Happiness Abounds

Just arrived in Portland and I like this place. The airport is new and hipster, but I guess I should have expected the latter bit. Everyone is wearing plaid or glasses. This is my last stop in America before I head out over the ocean.

It is also my last American meal: a giant Rueben sandwich and some cheesecake. Seriously, the sandwich is the size of my face.

 I also finally managed to find a magazine shop that sells Wired. Definitely my favorite print publication, I wasn’t able to find it in my home airport or Atlanta. I also stocked up on snacks for this 11 hour flight, so I should be set.

Happiness abounds,

Mr. Mockler

Bagillion

I hate the Atlanta airport. No matter how much time I spend there, I can’t stand it. I know it’s the busiest airport in the world, but if it could be a little less busy I’d still hate it.

Probably the worst thing about Atlanta is its size. Each terminal is fifty bagillion gates long and it takes forever to walk the concourse to get to the sardine can tram to go to another fifty bagillion gate long terminal. My flight is never in the center and I always have to sprint to one place from another. I think the airlines are getting payback for years of ungrateful customers by making layovers there as short as possible, too.  A57 to E32 in 10 minutes, who will win? You? Or the Atlanta Airport?

Today’s trek through the worst place on Earth was made particularly uncomfortable as one of my travel companions decided to stop in the duty free store. Of all the duty free stores we will pass, he chose to go to the one in the airport with the shortest layover.  Waiting on my friend to buy his duty free chocolates, I had some time to admire some recycled clothing displays in the airport.

I participated in an Eco Fashion show a few weeks ago, and it was neat to see how other designers came at some of the problems I did. Of course the outfits in the terminal were professional, but (if you didn’t look too hard) I think my designs could have been displayed next to them.

I had been in the midst of creative dry spell when the show started looking for entrants, and I leapt at the opportunity to focus on not school. Despite the fact that I felt like a small sweatshop child (3 complete outfits in 2 weeks, initially without a sewing machine), I had a great time. Choosing fabrics and looking up patterns, I experienced a way of life and doing things that most people just don’t do anymore.

Probably the biggest obstacle I faced was the idea that guys don’t make clothes. That’s stupid, I can do whatever I want, I could be President if I wanted to… but instead of working on my stump speech, I made a t-shirt halter and some burlap shorts.

Making clothes made me look at how I relate to clothing differently. By making for different body types, I learned how to capture lines and curves and what really brought out the best physical features in a person using their wardrobe. Also, I felt a lot of pride in my designs. Going from someone who had only ever sewn buttons and rips, I gained a whole new skill set that I hope to practice in the future.

Portland Bound,

Mr. Mockler

An Aggregated Amalgam of Aggravation

Vacationing is stressful. The planning, the packing, the traveling, each component is one small annoyance in an aggregated amalgam of aggravation. The delicate balance that is supposed leisure is typically one delayed flight away from a nuclear disaster in our first world problem lives. There is one virtue, however, to a trip falling off the deep end into oblivion: it typically indicates that you’re in for a good time.

I’m not saying every disaster indicates a good time. Missing a flight, getting sick, arriving at your destination in time to enjoy multiple natural disaster are proven vacation ruiners, but, like I said, in our first world problem lives the mini-disaster; a forgotten camera charger, something left on the plane, being selected for additional screening; is enough to elicit exasperated sighs of “Oh, my vacation my beautiful vacation.” The mini-disaster snuffs out our pretentions of having a perfect vacation and kindles our ability to enjoy it. 

Considering what happened to me last night, my mini disaster has coaxed my enjoyment into a strong flame, as nothing on this trip could terrify me more than my mini disaster last night. 

Finishing my gorge on American TV that I had missed and would be missing, I decided to check my itineraries again. Checking arrival times, airport maps, and my hotel reservation, I was about to send a confirmation email to my program coordinators when I asked my mother what I thought was an innocuous question. “Yes, I know I have to email him, but I have to email him my arrival time for Qingdao, all I have is my travel information for getting to Beijing. Where is the Qingdao flight?”

… 

“Where is the Qingdao flight?”? Where IS the Qingdao flight? OH GOD, WHERE IS THE QINGDAO FLIGHT?!  No confirmation number, no contact from AirChina, no piece of documentation that conclusively proved that the Qingdao ticket had ever been booked. My summer in Qingdao was transforming into a summer in Beijing. My mother, paging through months old emails, desperate to find something that would assuage both our oncoming ennui, proved too grating, and, as is best in these situations, I followed the Scarlet O’Hara Guide to Crisis Management, and took the dog for a walk.

Since I decided to check everything when the only person I would be able to get a hold of was a machine, my Romantic escape to the beach to say goodbye to my dog and my hometown, appealed more to me than panicking. By the time I came back, my mother had already found train schedules and I began to look at the train ride as a practice exercise before I had to go to class on Monday. Finally, a phone call from my TA set all my worries to rest, as we were going to be in Beijing at the same time and he promised to help me out. Considering that he’s going to be living in China next year, knowing I had help and wasn’t going to have to rely as much on my broken Chinese relieved me.  

While my mini crisis was resolved, I didn’t realize how nervous I was about this trip until I thought I wasn’t going to have a flight to Qingdao. Based on what my friends said, I built this utopian view of what is an exceedingly difficult program and expected everything to fall into place perfectly, but honestly, for two months, I will be immersed in a culture I’ve only read about and speak a language I’ve only spoken with mostly non-native speakers. I will live with a person I’ve never met and will probably not be able communicate with for the first two weeks. I will invade a family’s home and live with them for two weeks. I will eat things and won’t even know what they are. I will probably buy so much stuff I need a second bag to bring it all back to the US. I am putting myself in a situation to be imperfect and by getting over the lack of perfection now; I will be able to enjoy whatever.

Taking it easy at 20,000 feet*,

Mr. Mockler

               

*My row of two seats is empty on my first transoceanic flight. I'm all types of sprawled out and am enjoying the looks all the other cramped sardine passengers are giving me. Yay, me!

Two Months...

It took me five minutes to run through the TSA check point, and I am watching the last blue-gray of night, turn into the pink and gold of a new morning. I’m glad that on the start of a very long day, TSA has not been the major obstacle it usually is.

My journey began as of 2:30 a.m this morning. Getting up, no matter what the occasion, is difficult for me, but my left over adrenaline from a mini-crisis (more on that later) helped me to get up before my alarm. I let the dog out, said goodbye one more time, and made sure everything (well, almost everything) was where it needed to be. With my sights on my usual pre-travel McDonald’s breakfast meal, I forgot my new neck pillow (so close…). No vacation is ever complete unless I go back for one thing, so pre-vacation ritual completed; my mother and I got on the road and headed for the airport.

Crossing over the bridge, I realized how much I like living on the coast. In the morning in particular, everything is peaceful and quiet. Cruising down the highway, I said goodbye to the casinos as well as the beach. I’ve never one to be homesick, but going this far away from home feels very different. Two months had sounded like a long time, but looking out the car window finally made it feel longer. We stopped into the McDonald’s and decided to take the interstate. I didn’t feel like saying goodbye to the billboards, so it was much easier to not think about home as I tore into my Sausage McMuffin, no egg.  

My home airport is never busy in the morning, but today I found myself at the back of a long line of New York-bound theatre students. Waiting on the new travelers to check in, I planned how to make my goodbye to my mother as short as possible and avoid the overdone crying-in-the-airport-goodbye cliché. Usually, I don’t care how long goodbyes are. Long or medium (no good-bye is ever short), I’m able to get my closure and go happily to my pat down; however, since this is my first transoceanic flight, I knew that I’d have to keep it short for the sake of our tear ducts.

Anyway, this is not goodbye dear reader, in fact it is only beginning. I’m going to have stop posting because the gate agents just arrived and I want to check out the Hudson News before I head out. I’ll try to post about the trip through the day, but maybe I’ll just tell you all about it when I make it to China!

Wish me luck,

Mr. Mockler

On the Eve of the Eve...

Of my many neurotic habits, the most life dominating is my need to organize things so that I end on a time that ends in five or zero. I have no clue why. Deep seated need for order? Aestic pleasure? Secret love affair with the metric system? Who can say, but, ultimately, this is only my second post and I already feel behind on my schedule. In exactly 70 days I will get on my return flight from China to the United States. So, in order to make sure I stay on the 70th day (and make sure that rabbits don't attack me in my sleep or whatever happens when you don't do stuff on 0's or 5's), I have 55 minutes to finish this.

As I mentioned in my last post, I have a chronic underwriting problem, so in an effort to correct that, I'm using you, dear reader, as a crutch to feed and structure my addiction to writing. After months of procrastinating and looking for reasons not to, I've finally managed to hit on what I think might be my solution to stick to writing,  by writing about something I want to talk about anyway: Going to China

I know, shocking. I'll give you a minute to process and then we'll continue.

Here's a picture of some puppies to soften the blow of my Earth
shattering announcement.

 By posting about China over the next two and a half months, I should a) gather a ton of material, b) create a writing schedule, and c) create a venue to share pictures and stories, while also directing people to a location where they can read about everything I did and not pester me for the same story an nth number of times. I don't mind, but I can tell this will be one of those experiences. I already feel tired telling the story and I haven't even been to the Middle Kingdom yet.

So, for everyone who wants to know on the eve of the eve of my departure, yes, I am excited to be going to China. Yes, I am nervous. No, I don't think the food will be terrible. Yes, I know, I won't do anything to be made a political prisoner. Honestly, with as many friends as I have had be a part of this program and as similar as we are, I think I'm going to have a blast. Luckily, I'll have one of my best friends with me and I'll be surrounded by 29 other classmates. As much as it seems like I'm heading into the Wild West, I assure you, this is not the case.

Oh good, done in time for 11:40. No rabbits tonight!

Mr. Mockler

P.S. I won't be all about China because that implies that when I'm done with the trip, I'm done with the blog. While my slacker self sees that solution as an excellent idea, I won't let myself off the hook that easy. Be prepared, dear reader, this is, hopefully, a life-long journey.

You Come Here Often?

Hi, it's nice to meet you, I'm Steven. You come here often? No, well, me either to tell you the truth. My first day... Oh, me, well, I'm a college student. Yeah, yeah, incredible, I know. Yep, love the experience, made for college, learning and all that... Study? I'm majoring in party if that's what you mean! No, no, no, please don't walk away! I swear, I'm not this awkward. Well, I am, but... I try? I don't try to be awkward, I try to not be, and then, but my words, they...BLEH! ...alright then, yeah, no. I'm sorry, let's start over.




Dark and mysterious...

 

Hi, my name is Steven, but you can call me Mockler or Steve, whichever you prefer. I'm a college student, I'd tell you more, but the internet and singularity, etc, too much exposure, but I still want to be famous. Maybe not super famous, quietly famous, or some other type of adjective famous, but definitely that arm length type of famous, where you tell you're friends "Yeah, he's pretty cool, I bet he'd be awesome to hang out with," but still far enough that I can maintain my aura of mystique. You know, like George Clooney, dark and mysterious.

Anyway, I've started this blog for I guess all the other reasons people start blogs. Like most writers, I have the chronic problem of trying to avoid writing, so I guess I've also started this blog to harness the most potent force in the universe, peer pressure. Yes, reader, wondering whether you're reading or not reading and wondering whether or not you're judging me for not sticking to my posting schedule or any other offense that I feel I may commit while trying to turn out posts, should ultimately turn me into a better writer. Ah, the beauty of neuroses.

Anyway, I have to write another post for tonight, so I'll encourage you to go look at that, and then keep coming back and looking, because if you don't, well... we'll see what happens.

Mr. Mockler

Photo Credit: http://bahighlife.com/Media/images/GeorgeClooneyH-d4d44e8d-c23a-44ae-99fe-75fdd5bd2e3a.jpg