September 2008 Archives

By Pennie Azarcon dela Cruz, Executive Editor Sunday Inquirer Magazine BACK when I was in Grade 2, our family had the distinction of being one of the few households in that rat hole of Tondo to first own a TV set. Not just any ordinary television, mind, but a real "Made in the US" appliance, courtesy of a paternal uncle. I remember that it was housed in a dark wooden cabinet with sliding panels, with the Z in the "Zenith" brand looking much like a bolt of lightning. How proud I was of that hulking gadget, never mind that the reception was bad and that I ruined my eyesight trying to see moving images thru the blurry screen. "They’re ants," I declared categorically to my younger siblings when we couldn't get anything but the snowy screen no matter how many times we flipped the channels. "It’s probably a nature show," I added. I couldn’t bear the thought of people criticizing this one appliance that put me in the same league as my more privileged classmates. Kids even then were insufferable snobs, and it didn’t help that we wore hand-me-down "Ang Tibay" shoes (simply indestructible, I swear), to this Catholic school where most of the enrollees were shod in the more fashionable and expensive Greg boys shoes. I protected that TV set like it was my personal virtue. Even better, I think. I was one selfish brat who shooed away neighborhood kids who climbed over our gate and crowded our window trying to watch the meager shows on local TV at that time. TV was our form of bonding in the ‘60s, with whole families gathered for "Oras ng Ligaya" or "Tangtarangtang" or "Tawag ng Tanghalan." The entire neighborhood was still tuned in to "Tiya Dely," her familiar theme music the one sure way to tell that it was now 3 in the afternoon. In fact, one could walk down the street to the main road without missing a word of this surrogate aunt’s advice since every household had their radio on the same station. But 6 pm was our glory hour—when clots of playmates would sidle up to our door, pretending to be on an errand just to be able to peek at the TV screen. We made a show of inviting them in, a grand gesture bestowed on favored friends of the moment. Soon enough, every other household had its own TV set and our next wave of glory came some 10 years later when colored TV replaced black and white. Again, we had one of the first colored television in the neighborhood at the time. I remember how we’d turn off the lights and pretend we were in a movie theater, while passersby gawked at the square of light and color through the open window. Some 30 years later, I found myself regarded as a virtual luddite when it came to this appliance. Do I hate television, friends asked sympathetically. Do I have Amish tendencies and can’t bear to see my kids succumbing to the charms of the idiot box? How has it come to this? I thought. Well, it started innocently enough. A power surge after a particularly nasty brownout and our TV set was a goner. Thus far, it had been the focus of my father-in-law’s after-dinner life. Close to his 90s at that time, he has retired and regards television as his main source of interaction with the world. I thought it was sad that he had to make do without the box for several days while it was being repaired. I happened to mention this to a lunch companion the next day, and he asked innocently, "Bakit, ilan ba ang TV set niyo? (Why, how many TV sets do you have?)" I replied, "Isa. Bakit ilan ba ang TV ninyo?" He paused, looked at the ceiling and mentally began counting the TV sets in his household. Finally, he said, "Six, including the one in the househelp’s room." I was scandalized: "That’s way too extravagant. Couldn’t you just share a set or two?" He shrugged, ending the conversation. I recounted this dialogue to colleagues at the Sunday Inquirer Magazine and they asked me the crucial question, curious that I would find six TV sets excessive: How many television sets do I have anyway? Their jaws dropped when I said we have exactly one television set. "What if you want to watch another show?" somebody asked. I tell the household I’m reserving the TV on that particular time slot. "Buti di nag-aaway yung mga anak mo," another remarked. Thank God they love books, I said self-righteously, so they’re not so much into TV. "Well you know, mura na ang TV ngayon, lalo na sa mga Japan surplus stores," one of the staff said helpfully, a look of pity at my destitute circumstances stealing into his eyes. Intrigued at how this appliance could stir up so much emotion, I made an informal survey in the office. "How many TV sets do you have?" I asked fellow editors, rank and file and other colleagues I met at the corridor. The answers varied, with a few asking if they should include the black and white sets and those that sit idly in empty rooms, gathering dust because they’ve been replaced by newer models with cable-ready functions and bigger screens. Most households, I found out after the survey, have four to six TV sets, most of them in working condition. Suddenly, I was Grade 2 again, with my Ang Tibay shoes. It didn’t help that even our own household help—who weren’t stay-in—had more TV sets than we did. "Ate, how much did you spend for the TV repair," our help asked. "P950," I said, asking in turn: "How much did it cost you?" She paused, trying to remember. "Yung isa, P650 ang binayad ko. Yung mas maliit, P450 lang." You have two TV sets? I asked, incredulous. The SIM staff laughed when they heard this. "You’re way too generous; you’re probably paying her too much," they teased. "Did you check kung Sony yung TV niya? Di ba LG lang ang sa inyo?" That did it; from then on, I didn’t hear the end of it from the SIM staff. Sometimes they’d be discussing a "CSI" episode when I come in and abruptly they’d stop. "That was a great show last night," one of them would deadpan. "Oo nga," another would pick up. "Ay, sorry," one or the other would finish with mock-guilt. "You probably didn’t get to watch it. Isa nga lang pala ang TV ninyo!" Beeytch!!! I’d say, used by now to such antics. "How many days’ notice to reserve a slot in your TV watching hour," went another familiar line. "Dali, magpa-reserve ka na. May Miss Universe sa Lunes." Harharharhar!! We were really starting to sound like a badly-written Pinoy sitcom. One time, and this was the morning after the office Christmas party, I learned that I won a major raffle prize. "You won a washing machine but they waived it because you’ve gone home by then," a SIM editor said, syrupy concern in her voice. I wasn’t fooled and waited for the punch line. Sure enough, she added, "Sabi namin, okey laaang. Kung TV pa iyan…." Bwahahahaha!!!! Why, even my sisters who stay in Tondo have taken up the taunt. "Hoy, mas mayaman na kami sa iyo," my elder sister said one Christmas. "Dalawa na TV set namin." I recounted this to the hubby and immediately, he offered to buy me a new set. That’s not the point, I said. I’m just amazed at how television has taken over the Filipino home. Kaya siguro hit na hit yung "Sadako." With so many TV sets around the house, people could actually imagine themselves vulnerable because of so many entry points for malignant spirits. Of course I was sourgraping. And I realize it only when, some two Christmasses back, I finally got to win the top prize in the office Christmas party: a 29" inch JVC TV set. Wait till the hubby sees this, I thought. Well, what do you know? That same night, hubby excitedly called: he’s just won in his frat’s karaoke contest. And the prize? You guessed it—a Phillips 29" inch colored TV. With our old TV set, we now have three television sets—wow, made na kami!!! Goodbye, Ang Tibay shoes! I thought. We gave away the old set to the hubby's office, and set up one new TV in the sala and the other upstairs, in my in-laws’ room. We don’t feel too deprived anymore. Except of course, when we see those ads for flat TV… (For more stories on the latest gadgets, check out the Sunday Inquirer Magazine’s Sept. 28 issue. Free with the Philippine Daily Inquirer)

By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor Sunday Inquirer Magazine EVERYONE says reading is dead or dying, the victim of shortened attention spans, TV or the Internet. Others says that reading is merely changing, migrating from the page to the screen. I've been asked why I haven't moved to Amazon's impressive little Kindle; I say it's because I don't just like reading, I like books: old-fashioned, made from dead trees books. It isn't romantic, it's just nothing matches the tactile feel of freshly minted books, the smell of the book paper, the sound of those crisp pages. I'm a holdout, and will continue to be so. My living spaces continue to be invaded happily by piles and piles of books; no shelves are enough to contain all my little treasures. It used to be quaint for others; it's so 20th century. It seemed that reading had become some kind of secret pleasure, shared only by writers, teachers and the odd person out there. But then J.K. Rowling happened. Then Stepehenie Meyer happened. All of the sudden, reading was cool again for the general population, especially if you're under fifteen. The most visible sign of this has always been the Manila International Bookfair. I've seen the fair from its old stomping grounds at the SM Megamall Megatrade Hall (cramped and crowded) to the World Trade Center (airy and crowded). This year, the Bookfair has moved to a new location, the SMX exhibition hall on the SM Mall of Asia grounds. It's a great venue--and it was packed to the rafters. The booths were bigger this year; we missed some of the smaller, more exotic exhibitors. But the exhibitors who were there came ready. lots of goodies all around. But the prices were just awesome, especially the bargains. I saw people park themselves next to the bargain bins and--no kidding--rifle patiently through the books for hours, eventually emerging with piles of books for buying. I saw entire families with each member holding purchased books. The kids even enjoyed the mascots (even the Oishi guy) and the Cosplay performers. The twenty percent discount was awesome, too. Reading is alive and very, very well. The Bookfair was proof positive of that. The pages are turning. See you next year, everybody.

By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor Sunday Inquirer Magazine GETTING stuck in a vehicle in immobile traffic while the rain keeps on pouring and the water keeps on rising is truly horrific, especially if you are alone. It can trigger the most helpless feeling, being stuck in a car by yourself when the line of cars is standing still seemingly forever and the shower shows no signs of abating. There are a few ways to try and ride out the storm by yourself; reading a book, listening to a book tape, making calls on your cellphone and maybe even watching something on your iPod, laptop or (lucky) portable DVD player. But being trapped in a gridlocked vehicle with a bunch of other people -- be it school bus service, college carpool or whatnot -- adds an altogether different dimension of possibilities and options.

1. Bond: Of course this is much easier if you and the people in the vehicle can actually stand each other. You’re in luck if you are actually stuck with friends. Or maybe people you have some degree of affection for. Getting stuck in a vehicle with people you loathe will make the floodwater outside seem much more inviting than the icy atmosphere inside. Also bear in mind that the size of the vehicle is directly proportionate to the lack of privacy in your conversation. If you’re stuck in anything smaller than a sedan, everyone can hear you, so the conversation better be kosher. Warning: this is not a good time for a bull session, confession or some other emotional outpouring. At best, it can be awkward, at worst, it will be absolutely disastrous.
2. Eat: Not only does the presence of food greatly increase your ability to actually stay alive in traffic, but more foodstuff also enables the trapped denizens to actually be strong enough to do the other things. This is easy if you have one of those busmates who basically carries a sari-sari store in her bag. Otherwise, it becomes a situation where you guys scrounge around in your bags, other people’s bags and maybe even between the cushions for something to eat. Proper trapped decorum dictates that food needs to be shared evenly among the castaways, so no hoarding. If there is no food in the vehicle, then someone has to actually venture out of the vehicle to get some. This is not as bad as it seems (though the poor soul who will be chosen to wade in waist-high floodwater to find food may not agree), as I have heard one story of a bunch of friends stuck in traffic send someone out to the nearby Andok’s and spend the next hour or so stuck in traffic but happily and messily munching on litson manok and liempo. By the way, the driver needs to be fed first.
3. Play games: It can be any game, but better if it can be played by more people, so chess and backgammon are out. If you have a PSP or a DS, don’t use it because the others will get annoyed listening to you picking up a 1Up while they’re bored senseless. So the louder, funnier games are best. Since it is highly unlikely that people carry Monopoly, Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit in their cars just in case, one may have to resort to ice-breaker games. Perhaps the best would be games involving songs like “dugtungan,” (one person sings a portion of the song and then the next person has to pick up a new song using the last word). Charades is OK but you have to be creative. Truth or consequence and spin the bottle are options, but you are likely to be stymied by the limitations imposed by the current predicament. These are the times when people discover how much they miss Supertrump.
4. Study: Granted, this is a fairly desperate option, but what are you to do? Particularly good for students of any sort, the best thing about this is that pretty much everybody can engage in it at the same time. The only caveat to this is that once you decide on studying, you have to respect that other people are studying, so do not memorize lines out loud and do not bug other people or look over their shoulders because you’re done and they’re not.
5. Listen to music: One would think this is a no-brainer, but I think five people in a tiny car each listening to a different kind of music on individual iPods is the height of being anti-social, particularly as the driver cannot do the same (for safety’s sake). So the solution is community-building through communal listening. Have everyone in the car listen to the radio or CD or iPod. It’ll take a while to get going as inevitably someone will hate that song, but soon you’ll all be bobbing and singing together to old Eraserheads songs and maybe even showtunes. It’s like videoke in a tin can.
6. Give someone a makeover: Now this requires that you have a bunch of girls (or “girls”) in your vehicle. The victim doesn’t even have to be willing. It’s a great chance to give someone a new look or at least have fun trying to do so. It will also help to have an impressive selection of items inside those expandable kikay kits. Good music will help the mood, and of course, cellphone cameras are required to record the occasion for posterity.
7. Engage in crafts: Ideally, this will work for people who brings cross-stitching or knitting projects with them. You can continue that scarf. But this is also pretty good to be able to ask other people to help you while chatting or even sharing your skills by teaching them. Another perfect skill to develop is origami, as those history handouts suddenly prove useful. Hey, if juggling is your cup to revolving tea, then go to it. The wackier the better.
8. Start a business: Hey, weirder things have happened. Maybe if enough enterprise-minded individuals are trapped in the same vehicle, one can begin thinking about a small business you can all collaborate in. There’s nothing like hours spent going nowhere to get those creative juices flowing.
9. Do little chores: This is actually a pretty smart thing to do but can amount to a pretty limited amount of time. If you’re stuck, then do little chores like answer all your unanswered text messages. Rewrite your notes from class. Throw out unneeded papers and receipts. Make tomorrow’s to-do list. Write a blog entry or two or three. Rearrange your kikay kit. Clean your glove compartment.
10. Sleep: The final solution when all else is done. Just bear in mind that this solution will require a rotation for the driver as the driver must always be awake, so take turns sitting in the pilot’s seat. Also, the others who do not want to sleep need to respect the silence for those who do sleep. Don’t forget to whack on the head anyone who snores too loudly. Sleep tight.

By Pennie Azarcon dela Cruz, Executive Editor Sunday Inquirer Magazine LIKE death and taxes, aging is inevitable -- and terrifying. Think mortality, weakened knees, dementia, disease, being ignored and suddenly invisible. In these isles where respect for elders is the norm and you’re not there yet, things can get really annoying. (Photo: Author [right] and friend O find eternal youth in sharing laughter) Overnight it seems, everyone on the street has become solicitous, reaching out a hand to assist you board the LRT, giving up their seats quicker than you can grasp the handrail, properly deferential with their “po” and “opo,” and, in this clan-conscious culture, suddenly filial, addressing you with the requisite “Nay” and “’Mi,” (short for Mommy), that you’ve always thought went with a full head of silver, a walker and a 45-degree stoop. “Nay, ano’ng oras na po?” the burly kargador-looking man asks, seeing through the Mohawk hairstyle, the dangling earrings and the denims you’re wearing. “ ’Mi, dito po tayo,” the medical technician says, ever so gently, like he can see osteoporosis in your future even before he slips the negatives in the x-ray machine. Once, dressed in my imitation Crocs, the aforementioned denims, a white hanging blouse and with my straight hair framing my slack jaw, I found the woman across the jeepney aisle curiously eyeing me. Studying my get-up and glancing at my face, she suddenly breaks into an approving smile before touching my arm with a confidante-like intimacy. “Alam mo, ’nay, ” she says, pursing her lips towards my wardrobe, “carry mo iyan.” (Photo: Working with friends: rejuvenating) I should be flattered, my daughter says. “She thinks you can carry the youthful look well, the opposite being that you dress too young for your age.” Alright, I thought, having seen crones and hags in mini-skirts, their varicose veins in full neon glory, faces pasty with layers of foundation and pressed powder, and their turkey neck weighed down by the baubles and bangles of their grandchildren. Well, after all, aren’t we supposed to be as young as we feel? Why begrudge these grandmas that youthful 1920s Flappers feeling if they find comfort in it? Just wince and turn your head away, I say. Fortunately, a recent weekend in Bohol helped me come to terms with my being on the wrong side of 50. There we were, board members of a woman’s organization, come to Bohol to discuss a future severely circumscribed by depleted resources. That hardly figured in my packing however. Swimsuit? Check. Goggles? Check. Sun hat? Check. Sunblock? Check. Beach shoes? Check. It was the height of the monsoon season, but like our calendar age, these are details we choose to ignore. Harder to ignore because it’s so different from our concrete jungle lives is the refreshing greenery of Bohol where good friend C. has built a hilltop eyrie overlooking lush forest, white beach and a dot of islands beyond the shoreless sea. Between discussing funding possibilities, the group repaired to the wraparound balcony to marvel at the mountains outlined in the distance and to discuss wondrous meals that certainly did little for one’s waistline. Well, after all, the group said, eyeing the mounds of boiled kamote, red rice, shrimps in coconut cream and danggit, that’s why there’s Lipitor . Let us sin so we can be forgiven, we declared, burping. And don’t forget, said appointed group head O, these are fresh veggies, picked straight from C’s pocketsize vegetable plot. Thanks to M, the energetic 40-year-year-old taskmaster in the group, we managed to plod through our agenda, never once finding parallel between our flagging funds and our waning youth. How could we? There was just too little time to dwell on the wrinkles, the fading eyesight and the senior moments. Thanks to a telescope, we peered at the moon and found the sea of serenity, imagining it as a corner in our heart that remains impervious to cholesterol. The erudite in the group pointed out the Milky Way, the belt of Orion, and other heavenly wonders we had first encountered in our elementary Science class. Could we have forgotten the hard lessons of some 40 years back? Maybe, but the sense of wonder remains, easily erasing four decades off our skin. Somebody else -- the lawyer who smokes like a chimney -- brought out dance CDs, the Swing, some Latin music, disco, the Beatles. “Bend your knees, stand on tiptoes, close your eyes, let the beat move your body,” she instructed and I did. Hey, I must be dancing, I thought, because the househelp were giggling. Thanks to my two left feet, I’ve always managed to make people laugh when I take to the floor. The years, it seems, have magnified that gift. The last night we decided to read love poems, giddy with feeling 18 again and newly discovering love. Maybe it was the wine? No matter. C, newly widowed, declared that her next man must be both astronomer and poet -- so he can coax the stars and bring it home to her eyes. Who says one can ever get too old to dream? This is the life, we said, mentally filing away the scene. This is being ageless: Living life to the hilt, toasting friends, savoring earth’s bounty, remembering old lovers and new, compiling good memories to hear the laughter again. We left Bohol reciting a poem that we think sums up the mysteries of life and aging -- learning to accept love’s ups and downs with tongue firmly planted in cheek. That way, the skin is stretched out tight and you’d look decades younger. So who needs botox, right? PS: Here’s one of our favorite poems on that Night We Slew Wrinkles:

Wearing the Collar by Charles Bukowski I live with a lady and four cats and some days we all get along some days I have trouble with one of the cats. other days I have trouble with two of the cats. other days, three. some days I have trouble with all four of the cats and the lady: ten eyes looking at me as if I was a dog.

For more notes looking good at any age and dressing your age, check out this Sunday’s Inquirer Magazine. Free with your copy of the Inquirer. (Photos by Mags Maglana)

By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor Sunday Inquirer Magazine EVERYONE is an expert; it’s just a matter of finding what that area of expertise is. Sometimes, that area is a crossroads, an overlapping of two specialties, creating a unique one. Sometimes, it comes by accident. Since I review mostly books -- and some movies -- I am often asked what I think about motion pictures adapted from books. That’s a trick question, of course. Even when adapted from a book, a movie is still a movie and has its own coherence. The book remains a book, even if a movie is made of it. They do not affect one another save for the initial shift from page to screen. Let me just say that devoted faithfulness to the original text is not required; indeed, sometimes, the difference between book and movie is what makes the movie special. Still, I look forward to seeing adaptations, particularly of novels. It is a very interesting case of fiction taking on a kind of three-dimensional life. Here then are five movies adapted from books that I thought were well done: 1) “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban”: The first two Harry Potter movies were slavishly faithful to the first two books, something that can be attributed to the devotion of director Chris Columbus to J.K. Rowling’s source material. But it was the third movie, directed by Alfonso Cuaron, that really developed a life of its own, a character that was added to the potency of the excellent third book. Take note that “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” directed by David Yates, was similarly well crafted and for the same reason. 2) “The Bridges of Madison Country”: I know what you’re thinking. How can anyone consider that maudlin love story about old people well-done? Well, let’s just say it’s because I thought the original source material, the novel by Robert James Waller, was awful. The 1995 film, directed confidently by Clint Eastwood, was tolerable if similarly sappy. The improvement alone is worth hailing. 3) “The Remains of the Day”: Wow. I remember watching the movie directed by James Ivory and thinking, this is Kazuo Ishiguro’s book truly come to life. It was stately and sad, but never mawkish. What a wonderful house the action happened in, and Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson were simply sublime. 4) “The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe”: C.S. Lewis’ novel had been adapted several times already, mostly in animation. But Andrew Adamson’s adaptation worked in every way. It really looked like Narnia. And one cannot say enough by how awesome Tilda Swinton’s White Queen is. She may be evil, but she is amazing. 5) “Black Hawk Down”: There are many, many differences between Mark Bowden’s excellent book and Ridley Scott’s 2001 movie, including my particular pet peeve, composite characters. But the bone-jarring realism of Scott’s take on the Mogadishu mistake stays with you long after the movie ended. If I ever thought of a movie that showed what modern warfare felt like, it would be this one.