Yesterday's failed caprese-inspired canapés

I shall use plum tomatoes and fresh mozzarella cheese next time.

Flame-haired general

My parents invited friends from Marikina, my dad's hometown, over for Christmas dinner--a tradition almost 10 years old.  And these friends of theirs go way back, so I know all of them quite well.  Except for one of them.

"Hi, BJ, I'm Tita Marita.  We've met before," she said.
"Oh, I'm sure," I concurred.  Surely she saw me when I was still a baby.  Perhaps.

After the obligatory picture-taking, my parents' friends started standing up from the table to claim their belongings.  And then I saw what she was wearing, I just had to grab my camera.

The first thing I noticed about her was her geometric bob with crimson streaks.  But what urged me to grab the camera was her (low-hung) harem pants.  And those metallic epaulettes.  Although the neutrality of her grey shirt and white pants could have been the perfect canvas for a lighter-colored Motorcycle--perhaps the pink or the red one, to bring out her fiery hair color

For a woman of 60, she has a wicked fashion sensibility.  Most girls a third of her age don't even know what harem pants are.  And her flats just had to be animal prints.  As Momma Tyra would say, she's fierce!

Passion Store

While on the way to Tagaytay we passed by this gem of a store along Aguinaldo Highway in Silang, Cavite.

I learned from my mom that she had been visiting this same store for over 10 years.  It's been her perennial source of kapeng barako.

Aileen--attendant, cashier and storeowner--sells everything: from vintage toys, museum-worthy coffee machines, to (now-defunct) Cardinal ceramics and canned vegetable protein.  At first glance I thought the cans were also vintage; I guess the labels were just dusty.  (Expiry date was in 2012.)  Below is my favorite picture:

She also serves vegetarian cuisine, and of course kapeng barako.

How's the weather in Boston?

The letter from Harvard Business School finally arrived. I spent Sunday afternoon browsing through their residence halls. My dad even brought out his dusty album to show me where he stayed in that spring of 1981. I wish I could also have a view of the Charles River.

still no word

15 days to go until Wharton tells me if I'm still in the running or not. And what's with Stanford also keeping silent? Death. Waiting is the worst part.

high on inhaling tooth powder

thank god for the root canal. i finally have a competitive distraction from the slow death of waiting for my b-school application results. so far 1 out of 3 had invited me for an interview. i stare at gmail all day waiting for a response from the 2 other schools. this will either be the merriest christmas or a suicidal new year.