and hula-hoop.
Lena Headey (Cersei Lannister) and
Peter Dinklage (Tyrion Lannister) hula-hooping in a gay bar. So many happy concepts in a single sentence.
If Jaime, Tywin and Joffrey had joined them…(Internet explodes)
We were having merienda in Rockwell, enjoying the afternoon gloom and discussing an idea for a movie. Ricky noted that the lead would have to be an actor of a specific age group and socio-economic class. Having seen Sana Dati, we know whom we would cast in all the “disente at seryosong tao” roles, so we said, “T.J. Trinidad”.
We really should pay more attention to our conjuring powers because foom! who should appear in an FC Barcelona cap and jacket, walking towards Healthy Options, but the abovementioned.
“Is that T.J. Trinidad?” we asked.
“It is!” Ricky confirmed.
“Let’s talk to him!”
“Oh no,” Ricky said. “You accost him, and I’ll watch from a distance.”
Between potential embarrassment (He tells us to go away) and potential regret (We do nothing and he goes away), we pick embarrassment. No matter how cringe-making it is, it’s still a story you can laugh about with your friends. Tales of regret tend to be corny or depressing. “Live dangerously!” we said. “We’re going inside a health food store!!”
So we went up to T.J. Trinidad as he was buying organically-grown groceries, and from a personal space-respecting distance of 1.5 meters, said we loved his character in the movie. Luckily he was familiar with our work, which always alleviates awkwardness. When Ricky saw that T.J. was not yelling for security, he joined us.
We congratulated T.J. on his Best Supporting Actor award, which he wasn’t around to collect. He said he was absent because they couldn’t find a yaya for their one-year-old kid. We talked about how he worked with the director to create a back story for his character in the movie—a guy who has to strike a balance between his personal principles and his family’s expectations. Three minutes, the limit for accosting famous people.
Sana Dati opens in theatres on 25 September.
About the conjuring: We were taken to an exorcist when we were a year old so we stopped doing it. Then we had a formal scientific education that dismisses it. We get the occasional weird episode, though.
In 1983 when she was doing a play in New York, Farrah Fawcett took a gypsy van (colorum taxi) driven by this horrible man who pointed a screwdriver in her face and demanded all her money. Well she wasn’t the action heroine of our childhood for nothing. Blank on Blank recreates/remixes that encounter from a 1994 TV Guide interview.
Eavesdrop on our conversation with Atty. Lorna Kapunan, legal counsel of James Yap. Obviously we discuss the ongoing Kris Aquino-James Yap case—at least the parts that can be discussed in public. Then we talk about family law, men’s rights, spousal abuse, things to remember before you get married, community property, why there is no divorce in the Philippines, the legal profession and political office, and how to hang on to your soul when everyone is selling theirs.
Podcast episode 2.2: Atty. Kapunan, Un-Gagged.
P.S. The exact quote from Henry VI is: “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.”
According to the article, fame is like Aztec human sacrifice. To quote our favorite review of one of the later Star Wars, “Break me a fucking give.”
VICE has called Esquire’s interview with Megan Fox The Worst Thing Ever Written. Yup, it’s drivel. But is it sincere drivel, or is it meant to be a joke? Come on, Aztecs, leprechauns, Bigfoot…
Deep in her house, Megan Fox and I are discussing human sacrifice. I tell her about an Aztec ritual practiced five hundred years ago in ancient Mexico during the feast of Toxcatl, when the Aztecs picked a perfect youth to live among them as a god. He was a paragon, beautiful and fit and healthy, with ideal proportions.
Fox has been telling me about the toll that celebrity has taken on her, how the only way to keep from bending to the outside is to bend within. She’s sitting on a sectional sofa in workout clothes and a sweatshirt that hide her body, her knees folded beneath her.
The sacrifice’s year was filled with constant delight, I tell her. He danced through the streets adorned in luxurious clothes given to him by the master, decked in flowers and incense, playing magical flutes that brought prosperity to the whole world. He had eight servants and four virgins to attend to his every need, and could wander wherever he pleased. But at the end of the year, when the feast of Toxcatl came around again, the perfect youth had to smash his flutes and climb the stairs of the great temple, where the priests would cut out his heart and offer it, still beating, to the sun.
Megan Fox is not an ancient Aztec. She’s a screen saver on a teenage boy’s laptop, a middle-aged lawyer’s shower fantasy, a sexual prop used to sell movies and jeans.
“It’s so similar. It totally is,” she says quietly…
Megan Fox will not go willingly to have her heart cut out.
This breathless bad prose is grammatically correct, unlike many magazine articles we have read.
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