JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

Before Joseph “Erap” Estrada entered politics he was an effective performer in action dramas and comedies. He was so effective, people believed that the guy onscreen was the same guy in real life; he got elected president.

Erap is making his movie comeback in Star Cinema’s Tanging Pamilya. (Does anyone have a larger photo?) Here’s how he looks when he’s expressing joy.

And sorrow. And anger. And concern. And affection. And botulism.

If we ever invade the USA, Erap is ready for Mount Rushmore.

As for the movie, it’s a series of gags and ancient jokes slapped together—not so much unfunny as “What the hell is that?” Ai Ai de las Alas could do this in her sleep. Will someone please tell Aling Dionisia Pacquiao she’s being made fun of, this has gone on long enough.

* * * * *

Feeling unloved? Watch these videos of Dogs Welcoming Soldiers Home from Afghanistan and Iraq.

“How come you never greet me like that?” I asked my cats. “You’ve been to Afghanistan?” they chorused.

Edward Woodward, star of the mid-80s series The Equalizer, has died.

The Equalizer was a real Eighties classic, from the score by Stewart Copeland of The Police to the seedy New York setting pre-Giuliani and Disneyfication. Woodward played a former spy turned vigilante helping scared and desperate New Yorkers. He had a great wardrobe, an armory, a support crew of disgruntled intelligence operatives, and a commanding presence. And a great voice—during a chase he couldn’t run very fast but he would yell “Stop!” and the villain would.

Like a dream: Exterminating Angel by Luis Bunuel.

Dreams are so rich and have such an authentic feeling that scientists have long assumed they must have a crucial psychological purpose. To Freud, dreaming provided a playground for the unconscious mind; to Jung, it was a stage where the psyche’s archetypes acted out primal themes. Newer theories hold that dreams help the brain to consolidate emotional memories or to work though current problems, like divorce and work frustrations.

Yet what if the primary purpose of dreaming isn’t psychological at all?

A Dream Interpretation: Tuneups for the Brain in the NYT. It says dreams are just your brain doing a sound check. Naah, I like my interpretation better.

A pleasant side-effect of having to wake up before 7am three days in a row: my body clock has been reset. I’ve been getting up three, four hours earlier than I usually do. No rushing to get to the bank before it closes, no hurrying to get chores done. Life proceeds at a more leisurely pace. I actually have lunch by noon! Don’t know how long I’ll keep this schedule, but I should get some vitamin D out of it.

On the downside, observing regular people hours means you have to deal with more road traffic and more human traffic at malls and restaurants.

I was done with my to-do list by 1130, so I could wander aimlessly. True, I wander aimlessly whether I’m done with my list or not, but it feels more like rewarding myself than goofing off.

At National Bookstore I was pleased to note that Hilary Mantel’s Booker prizewinner Wolf Hall is already available. In hardcover it’s P1,245. I’ll wait for the trade paper edition—easier to lug around.

The other day I read a review of a new biography of W. Somerset Maugham by Selina Hastings. It starts, “Very few people read William Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) anymore.” A pity, because he’s brilliant—an unfussy style that doesn’t wave itself in your face, acute observations of human nature.

“Looks like we’re among the last ones,” I told my sister. I’d read all his short stories plus The Razor’s Edge in college. When my sister was working in Singapore she warded off boredom by reading him. Some of his finest tales are set in Asia, especially Malaysia and Singapore. “You still have all the Maugham books, right?” I asked Cookie.

“Uhhh. . .actually I can’t bring myself to look at my books after the flood,” Cookie said. “I know some of them were damaged, and I don’t know if. . .”

So we went to the bookstore and got his Collected Stories. If they ever go out of print, we’re covered.

My throat felt a little scratchy. I hate getting colds, so I self-medicated with garlic. I figured the fumes would zap the microbes.

“Garlic Bath” sounds like something you do before watching Twilight or visiting Siquijor (which I must do soon, I hear it’s beautiful), but it’s this dip they serve at Pazzo. It’s made of crushed garlic in olive oil and served with herb foccacia. You dip the cubes of bread into the garlicky oil like fondue. It’s wonderful, it may have prevented a cold, plus I don’t have to worry about unwanted company.

Finally: a Disney character T-shirt attuned to my personal philosophy. Always liked Maleficent the Wicked Stepmother better than that Snow White and her band of midgets. (Although Maleficent and the Wicket Stepmom could be the same person. I always thought Prince Charming was a polygamist.) Also this T-shirt reminds me of poor Alan Turing.

I got home early and annoyed my cat Saffy by making her wear the string of seed pearls and magnets that Cookie found in Greenhills. You can use it as a choker or a bracelet, and the magnets keep it in place so you don’t need a clasp. Saffy complained as always, but still posed for photos.

No Anna Karinas amongst us?

Such modesty. Only nine readers entered last week’s LitWit Challenge: Cast Yourself. That can’t be right. You mean you don’t sit around having conversations like this?

– Who’s more Audrey Hepburn, her or me?
– (Long intake of breath.) I think you. She’s more Grace Kelly.

I don’t believe it. So I’m extending the LitWit Challenge deadline to tomorrow, Tuesday, 17 November, 11.59 pm. You could win a Tintin book for sharing your grand delusion.

The Chair’s Desk, Ayala Tower One

My profile of Jaime Augusto Zobel de Ayala appears in the Star’s business section today. It covers rugby, tennis, crew, and oh right, business.

“Zobel discovered rugby at the British boarding schools he attended when his father Jaime, Senior was the Philippine Ambassador to the Court of Saint James. In his teens he played county-level rugby in Sussex and dislocated his kneecap five times. “I’ll be frank with you, the first time my kneecap popped out was not on a rugby pitch,” he laughs. “It was on a grass court, while playing tennis. My foot went one way, my body went another. . .”

“Contact sports were out of the question by the time he got to college, so he joined the Harvard rowing team. “I did lightweight crew for three-quarters of a season, but the pressure of training was so intense that I quit. That’s one of my big regrets. Recently I told my son, ‘If you’re ever at the point of giving something up, give me a call.'” (His son is now on the Harvard rugby team.)”

The profile is now on the Harvard Business School website.