By Pennie Azarcon dela Cruz, Executive Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

IT was our version of this year’s global meltdown.

It was 1984. The year struck a fearsome chord in us, and not just because of George Orwell’s futuristic novel and its vision of a totalitarian society. It was the year after the Ninoy Aquino assassination and suddenly, the country erupted into daily protest rallies, capital flight, business slowdown and a general sense of panic and doom. Pundits gleefully described it as 1980-POOR, and indeed, everyone feared for their jobs and their wallets.

Everybody was talking sidelines, ingenious ways to make ends meet, and soon enough, everyone in the office had something to peddle—from frozen hotdogs to local chocolate bars to Bangkok clothes and Marikina shoes. Except for me. Well, I’ve never been good at business, thinking it an imposition on other people to take their money in return for my merchandise. “Baka hindi lang makatanggi,” I would think when people actually bought the toys I had thought of selling on installment basis at one time when I wanted to add up to the kitty for my C-section delivery.

I’m definitely the exception, but most women I know, especially when faced with the prospect of their kids going hungry, manage to hold their own in a strange trade, including business. In fact, given a bit of training, women have excellent business sense. A few logical explanations:

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By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

THERE is a common perception that women are crazy about shoes, but guys are just as capable of filling closets with footwear. But instead of the formal and party footwear so beloved by women, guys have a tendency to accumulate voluminous assemblages of athletic footwear—in particular, basketball shoes. A lot of basketball shoes.

Collectors are proud of their finds, with the complete pristine selection of Air Jordans as the sign of true accomplishment, a feat that can be beat perhaps by only one other thing: A collection of original Nike Air Force Ones in all the available colorways and special editions. In other words, mission impossible.

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By Pennie Azarcon dela Cruz
Executive Editor, Sunday Inquirer Magazine

I KNOW, I know. It’s like being a wallflower in an orgy or Cinderella moping in the kitchen while everyone else steps out to party.

But if you haven’t yet made reservations for lunch or dinner or a Valentine tryst in that hideaway, I beg you: cease, desist and judiciously hold your peace. Believe me, you don’t want to wind up as a statistic on this red-letter day. Take it from me, I know. I used to be one.

Like millions of other romantic couples, the hubby and I would usually join the throng of lovestruck Pinoys who tenderly make goo-goo eyes at each other in the car, squeezing each other’s hand (and possibly other parts as well) while patiently waiting out the traffic. Your roses might wilt by the time you get to lunch or dinner, that overpriced Valentine entrée might be nothing but a reheated bistek with a complimentary glass of Novellino, and the bed sheets in your favorite hotel/motel might not be freshly-laundered, but one thing remains constant: it will be a bumper to bumper road situation this Saturday (a Valentine weekend and on a payday, hello?)

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By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

SITTING next to the radio growing up, we learned the words to songs the old-fashioned way: straining and trying to figure out what the heck those singers were saying. Now, for the most part this was not too hard; there seems to be a gene inside all Filipinos that allows them to understand, memorize and then regurgitate on command every single Barry Manilow song. But there were challenges: Pearl Jam and every single band who tried to sound like them were really hard to get. But sometimes we had help. Aside from being just the best music magazine like ever, Jingle had, notably, correct lyrics to the songs of the day. As the articles receded and the lyrics spread, Jingle Songbook/chordbook become the go-to mag for the words even as a virtual legion of imitators came out of the woodwork, some of them with ridiculously erroneous lyrics.

Who knew that the ultimate solution lay in weight on TV of all places. A nation weaned on the power of videoke was waiting to watch even more TV. When ABS-CBN started up Myx in 2001, it seemed like a quaint variation on MTV and Channel V. Wow, I was really off on that. Myx, by streaming the words to every single video they aired, was perfect.

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By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

AS a dual-layered way of expressing affection, choosing favorite romantic movies, books and whatnot resonates. It is not only a choice of a specific form over another (It loves me, it loves me not…) but also of specific content. Living up to the fact that I am very much a book nut, I’ve decided to impose on you dear readers certain books I’ve recently read, books centered around a love story (as compared to plain old romances). Take note that this is a list of book’s I’ve read within the last year or so, not an ultimate all-time list of books about love stories. That would be a truly intimidating task, though I imagine Pablo Neruda and Nick Bantock should make that list easily. But this is about new reading material. Some may be a bit out there, but at the end of the reading, each one exemplifies the magnetic pull of romance, a force strong enough to mend or rend lives. In no particular order:

“Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist” by Rachel Cohn and Dan Levitan: My current favorite. Ostensibly a novel for young adults, “Playlist” is a stunningly winning tale of a single night in New York built around punk rock, Judaism and a yellow Yugo (the car not the defunct nationality) named Jessie. Oh and two lost soul mates named Nick and Norah, duh. There’s a charming movie based on it starring Michael Cera and Kat Dennings, a thoroughly enjoyable adaptation that diverges away from the book rather heavily. The movie is pretty good. The book is awesome.

“Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane” by Sean McKeever and Takeshi Miyazawa: Why is a comic book series included in this list? Because McKeever and Miyazawa, through a reimagined contemporary take on Mary Jane Watson, (she has a cellphone now) tackles the bittersweet and yet broadband-quick world of high school romance with just the barest dappling of superheroic high jinks (though the bit with Firestar was very nice). The series has been restarted with Terry Moore at the helm, but the original two hardcovers are just lovely.

“The Post-Birthday World” by Lionel Shriver: Perhaps the saddest good book on love you will find, Shriver’s novel is easily compared to that Gwyneth Paltrow-John Hannah movie “Sliding Doors,” where a woman makes a choice and two timelines emerged. We find out that sometimes things are beyond our power to change. This book is the intelligent, nuanced, heartbreaking but unforgettable iteration of the idea.

“Twilight” by Stephenie Meyer: Yes, this book has its share of flaws and yes Stephen King hates it, but this book won over readers because of ideas. One of them is the forbidden and problematic attraction between a vampire (how much badder can this boy be? He’s dead) and a human (a self-involved ninny at times to be honest). But it’s the other element I’m impressed by: Meyer’s ability to accurately or at least convincingly depict the modern teenager’s thought process when falling in love. It’s the best of the series even if it was the first because—painful dialogue aside—it made us think that the vampire-human pairing could happen.

“Never Let Me Go” by Kazuo Ishiguro: Ishiguro knows how to write about the slow burn of affection. “The Remains of the Day” smoldered with it. But “Never Let Me Go,” an unusual concoction of sci-fi and romance, takes the idea to a new level. If clones, grown only for their organs, fall in love, what are they to do? This book has the haunting but subtle answer.

Read about other things Valentine’s Day related in the February 8, 2009 issue of the Sunday Inquirer Magazine.