holidays, obama, glitter, the words “indigo” and “perplexed”—so much to choose from, people! the list goes on, really. (starring me & my bffs last thanksgiving)

M. Chabon, on winning the Pulitzer Prize in 2001:

“The day I found out that I had won a Pulitzer, I picked up my then three-year-old son from nursery school. ‘Daddy won a prize today,’ I told him. His face lit up. ‘Open it! Open it!’ he said.”

I’m not too sure about sweet potato pie (never tried it), but that was just too goddamn cute so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. And Coconut cream pie? Magugustuhan siguro ni Barack ang buko pie ni Colette.

What about egg pie? I sincerely believe that egg pie does not get the props it deserves. I haven’t had a slice in years. It looks easy enough , so I should bake one after midterms are over.

As kids, Chris and I used to consume inordinate amounts of this because it tasted like leche flan inside a flaky shell. God. I really looked forward to Sunday because it meant going to the bakery in Divisoria (was it Ah Fat?)after mass and ordering an entire egg pie. One day, when I was 6 or so, I remember spitting out a bloodied tooth on the pavement right outside church. I had been wiggling that tooth with my tongue for a week, determined to extract it on my own terms. (Dad used to tie our teeth and pull them by himself. He would give a preliminary count off, saying he would tug on 3, but he would always, always tug on 2.) Delirious with pride, I picked it up and placed the tooth–coated with blood and saliva and God knows what lay on the sidewalk that day– in dad’s hands, saying–”I did it!” I recall him laughing and announcing, “Let’s celebrate with some egg pie.”

I am aware that my love for this pastry may be colored by my nostalgia.

But anyway. Yeah, Obama ftw.

I ran into three cats today; curiously, all of them seemed drawn to me.
And I, to them.

Equally odd:

I saw a dog
that I didn’t like at all

(the feeling was mutual).