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Painting: Vincent Van Gogh, “Corridor in the Asylum”

For the benefit of those who have seen so many serial killer thrillers they’ve begun to think Satan is speaking to them through the neighbor’s dog, The Straight Dope explains the difference between sociopaths, psychopaths, and serial killers.

Sociopath. The term is no longer in use. It has been replaced by “antisocial personality disorder” (APD), which is characterized by “a pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others occurring since age 15 years, as indicated by three (or more) of the following: failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors; deceitfulness; impulsivity or failure to plan ahead; irritability and aggressiveness; reckless disregard for safety of self or others; consistent irresponsibility; lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another.” If this describes you, thank you for taking time to read this. Now go away.

Psychopath. The term is not in the DSM, but is used by some criminologists. Psychologist Robert Hare has prepared this checklist to measure psychopathy: Glibness/superficial charm, Grandiose sense of self-worth, Pathological lying, Cunning/manipulativeness, Lack of remorse or guilt, Shallow affect, Callous/lack of empathy, Failure to accept responsibility for own actions, Promiscuous sexual behavior. (Hey, I think I went out with that guy.)

Hare estimates that 1 percent of the general population is psychotic, which means we’ve already elected most of them into office.

The difference between psychopathy and APD is that psychopaths are characterized by a lack of empathy, grandiosity, and shallow emotion that are not necessary for a diagnosis of APD. 

Serial killings. “Serial killer” is not a mental disorder. In American criminal law, “the term “serial killings” means a series of three or more killings, not less than one of which was committed within the United States, having common characteristics such as to suggest the reasonable possibility that the crimes were committed by the same actor or actors.” And by “actor” they do not mean Kevin Spacey or Anthony Hopkins.

Hare notes that not all psychopaths are violent criminals: they thrive in corporate environments without killing people (just their souls). For supplemental reading I recommend “American Psycho” by Bret Easton Ellis—relevant again in the current financial debacle.

Whenever I go to the US or parts of Europe, I always bring a tabo. A tabo, for the benefit of non-Tagalog speakers, is a plastic receptacle (about 20 ounces) with a long handle, used for scooping and carrying water. Sorry, there’s no delicate way to put this: You use it to wash your butt after taking a crap, which is really the only hygienic way to clean up. True, the better hotels have bidets, but one has to be sure.

I’ve always been mystified at how Americans, who all have indoor plumbing and are so finicky about sanitation, are content to use toilet paper after defecating. What are they doing, tickling the germs, moving them around? TP is not enough, in fact it’s gross and disgusting. Somebody teach them proper hygiene. 

Here’s an interview with Rose George, author of The Big Necessity: The Unmentionable World of Human Waste and Why It Matters. It discusses how different cultures deal with shit, an international health issue no one wants to talk about. Fortunately a celebrity has adopted toilets as his issue: big round of applause for Matt Damon. Our damn politicians need to be building proper toilets all over this country instead of going on junkets.

By the way, close the lid before you flush. We learned this from The Secret House, a book about the germs lurking in and around your house. When you flush, a fine spray of whatever you’re flushing rises from the toilet. Avoid.

Painting: Edward Hopper’s “New York Movie”

 
At last! After six weeks of nothing to watch, a lot of new movies have opened in Manila theatres.

Tropic Thunder. Hilarious spoof of the Hollywood movie industry, particularly its obsession with “authenticity”; it’s like The Making of Apocalypse Now as a comedy. Ben Stiller does an Orson Welles, co-writing, directing, co-producing and starring as Tugg Speedman, an action star on the brink of has-beenhood. Like his most famous character Zoolander, Stiller’s acting ranges from Blue Steel to Magnum; good decision to cast himself as a bad actor. Jack Black’s role is sadly underwritten, but Robert Downey Jr goes to town as Kirk Lazarus, “five-time Academy Award winner”—his impression of Russell Crowe is so accurate, I want to see Gladiator remade with Downey.

Tom Cruise as a bald, fat, profanity-spouting studio executive proves once again that he’s got talent—at playing assholes (see Magnolia). Ever wonder why women love Matthew McConnaughey? His unfunny turn as an agent will make you wonder some more. Pay attention to the fake trailers at the beginning of the movie, especially the medieval Brokeback Mountain drama starring Kirk Lazarus and Tobey Maguire.  

Tropic Thunder incurred the ire of the PC police with its use of blackface (Lazarus has a pigment-altering procedure in order to play a black man) and the word “retard” (Lazarus explains to Tugg that in order to bag an Oscar, “You don’t go full retard”, viz. Rainman and Forrest Gump). There were no PC police or diagnosed learning disabilities when I was in grade school: if you did poorly and were clearly not lazy, you were just “slow”. 

Body of Lies. Ridley Scott’s thoughtful, complicated take on America’s war on terror stars Leonardo DiCaprio as a CIA operative in the Middle East and Russell Crowe as his Langley-based boss. The movie is critical of American foreign policy, noting that they rely too heavily on technology at the expense of human intelligence on the ground. They think they see the big picture, but they miss the vital details. Leo does well, but he really should get a voicebox transplant; Crowe is so relaxed, I’m beginning to sense laziness (Let’s reshoot it with Robert Downey Jr!) Mark Strong appears as the urbane Jordanian chief of intelligence and steals the movie from right under their megastar noses. Noel tells me this movie was trounced at the US box-office by the chihuahua movie, which tells you about America’s mindset at the moment.   

Max Payne. Mark Wahlberg glowers through this revenge action drama in a turtleneck sweater and leather coat as a New York police detective who’s been looking for his family’s killers for three years. Mila Kunis is a Russian badass with underworld connections, Ludacris is an internal affairs investigator, and Chris O’Donnell—he’s still around. There’s a lot of supernatural stuff involving Valkyries and Norse mythology which the filmmakers are smart enough not to take too literally. The action scenes are corny—the slow-motion back-flip while firing a shotgun—and the voice in my head kept going, “Come on, Mark, take something off”, but the movie’s not bad especially if you like shooting things.   

The Strangers. Like a snuff film without the sex: you just watch people getting stalked and killed. The knives were unnecessary, since the victims could’ve been bored to death. Porn at least has some redeeming value. 

 

Pineapple Express. Best Picture of the Week! Almost as good as Superbad!

Appaloosa. May be too loose and meandering for most viewers, and we’ve ridden through them thar hills before in scores of westerns (not that I’ve seen scores of westerns), but I would pay to watch Viggo Mortensen and Ed Harris cross the street, so I’m happy. 

After the speeches, the thank you’s, the official book launch, the picture-taking, and the first of many, many, many musical numbers, the first course was served.

 

 

It was a couple of strips of lechon with skin, on a small salad of pako. A small salad. I should warn you right off that I have the appetite and palate of a stevedore. A stevedore who knows all about Garrett Lisi and his new, simplified theory of everything, so don’t get snooty with me.

Ige noted that the musical performers were doing songs about food. Their rendition of “Bahay Kubo” was impressive, but not nearly as challenging as the version in baklese (Valer kuberch, kahit jutay…). And if they were doing food-themed songs, would we be hearing “Spaghetti”?

The second course was the tinolang manok served in a papaya half (see previous post). I thought it was bland, but that’s what all the sawsawan (dips and sauces) on the table were for. Unfortunately I’m one of those horrible people who think that food should be served ready to eat. I don’t go to shabu-shabu hot pot restaurants where I have to mix and cook my own meal. Hey, if I wanted to cook, I would’ve learned to cook. 

 

 

After another longish wait, the third course arrived: pinaputok na isda, wrapped in a banana leaf, served with steamed rice. Remind me again how so many large-grained, fragrant varieties of rice were developed right here at IRRI, but the rice sold in our markets is small-grained and untasty? Teddy Boy has the best solution: he brings his own rice when he dines out. I saw him at the cocktails—I wonder how everyone would react if his driver walked in with a rice cooker? 

The waiters came round to serve pinakbet and an excellent adobong baka. I forgot to take photos because I inhaled them immediately.

Now that I think about it, the typical Pinoy meal is extremely tasty, as if the cook had run amok with the salt, bagoong, patis, toyo, MSG. And the lard. There’s a reason the national rate of heart disease is so high. So the blandness I perceived probably indicates a healthier, more reasonable approach to cooking. You can have these dishes without keeling over from arterial blockage.

On the opposite extreme, isn’t Pinoy cuisine supposed to be “ma-lasa” (flavorful)? Our global branding could be: “It’ll kill you, but you’ll die happy.” The title of a cookbook I’m convincing Carlo to write.

 

 

For dessert we had sapin-sapin (on the left—it looks like maja blanca actually, but it was good), buko pandan, and two pieces of rather hard turon. Speaking of buko pandan, my friend Uro de la Cruz (Bubble Gang, whose writers did the Bahay Kubo translation) directed a movie called Buko Pandan. He calls it an “agribusiness movie” (Rustic settings, nubile barrio lasses and strapping lads, making out in the fields. The umclassics of this genre include Talong, Kangkong, Itlog, and Kapag Ang Palay Naging Bigas, May Bumayo). It was shown abroad with this arresting English title: Screwpine Young Coconut. 

Incidentally, Uro knows way too much about reductions and gherkins, and was quoted in the book Taste of Philippine Kitchens as an authority on tutong. He was identified as “Uro del Rosario.”

The dinner ended with strong cups of barako and a reprise of “Pinoy Ako” by Chef Seagal and the choirs. Kulinarya is available in bookstores and hotels, P2,000 hardcover, P600 softcover.

I went to the gala dinner to launch Kulinarya: A Guidebook to Philippine Cuisine by the Asia Society and the Department of Tourism. My friend Ige, who designed the book, invited me. And well he should, having talked (and on occasion, cried) my ear off when he was working on this project. 

Guillermo Ramos-Connolly a.k.a. Ige

The invitation said “Filipiniana attire” so I went to my closet to dig up my terno. Oh right, I don’t own a terno, or anything that qualifies as “Filipiniana”. So I went to Team Manila and bought a T-shirt with Jose Rizal’s head where the crocodile usually is. Hey, he’s Filipino. And the shirt has a collar, which should be proper enough, especially if worn with socks.

Cocktails were served at 6.30 pm at the lobby of the Pen. The place was full so it became quite hot. Everyone was in formal attire that required a staff of maids to almirol (starch). Arguably I was terribly underdressed, but I preferred to think of everyone else as terribly overdressed. From the charged atmosphere, I gather it was an event attended by prominent personalities regularly featured in society magazines. Fortunately I am a social retard and had no idea who these people were, or I might’ve been self-conscious. I must look them up in those magazines the next time I’m at the salon, which should be, oh, next year.

 

Centerpieces—shell candelabra, sitaw arrangements

 

Ang mga Sawsawan—sukang puti, toyo, patis, bagoong, taba ng talangka, atchara, kalamansi, burong paho, kamatis, sibuyas

According to the authors, the objective of Kulinarya is to establish Filipino cuisine as a brand, to set guidelines for Filipino cooking to make it more marketable globally. A team of chefs—Glenda Barretto, Margarita Fores, Claude Tayag, Conrad Calalang, Jessie Sincioco, Myrna Segismundo—took the most popular Filipino dishes (adobo, sinigang, pinakbet, etc) and prescribed standard recipes for them.

I’m no foodie, but I can tell it’s a controversial idea.

Tinola in a papaya. The soup almost shot out of my nose when a guy with a Steven Seagal ponytail wearing a chef’s uniform came out to sing Bamboo’s Pinoy Ako with a choir.

To be continued. My ears are still ringing because our table was right next to the speakers, which blared forth the John Williams version of Salidumay and Mantovani’s Si Felimon.

The cover story in the current issue of the Scientific American is The Science of Gossip: Why We Can’t Stop Ourselves. According to the article by Frank T. McAndrew, humans are hardwired to be fascinated by gossip.

Really? You think? And you actually did research to support that? 

Looks like the Scientific American is trying to beef up circulation, and its strategy is to dumb down for a wider audience. Ah well, it’s hard enough for a magazine to survive in this market. But let’s see what valuable research findings the article presents.

“According to one of the pioneers of gossip research, anthropologist Jerome Barkow of Dalhousie University, we should be especially interested in information about people who matter most in our lives: rivals, mates, relatives, partners in social exchange, and high-ranking figures whose behavior can affect us.”

“In keeping with the evolutionary hypotheses suggested earlier, we have consistently found that people are most interested in gossip about individuals of the same sex as themselves who happen to be around their own age.”

“We have also found that an interest in the affairs of same-sex others is especially strong among females and that women have somewhat different patterns of sharing gossip than men do.”

Well DUH. I can get that knowledge from Entertainment Weekly or Tita Swarding, but with more fun and less faux-scientific ek. Still, if gossip is an evolutionary adaptation, then we Pinoys are way more evolved than other humans. 

Saffy: I could’ve told you that.

On a slow news week, gossip can be whipped up over nothing. Like a good serve, it’s all about placement. Consider this bit from Tennis.com:

“Life on the professional circuit can be grinding, so a little bit of off court distraction helps. Romance? That qualifies, and more than a few of the world’s best tennis players seem to be engaging in this other game of love.

“In Tokyo just a couple of weeks back, longtime couple Lucie Safarova and Tomas Berdych were almost inseparable. . .

“Also arm-in-arm were Fernando Gonzalez and Gisela Dulko. . .

“Far away from Tokyo, Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer, both dear to many women’s hearts, were spending some quality time with the ladies in their lives. (Sorry.)”

Gotcha.