The Zoom H1 in action.
The following review, to use the term loosely, is based on pseudo-real-world conditions; that is to say, conditions close to ideal.
The Zoom H1 was used during interviews pre-approved by the subjects in settings such as restaurants, pubs, a private office, and a jazz bar during a concert.
The most challenging field test ever confronted by my H1 involves secretly recording candid exchanges with taxi drivers. Read the rest of this entry »
The GARN on top of 11-year-old Mac keyboard that's still a pleasure to type on. (Yes, that's Captain Haddock on the right)
Or in my case, notes—lots of them.
This is because I recently bought three black Green Apple Reporter Notebooks from a National Bookstore branch in Pasay City. (That, and another book, Augusten Burroughs’ Magical Thinking for P50, which I promise would be my last book buy for the year. But that’s another story.) [See: Magical Thinking]
It takes me three months to use up a GARN, which means I’m not going to have a shortage for the next three years.
This is because on top of the new three GARNs that I bought, I have eight in storage, bringing the total to 13, one of which I’ve used up—and also in storage—and another one which I’m using now.
I absolutely adore these notebooks (enough to blog about them) more than I do the soft-bound Moleskines I got abroad, some of which I had already given away. The softbound Moleskines also fell apart easily, which is unjustifiable considering its price.*
That’s not the case with the GARN.
It’s tough, durable, low-key, substantially cheaper than the Moleskine, and thanks to its color, unmistakably masculine.
I admit that I ignored the GARN the first time I saw it.
At that time, I was in my DIY notebook phase, a preoccupation that was short-lived because it was foolish, expensive, and time-consuming—just like hanging out with frenemies.
That phase ended when a new fountain pen came along, prompting me to get something decent to write on. [See: Lamy 2000]
The GARN was the natural choice. 
In no time, I became addicted and bought them whenever I saw them.
Like the fountain pen, I bring the GARN everywhere.
Except that I am unable to maximize its availability.
People look at you strange if you write in a notebook. But not if you type on a laptop or a tablet.
If you’re seen clutching a notebook and a pen—two pieces of antiquated equipment—you’re considered a throwback of the 19th century, a fop, a dandy, a pretentious, artsy-fartsy pseudo-writer-slash-artist.
Fortunately, I’ve come to terms with my literary pretension and, as a result, have managed to get away with writing on the GARN some of the time.
On various occasions, I’ve written extensively in two different mid-end, mall-based Chinese restaurants, one of which had the temerity to charge me for house tea. (Which, come to think of it, I should have agreed to pay for since I’ve spent time writing there.)
I’ve even checked into a cheap hotel overnight, just to get a change of scenery.
Except that cable television got the better of me and all I could wrangle out of that episode was a page that was arguably worthless. That overnight stay also helped increase my debt whose interest could have paid for someone else’s country club membership.
So, kids, what kind of lesson can we derive from my notebook addiction?
Simple: I may go hungry, incur investment losses, seek bankruptcy protection, live on the streets, and eat off a garbage dump but as far as writing supplies are concerned, I’m A-OK.
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*I do have another Moleskine in storage—a hardbound Berlin City Notebook edition given by a journalism instructor who’s been there countless times as a birthday gift. I promise to use it once I get to visit that city.
Aquino's picture on Wikipedia
The first time I heard about Ninoy Aquino he was already dead for a few hours.
My mother, my brother, our longtime helper Adeling (whom we called Sister out of respect for her and her strong Catholic faith), and I were trapped inside my aunt’s two-storey house in Sampaloc. (At that time, my father was abroad, spending the first of his only two-year stint in the Middle East.)
All four of us were invited to the fiesta that day—a Sunday—and at around seven or eight in the evening, the heavy rain forced my aunt to extend her welcome.
Having nothing else to do, I turned on a small color television set located near the living room and tuned into RPN channel 9.
It was showing the last half of a movie that I would find out later was Murder by Death. (How could I remember? I was a fan of the Pink Panther movie series, and by extension, Peter Sellers, who was cast as a Chinese detective in the film. I just added Google into the mix decades later.) [See: Murder by Death, Peter Sellers, Pink Panther]
While seeing the film’s last few scenes—a large suitcase being snapped shut by Truman Capote who played the eccentric millionaire—Sister ran up to me and told me that Ninoy Aquino was shot.
“Sino siya?” I asked her.
She gave me an explanation so colorful and detailed it must have been riddled with half truths and rumors.
But it was enough to keep Ninoy Aquino in the periphery of my imagination until next year.
In November 1984, I wrote a letter to the editor about Ninoy Aquino to Mr & Ms Special Edition, a weekly newsmagazine that was part of the mosquito press. [See: Mr & Ms]
The letter was handwritten on a lined piece of paper that I used for school. The document was folded, stapled, and was deliberately sent without an envelope—a tip I learned from a special portion of the GMA News program that asked viewers to send in their money-saving strategies which, at that time, was read on the air by Tina Monzon-Palma.
I then gave the letter to my mother who, now that I think about it, must have gotten a kick from sending stuff through the mail. (She forced us to write letters to our grandparents who were staying in California.)
The letter was later published, copies of which were shown proudly to relatives every time they visited.
It was the first time I saw my name in print.
Too bad the event was associated with someone who had to be assassinated, if only to bring us where we—as a country—should go.
We’re not there yet.
But I do hope that we get there wherever “there” is. [See: Raissa Robles’ take on Ninoy Aquino]
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From the On Another Note Dept. Been re-reading “The Public Has The Right to Know,” a book written by Bienvenido A. Tan, the public coordinator of the Agrava Fact-Finding Board, the body that investigated the assassination of Ninoy Aquino. Tan, father of Jose Ma. Lorenzo, who heads the World Wildlife Fund Philippines, would later become Cory Aquino’s tax chief. Tan’s book is candid, describing how certain individuals even said they were able to communicate with Aquino in the afterlife. And at one point during the proceedings, he became so frustrated with the assertions of Butz Aquino, Ninoy’s brother, that he bought himself a new set of golf clubs. [See: Tan on buying a new set of golf clubs.] Since we’re already on the topic, try visiting [Five things Donald Draper and Ferdinand Marcos have in common].
