A Wonderful Surprise In My Inbox

Let's swim back to the surface and take a breath from dissertation despair... it's spring break after all.

This morning, a message in my inbox says "Marco Polo Club Account Statement". And I look again. It's not an Asia Miles statement? No, it's certainly not. Apparently, my frequent flights to Manila have finally paid off. I am a now a proud silver tier member of the Marco Polo Club, Cathay Pacific Airlines' frequent flyer program.

What's the big deal? As I understand it, membership in the club gives me, an economy class flyer, benefits that you would certainly appreciate on journey that lasts nearly 24 hours. The benefits are a considerable amount of excess baggage allowance (we Pinoys know we need this), priority boarding, and best of all, access to the Business Lounge (man, they have croissants and quiches... and wine! in here), to name a few. These are benefits that I, a graduate student who is so poor that the US government refunds almost all of the income taxes I paid, can only dream of.

And speaking of the Business Lounge. I've never written about my Business Class experience when I was going home for my dad's funeral. It's two days after I learned what happened and I'm waiting at the check in counter.

"You're gonna love me for this...," he informs me happily that I have been upgraded to the business class. And, oh, did I ever! I was so surprised that I didn't know what to tell him except that he was the nicest person... EVER (a la Clueless)! I didn't even ask for an upgrade but fate would have it that I would have my own cubicle to privately break down if I wanted to. I'm only sorry that I wasn't able to thank that steward properly. He didn't know what he did for me that day. My only advice to you girls is take those five seconds to put a little lipgloss on when you travel.

If you haven't read Brian's blog (http://brianbelen.blogspot.com/) on Cathay Pacific's business class, I'll write a little about it here.

You have your own cube. From your seat (or your bed, however you prefer it), you won't see anything but the feet of the person beside you if s/he puts it up. The flight attendant knows your name and offers you cocktails with names such as Cloud Nine. The snacks actually merit their own menu with stuff like crab dumplings which are actually pretty tasty. Definitely a lot of steps higher than the Nissin cup noodles that you have to beg for in coach. But if you just wanted biscuits or a piece of chocolate, just walk into the kitchen and take what you want. You eat with actual cutlery. You get a little bag of designer cosmetics and you sleep with a down comforter.

Yes, the guy that gave me that upgrade is probably going to be staying a year less in purgatory. I'm just glad to have experienced business class in my lifetime. Now I know to just ask for an upgrade everytime.

It's a Beautiful Day to Wake Up to U2

A free U2 concert in school was enough to get us to drag our asses out of bed before 4 in the morning. For some reason, Fordham was lucky enough to have been contacted by the group or Good Morning, America. Whatever the reason (Fr. McShane gave a couple of reasons that I really don't remember... must be because it was too early, or the potheads that were toking up behind us), I'll take U2 for breakfast anytime.

After four hours of lining up in the cold...

... suffering through the not-too-funny warm up guy and having to go through the actual show for Good Morning America without seeing U2 (while trying to fend off the potheads in the mosh pit)...

... they finally come out...

And as an added bonus, especially for Justin (who first sounded us off on the whole thing)...

Seeing Bono's lavender specs, the Edge's beanie, Mullen's chest, and Clayton's silver hair (he was surprisingly cute!) AND hearing the music, of course, was worth all the trouble for it. Then it was time to go home... with a smile.

Aaah... The Smell of Chinatown in the Morning

A trip to the doctor would rarely be associated with pleasant thoughts. However, having my doctor's appointments scheduled in the morning and when she's in her Chinatown office makes the visit just a tad more tolerable. In the morning, Chinatown feels more like Nersesian's New York--before tourists eclipse its heart and soul. The smells of Chinatown, both pungent and aromatic, bring a sense of melancholy that I can only attribute to a sense of oneness with the city.

And what better way to bond with the city than to make friends with its food. Although I have bought both the brown and the white buns from Mei Lei Wah, I've never actually sat down to eat at the place.

So I walk in this morning and I immediately felt like I was walking into a Wong Kar-Wai film. With its renovated interiors, the bakery now has booths. This morning, almost all the booths were occupied by only one diner each who most likely had a coffee, a brown bun and a Chinese newspaper, all facing the street. All patrons seem to have been transported directly from Hong Kong or Mainland China to NYC and seemed like they were regulars. Taking my own booth, I also get the $1 coffee (which is not bad at all) and the 80-cent brown bun. However, although I was the only female patron at the time, I was to have the biggest meal by also having a wonton noodle soup. I'm forever in search of good noodle places. And I was pleasantly surprised to find one of the best noodle soups I've ever had, in a bakery of all places. Theirs had the thin egg noodles that I prefer; the wontons actually had pork, shrimp, and flavor; and the broth was so good I actually sipped every last drop of it. Although extremely simple and common, this particular meal was much appreciated and carried me through the freezing temperature throughout most of the morning.

This morning, Chinatown felt more like a small town where people stop to chat, have coffee, read a newspaper; rather than the monster that it becomes towards the end of the lunch hour. Never was it so pleasant to have three vials of blood taken out from my veins.

Photo from http://uktv.co.uk

My First Real Red Lipstick

Let's be really shallow and narcissistic now and talk about lipstick.

With roomie's growing obsession with red lipstick, going all the way to Brooklyn to get her fix, I thought about why I don't have one at all. I remember playing with my mom's lipsticks when I was a girl and as lipsticks in the 80s go, they were in all shades of pink or red only. And I did like the reds, a lot.

So while looking around at Camille's happy place, Sephora, instead of just watching her try stuff, I ventured into the NARS section since roomie said they had some of the best reds around. I was drawn to Red Lizard. Not a very attractive name, but the color seemed like the glamorous red that I just had to try. I try it on and really, really liked it. Very old Hollywood, as the make up message boards suggest. I don't really know about that, but I sure did notice the cute guy who didn't know what to do with himself at a cosmetics store look over at me with a smile. I can only credit that... to the lipstick effect. After all, being in recession and in mourning doesn't mean you have to look bad.