantum physics, etc).

You should also not be compelled to discuss your feelings unless you’re ready to go full Oprah. I know how ooky it is to discuss your emotional state, especially when you’re watching sports. This emo thing has gone too far. If someone wanted to discuss our, ugh, relationship while I was watching the fifth set of a Federer-Nadal final, there would be blood. Women should realize that your obsession with sports is totally about feelings. Don’t they notice how much crying goes on at sporting events?

(3) That was the 90s, I was young and stupid. I don’t deny I loved Mad Max II and Braveheart but I have already renounced his fundamentalist ass.

(4) He’s so 90s, I was young and stupid, but there’s nothing to renounce.

(5) Love him.

(6) If you’re doing a proper academic study, could you read past Twisted 1? There are eight volumes, you know, plus Flicks and Travels.

I want these glasses from Fabulous Fanny’s, NYC.

P.S. According to Ricky, it is apparently the fashion these days for boys to carry their girlfriends’ handbags. It is a public announcement that (1) They are getting some, and (2) They are secure enough in their masculinity to be seen toting girliness. I think that (3) If it makes you happy to carry your girlfriend’s handbag, go ahead and be happy, (4) She would have two major accessories, the bag and the carrier, and (5) It’s her public announcement that you are her territory. Also, (6) You can buy your own designer bag, you know.

419eater.com is a site dedicated to baiting scammers, wasting their time, and making their lives miserable. You 419 them right back! In this particular anti-scam, the scammer is convinced to copy an entire Harry Potter book by hand. Brilliant!

This cybersport is not for amateurs. Do not try it on your own. If you have a gift for making people miserable and you want to use it for good not evil, the site has a mentoring program for scambaiters.

 

Photo: Lotte, Seoul, 2007. What is “Retort Food” exactly?

Jason Moss the artist, Ely Buendia the musician, and I met the other day to discuss a book project. I arrived fifteen minutes ahead of time. Jason arrived exactly on time. Ely was thirty minutes late, making him the winner of the diva contest. Then he took out a giant ziploc bag containing bottles of vitamins and heart medicine and whatnot. So much for hanging out with a rockstar—it was like dining with old people.

After the meeting I suggested we walk around Greenbelt to see the new shops. “That way people will see us with Ely and be jealous,” I told Jason. Jason made a face. He is from an alien species: the gay outdoor jock who does not like shopping malls. 

Ayala Center is like Dark City: it’s always under construction so the geography keeps changing and you start suspecting that aliens are futzing with your memories. Greenbelt 1 now connects to Greenbelt 5, so one second you’re in rather grim surroundings and then whoosh! you’re in a more fashionable dimension. Marlon calls it Narnia: you go into the wardrobe, and suddenly you’re no longer in London during the Blitz.

It is not fun wandering the mall with a claustrophobic visual artist and a musician who’s borderline autistic savant. They don’t go into a store, examine the merchandise, and declare whether they approve or disapprove of the concept (which is what my usual companions do all the time). Ely went to Bang & Olufsen and checked out the audio set-up. When I heard the price my shriek of horror nearly shattered the windows. “That’s just for the speakers,” the salesperson helpfully added.

Nearly everyone we met looked at Ely, but no one approached him. The looks generally had five stages. One, “Hey, isn’t that. . .” Two, “Yes, it is!” Three, “He’s alive!” Four, “Mustn’t gawk, he’ll think I’m not cool.” Five, “I have to text someone!” There were a couple of double-takes, and a large, burly man’s thought balloon read, “Pare, I lab you.”

“I feel trapped,” Jason said. “I can’t stand these long hallways. I can’t see any trees!” Then he left to finish some paintings. (Visit Jason’s exhibit at Cubao X, the Marikina Shoe Expo in Cubao, later this week.)

On our way out of Greenbelt someone asked Ely if she could have her picture taken with him. She looked exactly like Francine Prieto the actress, because she was Francine Prieto the actress. Her companion snapped the photo. “Shouldn’t we all be in the picture?” Ely said. 

“Oh no, go ahead,” I said. I’m not standing next to a bombshell, what am I, suicidal?

At 5pm Ely went home. 

This rock and roll lifestyle is too exciting.

Photo: Mat is working on his first book, a historical epic set in Sumer, narrated by cats.

Hemingway, Balzac, Wodehouse, Burroughs, Twain. . .Writers and their cats. Thanks to Budjette for the alert.

I clean the litterbox and I’m pretty sure I am a carrier of toxoplasmosis (from cat poop). Leptospirosis is caused by a bacterium in mouse urine. What would happen if a toxoplasmosis carrier encountered a leptospirosis carrier?

Our friend Carlo the pastry chef gave a presentation on entertaining at home.

“I’ve got it,” I told Noel. We had planted ourselves in the back of the room, where we could talk without interrupting the proceedings. Noel and I have realized that we are characters in a 1930s screwball comedy who have escaped from our movie. (You’ve seen The Purple Rose of Cairo? Similar idea.) “I have an excellent idea for the cookbook Carlo will write. We’ll call it “Cooking for Mistresses”. It cannot help but be a bestseller!”

“I can see it!” Noel said. “You can’t cook? Not a problem! Serve the sashimi on your breasts!”

“And to make sure all demographics are covered,” I said, “We should publish a companion volume: “The Anti-Mistress Cookbook.” Chapter 1: Defend your house from that gold-digging tramp. She’s probably planning to serve sashimi on her breasts! Here’s the counter-measure.”

Quantum of Martha in Emotional Weather Report, today in the Star.

*****

Just got a text message from Krip Yuson: Chuck Syjuco has won the Man Asian Literary Prize (They seriously need to rethink the name) for his novel, Ilustrado. Congratulations! I met Chuck in the 90s when he was doing his website; he had spiky hair and we called him Dragonball Z. I ran into him a few years ago when he was visiting from Australia. Now he lives in Montreal. (Krip’s novel The Music Child was on the shortlist for the Man Asian—See what I mean? I don’t like “Man Booker” either, it sounds like “pimp”—so I offered to put a hex on the other finalists, but I can’t hex someone I know.)

Duke slain! Atreides heir lost, presumed dead.

Photo: Dunes, Paoay
 

The winners of our Alternate History headline-writing contest are:

“Elected, Shocked, Dead.

“Surprised by own victory, McCain suffers heart attack.” by Juan.

“NO-BAMA!” by Cacs.

“No, we can’t” by wengkisantos.

Honorable mention: “Garci in DC” by walterrobles.

Juan, Cacs, wengkisantos, please post your mailing addresses in the Philippines. 

Thanks to everyone who sent in their entries. We were supposed to pick just one winner, but what the hell.