Let there be lait,” His Godness must have mandated after the archangel Jhun-Jhun popped Temptation Island into heaven’s Betamax player. It was martial-law-ed-out 1980 and witnessing a bunch of island-marooned morons trying to out-bimbo each other with haughtily absurd dialogue (“Rub-a-dub-dub, two bitches in a tub”) was a much-needed release for the Philippine populace. From a cult classic of such belly-busting bitchiness, what seemed to follow was lait — the Tagalog slang that connotes rottenness through criticism — and a Snark of the Covenant that Filipinos have embraced.
Through lait, we became more privy to what the Spaniards had always employed in our presence: the leisurely capacity to chew on others’ other-ness like watermelon seeds and spit out a bit of amusement. Today, we love our lait; we take it with our coffee (a nice café au lait over the butt plug asking the Starbucks cashier, “Miss, masarap ba yung rum cake ninyo?”), we enjoy our cocktails with it, we exhale it from our chat windows. It fuels our fascination for local showbiz ‘cause noontime show dance numbers, personalities running for politics, and “sexy stars” will always be there for our point-and-giggle entertainment. And while we’re used to drizzling the lait seasoning on anything Kris Aquino, our palates are accustomed to healthy servings of Tom, Katie, and Miley bashing, as well.
Of course, the world likes its bitchiness. The Soup, The Dish, The View — we like to listen raptly to our talking heads as they scrutinize the people who are not us, raising their ‘brows to herald the sweet arrival of a punch line. And though it may get bloody, it takes quite a bit of effort to tear your eyes away from the tearing of a new asshole.
Chelsea, Man-Handler
Last night, I found myself unsettled yet nonetheless engrossed by the harming of a celeb during the filming of a talk show. In Chelsea Lately, dark queen of late-night Chelsea Handler usually keeps her stiletto-sharp opinions in her intro monologues or eats the dignity out of famous people at her diss-cussion table of guest comics. When Guy Smiley-like, ex-Hollywood Squares host Tom Bergeron shimmied onto her stage, however, he certainly wasn’t aware he’d be leaving it with his testicles in a twist. After Bergeron eagerly demonstrated the lotus position for the cover of his memoir, Handler handled the guy like a drunken sorority girl would a 50-year-old guy coming on to her.
“I’m sorry, it’s just really gay-looking…try to act like a man and maybe I’ll be more attracted to you,” she spewed at him, Bergeron mock-walking off before returning to his seat. “All right, I’m ready now,” he declared, the good cheer he’d routinely imbibed for Hollywood C-lister wisecracks now just dog chow for the bitch he was dealing with.
“You got yourself together? Do you want me to test-punch you in the face to see if you can take it?” she followed up, Bergeron’s face suddenly peeled of its middle-aged nobility. And when he offered his cheek for a masculinity-proving blow, it was Chelsea’s quick ha-ha that was the man’s consolation prize. None of his protests of yogic ruggedness later on would match up to a woman yelping for machismo.
And to think Handler had warmly welcomed Nickelodeon alum-turned-primetime-hottie Michelle Trachtenberg the night before. The hostess with the moxie-est praised Trachtenberg for her turn in Gossip Girl as Georgina Sparks, whose role on the show involved the pretty and prickly persuasion of its characters.
“It’s fun playing a bad girl — you know that,” Trachtenberg exclaimed, to Handler’s damn-right affirmation. “It’s fun entertainment and I’m such a bitch. You play nasty and tell Jesus to suck it — in Louis Vuittons!”
Laughing And Lambasting To Kingdom Come
Maybe our being wired to keep tabs on global pandemics, on the exchange rate, on our online reputations, on Manny Pacquiao’s ego, even, has bred contempt. If things are bad at present, nastiness must ensue and bitchiness — packed tight with its blame and retaliation — has to be urged. “Women, like any other group of people obstructed from power, tend to get their action on the sly,” writes Elizabeth Wurtzel in Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women, which, despite its rambling justification of the author’s sluttiness, supports what may be the reason for a rise in the world’s bitches and bastards (douchebags, pricks, etc.): “I generally walk through life feeling pretty powerless…men and women alike, with certain exceptions, walk around feeling small compared to the enormity of the world, and I think it has always been so. People weren’t always dwarfed by Calvin Klein billboards in Times Square and a Sony screen broadcasting bombs in Iraq right next to it…”
So, as Wurtzel muses, we may decide not to be nice or sorry, and assert that what is before us is ours — all as a means to claim control in such an irrational (I mean, it’s just got to be, right?) and increasingly complex world. It’s less humane, more animalistic (suggesting the prime definition of “bitch”), yes, but hey, God probably gets a kick out of all the bitchery on earth, anyway. And like someone indulging in their old copy of Temptation Island, He points out how ridiculous we can be and lets out a thunderous laugh.