High-wire

Just like the Oscars (which has just announced its nominees today), the Grammy’s list is always an attempt to balance artistry and entertainment, though for the Oscars’ sake, it has been towards the latter in recent years. People tend to get bored of course if they don’t know the faces—the music, the films—that are appearing on screen. (The last year reminiscent of a semblance of true artistic independence in Oscar I think in my opinion was the year of The English Patient and Fargo.)

This year’s Grammy featured high-wire pop stars like Beyonce, Lady Gaga, The Black Eyed Peas and Taylor Swift, all performed and were big winners, (except I think for the Peas?). Beyonce excerpted Alanis Morissette’s You Oughta Know and did some head-banging herself. I did not see Gaga perform but the headdress was defining—I would’ve wanted her to win Album of the Year. The choices anyway were uninteresting (so with the other categories, except maybe for New Artist with MGMT and Zac Brown Band appearing) and that headdress flapping around while she receives the award would be a sight. There was a tribute to MJ ala 3D (done by Usher, Celine Dion, Carrie Underwood, Jennifer Hudson and Smokey Robinson), the artists look silly enough as the camera glide through them wearing these 3D glasses. What made my night though was Kings of Leon’s win over the supposed pop giants. The best speech of the night, too. “We’re drunk, but we’re happy drunks.” But who stole the show? Pink. You need to see it to believe the hype.

Jack-o

Young Michael on the cover of the recent Newsweek.

Hasn't so much devastated me, at least not having that urge to play his songs and download his videos, or worse horribly mimicking his moves and screeching falsettos. I did though, the screech, only to my colleague’s fervent request, while watching a recent spate of news via hotel cable in Pagadian. MTV has been showing his videos as well. After going back to Pagadian after a weeklong sun’s exposure courtesy of airport runways and national roads being rehabbed, we drank a couple of beers while listening to an old duo singing old songs (it’s free anyway). During the band’s break, Jacko’s old videos played incessantly. The crowd seemed to be mesmerized. I bet some of them don’t even remember where the trademark moves come from. The singing came back just in time to cut off Thriller. So we left.

bura

Walking and looking for the famous Iloilo biscocho and other whatchamacallits when I was in Iloilo the other week, I saw a Villa Estrella in one of the streets. When a news came out of some similarly named estate claiming to be disparaged by the upcoming horror vehicle, I surmise it was that. I didn't even bother to take a picture because I would run the risk of posting it here and then I could be in some really big trouble. What I learned though is that while marauding in unchartered streets, you run the risk of stepping on poop. You're busy looking at everywhere.

I recently learned that Anne Curtis, my only favorite artista whom I'm crushing on for a long time, swoons over Bloc Party. You know... Bloc Party ba... I like the band, who happens to be, again, British, though not as ultimately, ultimately as Anne. It's another straw to my liking her more. Did I mention I got to meet her? She doesn't remember me of course. Back when she spent hapless, unfortunate days as a stereotyped talent in that other network. Gosh, this is senseless.

Josh Hartnett in Goldlandia

Much hullabaloo right now on the Josh Hartnett visit in far flung Diwalwal, the contentious mountain in Monkayo, Compostela Valley (a two-hour ride away from Davao City) sitting in bazillion amounts of gold reserves. The Hollywood actor of Pearl Harbor and 40 Days and 40 Nights fame is here to shoot the film I Come With The Rain directed by Cannes-acclaimed Vietnamese director Trin Anh Hung (The Scent of Green Papaya).

The recent PDI entertainment article revealed that Hartnett has been a cool homeboy so far and I hope he doesn't pull out a Claire Danes. One local correspondent even has close-up photo of Josh driving around. Reading news about this, I remember Apocalypse Now, which supposed to show Vietnam, was shot here in Philippines. I remember reading somewhere that the bad conditions during the shooting resulted into health and psychological problems for some of the cast particularly Martin Sheen. The place is such a ghastly sight.

Though the famous barangay captain welcomed the historical opportunity as a move to boost investor and tourist confidence, a particular headline in a local paper revealed that the one of the top local officials in the region (I think it was the mayor) was dismayed that the producers weren't able to show respect by dropping by his office and say his and hellos or beso and the usual courtesy calls afforded to higher ranking government officials. Baka naman big fan din sya ni Josh?

It was just rumors when I first heard about a film shooting in the place (Josh's name wasn't in the grapevine yet either) sometime in May when I went there in Monkayo with a Council adviser to help facilitate a meeting with the tribal chieftains in their formation of an IP business council in the area. Months after the rumor was fleshed out and Hartnett is being feasted right now in the mountains. I wonder if I can text Datu Banad and probably arrange a trip there anytime this month. I can probably ask the shooting schedule as Josh may be around for like 2 days only.

Update: Freakazoid! I should've known Tita Edith was interviewing Josh. She's got a picture of him chopping the lechon which the crew feasted during his last day. Her story appears front page on The Philippine Star today.

The Substitute Boyfriend

Last Friday, my colleague wanted her hair dyed. Since her boyfriend was in Manila, she BEGGED me to come along with her with a coffee in exchange for my precious companionship. While waiting for a ride to the salon, I was singing Greenday's Basket Case. Because it seemed forever to wait for the ride, and because it proved to be fun as well, we did different versions of Basket Case -- from operatic to heavy metal. It didn't stop there; and the taxi driver turned up the volume of his stereo.

Seemed like I wasn't done with the waiting. If it weren't for a book and some magazines, the smell of hair products could have suffocated me to death. I grabbed this recent UNO magazine which featured Anne Curtis on the cover. As you can see, I'm a big Anne fan. I confess that I went to this mall tour of hers to get a picture of her and all, but just when I was on the verge of rubbing shoulders with her, the bodyguard of sorts carefully pulled her away from the screaming crowd. I could have forgive her saying, "the people here in Davao are really warming!", but that was just a sorry day for me.


So I was leafing through the pages of the magazine, or rather I was repeatedly leafing through her poses and wiping my drool over the glossy pages, when I came across this article on how too much polishing your pole can cause hormonal imbalance (jeezers. Talk about growing breasts soon) and long-term psychological effects of memory loss and constant 'pagkatulala'. So that's why I kept misplacing things lately or that I caught myself staring aimlessly at the monitor. Nah, but that couldn't be. I haven't even held a boobie, much less suffer the chronic effects of pole-polishing.

One attendant incessantly offered me an iced tea and tuna sandwich, which turned out to be free, which explained the exorbitant salon fee. Wait, is it just me or the tuna sandwich smelled fishy. Hehehe. My finger stinks.

the new Green

I'm planning to stage (how grand a term isn't it?) a weeklong protest due to the recent injustice in the Philippine labor situation (go ahead have a great time laughin') by absenting for a week. I cannot even begin to fathom the graveness of this situation. I don't know if I'm going to play this one out, or how the situation itself will play out. I don't give an effin' shit. And by the way, our landlady hasn't knocked the doors yet.

*****

Now I remember where I've seen Eva Green. She was in this film by Bernardo Bertolucci called The Dreamers, where her character is sandwiched by a young American studying in London and her own French brother. I saw this in one of the film classes of Sir Bong Eliab back in college in the 'film room', where I used to sneak into and spend my lazy Saturday afternoon. I usually just watch outside with barely audible sound coz I was not really in his class list. Despite the darkness, I can very much hear the gasps and gawked at the shocked expressions of sex-starved students whose idea of art house cinema is still that of Y Tu Mama Tambien. Well, Dreamers have some resemblance to that only it was, well... shocking, for lack of an overstatement.

photo: googleimages

morning appetizers

I wonder why goody-goody Leo (who's suddenly turn all bad and macho in The Departed) has got the hots for supermodels. She's currently dating Bar Refaeli. She's Israeli and I think I must've seen her in some porn. Hmmm.

Leo previously dated Gisele Bundchen.

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