JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

For the first time in nearly two decades, I changed my hairstyle. In the early 90s I had long, curly hair which threatened to engulf any room it was in. After a shampoo, it would expand like the universe in the immediate post-Big Bang period. I attempted to tame it with an assortment of products: mousse, gel, leave-on conditioner. But not hairspray. If I’d used hairspray, global warming would be way more advanced today than it already is.

When the perm wore off after a year or so, I just wore my hair long and straight. Okay, straightish. My hair is naturally wavy and unruly; the technical term is “buhaghag”. It doesn’t help that I refuse to have it rebonded, relaxed, or even blow-dried. I am extremely attached to my brain, it’s my favorite organ, and I’m not letting any chemicals or heating appliances near its protective casing of bone and hair. True, when I was doing a TV show I let myself be convinced to have my hair blow-dried, but that was just once a week. I have so much hair it requires two stylists and an entire hour to blow-dry, and afterwards their arms are really toned. It’s good hair, I’m not complaining—the strands are thick and strong, you could floss with them. I went to the salon twice a year to have four inches lopped off the ends; otherwise it stayed the same.

Last week I realized I was tired of my usual hairstyle. I’d been wearing it pulled back with a headband and held up by a butterfly clip, which is practical but boring. However, I didn’t want one of those fussy hairstyles that would require waking up early and slathering on product. Ernie was going to the salon to have his hair relaxed and cut, so he suggested that I see his stylist after his appointment. Ernie has even more hair than I do, it’s amazing. Bert calls it “Hair that grew a bakla.” When I showed up at Basement after Ernie’s haircut, it looked like there’d been a massacre of tribbles. It looked like Cousin It had committed suicide. 

I had very little choice in what happened next—my glasses were off, so I couldn’t see what the stylist was doing. Ernie art-directed everything. The result is a layered late-70s cut that Ernie calls “All of Dolphy’s Angels conflated in one head.” (Children, Dolphy’s Angels was a 70s action-comedy ripoff of Charlie’s Angels starring Yehlen Catral, Carmi Martin, Liz Alindogan and Ana Marie Gutierrez. Now you can win a trivia contest.) 

Raymond Lee did not thank us in his Urian acceptance speech, the little wretch. After we art-directed him and drafted several acceptance speeches, viz:

“I would like to thank the following people: (say their names). The following people would like to thank me: (Say their names. Hold up trophy, which looks like a metal shaft with a stone (panghilod) at the bottom.) This trophy is for me.”

“I wish to thank Carlo, Noel, and Jessica for nothing. Which in Taoist philosophy means everything.”

“My friends say only a gay person could make such a beautiful film. This is proof that. . .(trail off).”

Fortunately we met the fabulous Mailes Kanapi (she plays Ina Feleo’s friend the hotel chambermaid in Endo, and stars in My Fake American Accent) at the alleged after-party and she said that if she wins an award, we can accept it for her. Then we counted the heterosexual male population at the party, and minus the manager and staff, the total was one.

At the CCP I was approached by a woman who asked me what I thought of the awards night. I said it was long and stretches of it were boring. She looked surprised, so it’s just as well I didn’t tell her that host Butch Francisco’s patter made me wish I owned some high-heeled stilettos so I could hurl them onstage heel-first. Isn’t it unfortunate that critics who can tell you exactly what works in a movie can’t put together a brisk and entertaining awards show? Or at least see that it’s not working out, and job it out to someone who knows what to do? Then the woman said, But you like Hollywood movies better than Tagalog movies. I said No and walked away before she could misinterpret anything else.

Q. Why do people bother to ask questions when they think they already know the answers? A. So they can accuse you of inauthenticity/being antipatika (which I’m not saying I’m not).

Grungella arrived at the restaurant early, so she chose a corner booth next to the table occupied by Hot Guy and his date. Ernie arrived a minute later.

Grungella: Note that this booth has an excellent view of the hot guy at the next table.

Ernie: Yes, he is hot, but he knows it too well.

Grungella: (Craning neck to observe species in his habitat) You’re right, he is much more involved with himself than with his date.

Ernie: The most attractive guys are the ones who have no idea how attractive they are.

Grungella: Or have the grace to make fun of themselves. Then again, some gargoyles think they look like Christian Bale.

Ernie: Have you seen Harsh Times starring Christian Bale?

Grungella: No, what’s it about?

Ernie: I’ve forgotten it entirely except for Christian Bale. (Seizes glass of cold water and quaffs it.)

Later, when they had left the restaurant:

Grungella: I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation at the next table because the hot guy had one of those American accents that jam all signals. This is what he talked about for an hour: Me me me me me me me me me me me me me me.

Ernie: Typical.

Grungella: And all his date said was, Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi.

Ernie: It means, How long must I endure this before you take something off?

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?