Denmark: Two Days Gone, One Remains...

[Composed 8/20]

It's Wednesday night, about 10:30 now, and I'm too wiped to write separate posts about the last two days. So, I'll combine in summary about what's been happening here lately on Jutland.

First of all, the weather here puts Colorado's strangeness to the test. It rained seven different times today, and in between each short storm were bright sunshine and rolling, low-hanging clouds. It's been like this most of the time I've been here. Denmark is wet wet wet.

The last few nights have been filled with raging football games in the gym. The Spanish kids and the Finnish guy are the best players, oh, and the Russian too, he has a kick that bruises bones (with the ball). He's like Chuck Norris, only shorter, with less expression, and smokes cigarettes like a chimney. Despite the overwhelming talent in comparison to my elementary skills, I had a lot of fun being the silly American. Actually, there were three of us dumb Yanks playing, and we didn't too all that bad in the end (I assisted one goal). The stuff these guys do with their feet and body weight; it looks like dancing. Yeah, so those matches are great workouts and by the end, we're all sweaty and tired.

I notice when I go to wetter climes I sweat a LOT more when I work out then when I'm in Colorado or a drier environment. I wonder if my body is adapted to a dry climate, so when I go somewhere wetter, I pump out more perspiration as a habit; as if my body actually has some sort of adaptive powers...weird! Maybe that's not the reason, but there's got be some reason why I perspire so much more in wetter environments. Maybe evaporation is restricted by the amount of water in the air? But, I notice the Danish, Spanish, and other students who come from similarly wet environments aren't as sweaty. Hmmmmm.....

Well, enough talk of sweaty guys, the wind program is winding down. Yesterday we spent all the daylight hours touring Siemens Wind Power factories, hearing lectures on wind power grid connections, eating lunch in their canteen, and busing over to Dong Energy (Denmark's largest power company) for more lectures, tours, and bad food. The Danish have an obsession with the sandwich. The other students noticed this fact too: the Danes have dozens of different sandwich types, maybe even hundreds. Most of them involve either eggs or fish of some variety. Apparently the ones we had while at Dong weren't very good, because about half our group (so I heard) got a little sick later that night. Not me, so I guess I'm lucky. After a 2+ hour bus ride back to Fuglsøcentret, a bunch of us played more football, going until almost 11pm (starting around 9). I tried to crash around midnight, but two of the Italians, Alessandro and Francesca, roped me into a couple of pool games with the Malay student, Yeow. I hit my pillow hard at around 1:30am.

Today was packed with work, more than usual. Several representatives from Siemens, Vestas, and the Engineering College at Århus were present in the main event hall to supervise us while we worked in our groups on the case study project. Our task: find a way to improve the cost effectiveness of a certain turbine design. The turbine in question was designed about 10 years ago, but, due to high production costs, the design was abandoned and only a few of them are in use across the country. The project has been a real challenge for several reasons. 1) I'm the only native English speaker in my group, so a lot of my ideas require circumlocutional explanations. 2) It's a very very open-ended task, with no clear answer, just like real life! 3) The company reps are expecting a professional solution in a timely manner. 4) I'm totally new to nearly all the science behind this technology (Mechanical and Electrical Engineering are the fields here). Facing all of this, I'm having a great time. I think my team will have a good solution by tomorrow evening, when our poster's due. The only drawback is my flight home is before the poster session on Friday morning. I feel bad, but chaning my flights would cost me more than the original price for them, in extra fees. Bottom line, we're going to work our butts off tomorrow to get this project hammered out--we have some good conceptual ideas and our main task tomorrow is to get real numbers to back them up.

I'm off to play pool and commune with the other students. Enjoy your Wednesday afternoons, your Thursday mornings, and your non-Danish weather my friends! Until next post, afskend!

Denmark: High In the Sky

Sunday! Usually a day of rest in the U.S., that is not so here at the summer school. After the party last night (see the previous post), we all woke far too early this morning for a 7:30am breakfast and an 8am bus ride to a real working Vestas wind turbine. It was part of a wind 'farm,' set up on the property of a wheat farm (one of the farmers was out turning over the wheat clippings with a big machine; up a row and down another, back and forth). There were evergreens and oak trees ringing the field, and other turbines could be seen all around, off into the distance of the flattened landscape.

The turbine we visited is still in operation, though its design model was discontinued some ten years ago due to production costs being too high. It's 60 meters tall (to the nacelle, the motors and generator hub connected to the rotor) and the rotor blades are each 30 meters long. In groups of two, we ascended the inside of the tower in a small cage lift that wobbles and shakes if you even shift your weight a little. It's not that it's old and rickety, it's that there is only one thin cable holding it between top and bottom. You have to hold a button down and up to make it move. I went up with one of the other American students, Amy, and when we reached the nacelle, one of the Danish technicians was there to show us around. Beneath the main generator and rotor shaft chamber, there are two huge plastic and metal cubes holding 600 liters of water each. These are to dampen any vibrational motion caused by wind buffeting the tower or any mechanical shaking from the generator components. Up in the nacelle we looked at the yaw and pitch mechanisms, the main shaft chamber, the generator, and the transformer (all huge machines in a room about 8 meters by 4 meters. The highlight of the tower climb was being able to poke our heads out the top access hatch and take pictures from 60 meters high. We could see many many farms rolling into the distance, and many wind turbines dotting the land. Off to the east was the sea, about 10 km away, and, to the south we could see where they were Vestas workers were erecting a new wind turbine. This one will be the largest in the region, standing over 100 meters high to the nacelle and have blades that are 50 meters long.

We ate lunch at the turbine and then got back on the bus and traveled to a wind turbine blade factory, operated by a competing company, Siemens. You may have heard of this company because they have many industries from medical science to petroleum/fossil fuel refinement to information technology, and, for our visit, wind. The factory is in the northern part of Jutland (the part of Denmark connected to Germany that sticks out of mainland Europe like a thumb), close to the town of Ållborg. Two company engineers gave us some background information on the components and fabrication process of the wind blades, via powerpoint. They showed us some videos of how they test the blades for fatigue and extreme stress conditions. I thought this was the coolest video I've seen yet. They build a blade, fix it to a stand so it sticks out parallel to the ground, and attach a large clamp with a motor on it to the middle. This motor controls a shaft which has a swining weight attached to it. As the motor runs and the shaft turns, the weight flips around the shaft axis. Eventually, the whole blade is bending up and down and up and down, oscillating at its 'natural' frequency. They make it bounce 2 million times and call this treatment equivalent to 20 years of wind abuse. The guys said when one of these things snaps, it makes a sound like a cannon. I believe it; these things are giant pieces of fiber glass and epoxy, at lengths of 20 meters to 52 meters.

We were next taken to the production plants outside the office buildings. We were not allowed to take pictures (sorry guys), but the plant was amazing! As usual, the Danish are very meticulous about workplace safety, cleanliness, and order. They also have a neat, patented process for inserting the gallons and gallons of epoxy into the fiberglass and balsa wood frame. They build the frame in two pieces, a top and a bottom. Then they place both sides in a mold, with plastic bags lining the hollow interior. They pump down the mold to a vacuum and then flood the chamber with epoxy. After it cures, they pull the plastic out and you have a long hollow and very strong turbine blade. Next they paint it. We wanted to see the painting process, but, because it's a Sunday in Summer, that part of production was not in operation (they have a strange attitude towards days off here). I thought it was weird that they use balsa wood, the same light material found in those toy airplanes. But, apparently it's much cheaper than carbon fiber and holds up well enough to sell 7,000 turbines. We asked the technicians about carbon fiber and they said when (not if) the turbine blades get to 150 meters or so in length, it will become cost effective to use it, because the blades must be light enough so as not to overload the tower.

We returned from Ållborg to Fuglsøcentret around dinner time and, after eating, some of us went to the beach. I took my first swim in the Baltic Sea in my gym shorts. It was about as cold as Clear Creek in the beginning of the run-off season, cold enough to make me inhale a little sharply when I first submerged myself. The water is remarkably less salty than I expected; more of a hint than a sharp taste on the tongue. The sand is gray and there are many different colored rocks on the shoreline along with abundant sea weed and algae. I also found out, up close and personally, that Denmark has jellyfish. They are not deadly, but I swam right into one. It felt like a fragile sheet of plastic wrap brushing across my skin. Even as I type this, I can still feel the a little of the burning itchiness all over my abdomen and arms. One of the Danish students, Martin, assured me of the sting's mildness and said it would probably go away in a few hours. My skin turned red and bumpy, though I think I'll be just fine tomorrow. I cut my swim short after the stinging incident and skipped a few rocks before heading back to the center with the other students.

Some of us organized a futbol game in the gymnasium about an hour after the swim and I played until late with a dozen of them. I was the worst guy out there, but I still had a lot of fun. It's a great sport, even indoors. I actually scored one goal before the end.

Now, I'm sitting here at 12:15 on the morning of August 18. I have so much more to tell, but I am exhausted. I'm off to grab another beer and then to bed. Tomorrow I'll get back to the other days and tell you all about the other days (their posts will appear in order of day though, so look backwards).

Afskend!

Denmark: A Day In Århus - Not Long Enough

[Composed 8/16 - 8/18]

Saturday morning, 8/16, after my brief late-night post at the hostel:

My watch alarm doesn't work, but I woke up at the right time anyway. I ordered breakfast when I checked in, and it cost me about $12 extra. The place, called 'City Sleep-In,' was quite nice, though the decor was a little strange: some cross of a children's hospital and a modern art museum. Internet cost me another $12 (paid online) and that's how I wrote the short post called 'Checking In - Backtrack Later.' My laptop battery did eventually die and, without a charger, I had to wait until the next evening to rejuice it.

After checking out, I wandered over to the main shopping street, near the train station (it reminded me a lot of the 16th Street Mall in Denver). Århus is the second largest city in Denmark, after Copenhagen; Wikipedia quotes the population at around 1.2 million, so it's comparable to Denver in size as well. The most striking feature of Århus (and the rest of Denmark) to me is the staggering amount of bicycles. They are everywhere! I took some photos of the rows upon rows upon rows of them in many places throughout the city. They also have a public bicycle system where a person can insert a 20 DKK coin into a slot on the handle bar. This motion pops out a locking mechanism, which is chained to a pole, thereby releasing the bicycle. The bikes are usually single-speed, having solid-rubber tires, and a simple, solid aluminum frame in a design that fits all sizes. The wheel spokes are covered with flat circular plates, further distinguishing them from other bikes (which is great, since every Danish citizen has at least one if not two of their own). The seats are adjustable, but cannot be totally removed and the parts are quite unique-looking compared to other bikes. For instance, to brake, you pedal backwards, eliminating any chance of brake theft. Overall, the bikes are very undesirable to steal and so they stay in the city and stay on the roads. I am really interested in this stuff because I'm working to start one on the CSM campus. The dynamics of the program and the design will have to be different in one obvious area: landscape. Golden and Århus are very different terrain types, with the former having a lot of hills, and the latter none to speak of.

I met up with some of the other students wandering the sites and grouped together for the rest of the day. It was fortunate I made it to Århus from Risø because this day happened to be the one free day where the summer school participants were bussed to the city and allowed to explore it all day. I mostly hung out with some of the Spanish students and continued to ask questions about saying this or that or another word in their language and practiced talking to them.

It took our group some time to find enough public bikes for all of us, so we walked most of the day. We visited a historical district first, called 'Dan Gamle By' (the old village which Århus grew out of). There was a student rate to get into the town, but I'd forgotten my Mines ID at Fuglsøcentret. I borrowed one of the other student's alternative school IDs (no picture) and convinced the cashier I was an American student studying at the University of Bologna in Italy, for Political Sciences. The town felt just like touring the Old West towns, with people in costume doing the jobs of the day, and telling tourists about what life was like several hundred years ago. I took a bunch of pictures and even caught sight of a two Danish people getting married and taking a carriage ride though the old town. What was strange was seeing the old buildings (originals I believe) and the cobblestone streets in the foreground, and a 15-story modern building about 1 km away on the horizon.

We left the city to find some lunch and stopped in a grocery store first. I bought some fruit, beer, water, and an avocado. You can drink in public in Denmark (I may have mentioned that fact already) and the fruit/veggie combo made for a cheap meal. An interesting feature of the grocery were the electronic price indicators. Each shelf, each section, each bin of items had a small RFID with LED display tag attached to it and the prices were updated automatically by computers in the store, another example of the high living standard in Denmark. We headed back to the main shopping thoroughfare and found the McDonald's. The Spanish kids bought food, but I ate my grocery items and just sat and talked, using my room key to disembowl my avocado.

The sites in Århus are many and varied. From street performers to prostitutes (quite obvious the previous evening when I arrived from the train to the hostel), modern architecture to ancient buildings, paved highways to cobblestone roads, the city is very beautiful and full of surprises. One of the most incredible was visiting St. Clement's Cathedral, only a few hundred meters from the shopping mall area. The Spanish students explained to me how this church was 'moderate' by European standards, but it was definitely the largest religious structure I had ever seen, dwarfing anything in Colorado (though, that's not really a cathedral hotspot in the U.S., so my 'awe' isn't that special). The inside was astounding. I was right up close to original frescos dating back to the 15th century, walking on the tombs of Danish people buried in the 1400's. The cathedral was built in the time span of 1200 - 1250 AD and 'converted' from Catholic to Protestant in the 1500's. This conversion meant many of the icons and frescos were dismantled and painted over. A few of the originals survived or were uncovered, but all the stained glass windows were removed and replaced with plain glass about 500 years ago. We were allowed cameras, so I have some good shots of the interior.

Our final journey of the day took us on one of the hundreds of bicycle paths past the Baltic Sea shoreline and up into the main city park where the Danish Royal Family's Summer Vacation House is located (they're technically a Kingdom still, but only in title). The shoreline was nice in this area because the city had made it into a narrow sort of park. From the highway to the water was about 50 meters and in that space were a couple walking paths, a bicycle road, and a wide swath of grass ending abruptly in the rocky, mossy beach. We watched ships come and go, and took a brief rest on the grass in the sun (the weather was unusually nice this day).

We rode our bikes up into the park (actually had to pedal harder on the slight rise) and took pictures of the Royal Summer Home and some of its many gardens. Around dinner time we rode back into the city, parked our bikes, and walked to get some food on the mall. We stopped in a pizza/falafel restaurant. In Denmark, these places are the equivalent of Burger Kings or Wendy's: they are everywhere and they are cheap. They are mostly run by Middle Eastern folks, who mix these cuisines in interesting ways. The best part is, next to the grocery stores, it's the cheapest food in Denmark (so the natives say) and actually not too bad for you. I had a pita shwarma that tasted great and we split a pizza called 'quatro satrino,' which had artichokes, shrimp, ham, and mushrooms on it. A very unique thing for me, an American, but apparently it happens all over the place in Europe. After dinner we took a bus from the Århus train station back to Fuglsøcentret, all with sore feet and full cameras.

We had a party this evening, in one of the common rooms at the dormitory facility. Several of the students had been planning it since Wednesday, and had been going around asking for monetary contributions so they could buy the alcohol and food we wanted. It ended up costing each of us 60 DKK, which translates to about $12 at the best exchange rate. Two of the Spaniards made Sangria (very good Sangria), there were some bottles of vodka, tequila, and several crates of beer. One of the students, an Iranian guy named Merhdad who has lived in Denmark for 8 years, brought his mixing table and served as DJ for the evening, playing us a lot of popular techno mixes while we partied. We played cards and learned new games from some of the Danish students. One of the Americans started a game of King's Cup; I wrote down the rules. It went rather slowly with the language barrier, but I think everyone had a good time with it.

I crashed into bed around 1:30am, but not before outlining this post (finished two days later).

Denmark: Checking In, Backtrack Later

[Composed 8/16]

It's 12:39 am and I have had one crazy day! I am writing from the quiet common room of a hostel in Århus. I won't be writing long, since I am very tired and the internet here is not free. Here's a summary of today's (8/15) events. I will be back tomorrow to write about the missing days in between posts. I have to be quick tonight; my battery is about to die.

I asked the school director for one day off to visit Risø National Laboratory, a famous Danish research center in the city of Roskilde. From the summer school in Fuglsøcentret to Roskilde turned out to be 3+ hours of buses and a taxi. A side note to travelers: Don't take Danish taxis unless you absolutely have to. It cost me 146 DKK (~$30) for a 10 km ride that took 8 minutes.

My Risø escapade marked my first solo traveling inside Europe (I don't count the plane from Copenhagen to Århus because I didn't have to use maps, ask for directions, or practice my Danish). The purpose was to visit a professor named Mogens Mogensen, which is pronounced somewhat like the english word 'moans' while swallowing the 'oa' part into more of an 'uh.' I found him to be a very pleasant 60-year-old Danish man with a thick accent and a dedicated attention to detail. My advisor at Mines, Nigel Sammes, is good friends with Mogens and set up the meeting for me. Our conversations floated through the topics of history, language, culture, and science. He told me how Risø was founded by the physicist Niels Bohr and that it was celebrating its 50th anniversary in two weeks (I will miss it...shame). I also found out I have a wonderful opportunity to merge my Masters pursuit at Mines with Mogens' work in fuel cells at Risø. To make tonight's story shorter (battery = 5 %), if all goes well in the next few months, I will be studying/working with Mogens in Denmark for up to 6 months! I will attend classes at DTU, near Copenhagen, live in the city, and commute to Risø for research. I hope this plan works out, because I've only been here 5 days and I really really really really really love it here.

I met an American PhD student, Chris, working at Risø now and we talked for a while about what it's like in Denmark as a student and a foreign worker (4 % ... AH! Type faster!!!). During our conversation, I decided I'd be adventurous and scrap my original return plans to Fuglsøcentret. Since we at the summer school were allowed the next day (today now) free to wander Århus, I quickly made plans to end up in that city instead and find a place to stay the night. Chris helped me out by finding maps and online Danish travel resources (they have very good websites: check out http://www.rejseplanen.dk/bin/query.exe/en you probably don't know any Danish names, but use some of the ones I have written about and see how thoroughly helpful the system is in getting you to your destination).

Okay okay, I want to write more, but 2 % on the meter means I have little time left. I bid you all a good night (good afternoon for you!) and I will be back ASAP to write more (yes Sean, I have lots of stories, BE PATIENT!).

Afskend!

Denmark: Jason Bourne Is My Inspiration

[Composed 8/13 - 8/14]

So it has been another good day (8/13). This time I spent it at Fuglsøcentret, hearing lectures on the control systems for a turbine and the integration of a turbine system into the national and global energy markets. These lectures ran from 9am to 3pm, with a 1 hour lunch in the dining room in between. During every lecture so far, the speaker has given at least 1, sometimes up to 3 five to ten-minute breaks for us to get coffee, chat, stretch, and use the restrooms. I wish classes in America worked like this, giving little breaks here and there to break any monotony. I felt most like this during these lectures because the speakers were not very interesting and they bogged us down with lots of equations and complex explanations, all the while working to make their Danish-accented English understandable.

Outside the lecture hall, I had another day full of cultural mixing and learning. I found out the 'urinal game' played in the U.S. is also here in Europe. In some of the men's bathrooms, there are no dividers between the urinals and when you stand at one, and another guy comes in, he always goes to the one farthest away if he can help it. Germans, Spaniards, Italians, the lot; they all play the same game.

On a more interesting note, during one of the coffee breaks we had, a few of us started talking about the quality of life in the Scandinavian countries. While Norway has a very high standard of living, they also have the highest suicide rate among young people (18 - 30). One of the students, Andre (from Poland) told us how in Norway, drinking is the pass-time, and the liquor stores are run by the state. To curb the massive amount of drinking going on, apparently the state only allows them to be open some 5 hours a day and there cannot be any two stores within 5 km of each other.

One of the Danish students, Helle, had her birthday today. We had a cake and sang Happy Birthday (mostly in English) to her. The cake was shaped and colored like a smiling person lying down and, according to Danish tradition dating back to Viking times (so we wer told), to cut the cake Helle took the knife and slit the 'throat' of the cake person. While she did this, we were told to scream a battle cry of sorts. I thought it all very odd, but this is an old Danish custom.


I am learning more and more of the languages around me. The Spanish students are the easiest to learn from, for me, because I took 4 years of it in high school. They keep talking to each other and I keep listening and imitating. I also make rudimentary conversations and they are very nice and willing to correct me. I have been trying to learn some Italian, Portugese, and Danish as well. I am sometimes reminded of the movie character Jason Bourne as I try to learn the languages. I'm not certain why that image is in my head, but I think about all the times he switches from English to German to Russian to Spanish and back and forth and I sort of feel like I'm vaguely connected to that mysterious American internatioanl hitman...except for the radically cool and awesome traits of course.

I ended my day by playing pool and drinking free beers with the other students in one of the center's common rooms. We exchanged mores stories about our travels to Fuglsøcentret and what education is like in each of our countries. I tried to learn som Finnish from Joonas, but that language is quite difficult. The words are long and describe many things at once.

I finished this post on the 17th, very very tardy. But, onto the next one!

Denmark: Beware The Thick Milk!

[Composed 8/12]

Okay, so here I am on Day 3 (8/12), trying to fill in the blanks about yesterday. I wanted to finish the post on the right day, but it was 2:30 am and my computer battery was dying (I didn't bring a European adapter, I've been borrowing my roommate's). So yes, I noticed my blog clock is on California time, so this post will say 8/11, but it's really 8/12. I'm asleep (hopefully) when the clocks are right. So, think one day ahead.

Anyway, thanks Mike, for telling me I would not want to come back to the U.S. You social prophet you! I do want to stay here! It's a wonderful place. Yeah, I miss Golden, friends, family, Micki, the lot. But, I've never been to Europe, and I'm addicted to all the new information, language, culture, history, and the scenery.

Starting with the native language, Danish is hard. Learning it here is harder because nearly every Dane speaks good English. There are similarities to English, I can see it in words like 'fish' to 'fiske', 'red' to 'rød', 'me' to 'mig' to 'me', 'geometry' to 'geometri', 'half' to 'halv', and on and on. I think there's a sharing, but Nordic languages influenced English, so it makes sense. Anyway, the Danish slurr many of their sounds together in words and the same letter has different sounds in different words. I've been praticising what the Danes say to each other, but I think I'd have to live here for a while to really pick it up.

I have learned already that Danish food is quite different. Fish is the staple. Salmon, tuna, as well as shrimp, fresh all the time, often uncooked, but spiced and sauced. Seafood is served as part of every meal here. There's also lots of bread, eggs, fruit, and vegetables. One thing I haven't liked is one of the two milk types. I tried one carton, green, and the milk is thick, a little more liquid than mayonnaise. It's bitter and bland--no good. The other brand is like milk in the U.S.

After my first Danish breakfast, we all got on a bus and rode about 25 miles to the Engineering College of Århus. Here we attended several lectures on aerodynamics, fluid mechanics, and wind turbine construction. One of the professors reminds me of Dr. Wood. His name is Søren, and he's not as crazy, but he's just as animated. We also looked inside an old turbine nacelle (the box containing the generators, yaw motors, pitch motors, and other electronics). All through the lectures and practical lessons, I continued to ask the other students about their countries, their lives, their languages. I have picked up words from Portugese, Spanish, German, Danish, and even some Russian. I'll probably forget all of it soon, but it's fun to ask about their customs, their universities, and their lives. Lunch consisted of sandwiches. I had a salmon one. I found out after starting it that the fish was uncooked, but, I'm not sick yet. I ended up tossing half of it downing two cups of coffee to stay awake in the afternoon lecture. The coffee here is really good, and it's everywhere.

After 5pm, we all piled back on a bus and traveled back to Fuglsøcentret. Dinner was more delicious than the raw fish sandwich. Potatoes, salad, bread, deviled eggs, fruit, and sliced meats were served. There was fish again too, but it tasted better. We had an evening class, a more relaxed time, where we discussed our team exercises and the case studies we'd be working on in the next week. Christina, the supervisor opened up the bar afterwards (something she says will happen each night) and offered 2 free beers to everyone. I stayed up late with all the other students; it's common to talk and walk around and sing until midnight or later. We all went down to the beach of the Baltic Sea, about a half-mile from the campus, drank beers, and told stories about our countries. Since we are at about 55º latitude, 10pm is the new 8pm! On the way back from the beach, I talked to Francesco, an Italian PhD student who is working on a project with the European Space Agency, researching more stable material construction for a re-entry pod's hull.

Getting back to my room, I found a good way to pick up more Danish: Seinfeld. One of the channels on the wall-mounted 12 inch television is in English, with Danish subtitles.

Ah well, it's after 1am, so I'm off to bed. I'm a day behind, but I'll try to talk about Day 3 tomorrow evening, and continue with Day 4. Goodnight all.

Denmark: How Not To Fly Internationally

[Composed on 8/9 - 8/10]

Goddag dear Reader! That's 'hello' in Danish. Here I am, sitting on events that finally inspire me to write again! I'm recounting my adventures day by day (hopefully I'll have the time!) here in Aarhus, Denmark while I study wind energy technology for two weeks.

PRELUDE: 5 PLANES, 6 AIRPORTS

To begin, I'll take you on my unlikely, costly, exhausting, and exhilarating journey to the land of Vikings and $4 sodas.

I was spending time with friends in a house boat on Lake Powell (as some of you well knew) up until the 8th of August. The first leg of my journey began with a 5.5 hour drive by van, accompanied by Micki and Mike, from Bullfrog Marina to Page, AZ, starting around 4pm. Page is a small tourist town on the southern end of Lake Powell, adjacent to the Glenn Canyon Dam. I had assumed I would be able to either sleep in the airport terminal or spend some money on a hotel room. Unfortunately, early August is peak tourist season (the Lake Powell crowd) and none of the twenty some-odd hotels in the city had vacancies, not even the international hostel was full! The proprietor of "LuLu's Sleep Ezze" 8-bedroom motel did not answer the 10:30pm phone call, so we assumed "LuLu" was indisposed with one of her "clients," a tasteless string of jokes followed, and we all felt better about ourselves...except for a lack of place to stay for me. Micki and Mike graciously spent the night with me in the back of the van we took, sleeping on the floor with one sleeping bag and an old blanket between all of us. Fortunately, the temperature never got low enough for us to really need the sleeping bag. Unfortunately, the bag and blanket did little to disguise the metal seat attachments and thin carpet of the van floor. All in all, a big thanks to Wal-Mart for having their parking lots as 24-hour public campgrounds!

At 4:45am, we groggily shipped me to the recently-opened Page Municipal Airport terminal, said our pre-dawn farewells, and I checked in, getting my first real news from the wall-mounted television in the small 1-room building. The morning headlines: "Russia invades Georgia," "American tourist stabbed to death in Beijing," and "John Edwards admits to affair with campaign employee while wife had cancer." Fox News' motto is now 'We report, you decide.' Well, I decided my trip to Europe was looking more and more appealing by the minute, the scrolling alert bar on the tv screen bottom seemed to usher me into the lone security line, and 21-seat cruiser I eventually settled into, for my first flight.

I landed in Phoenix about an hour later, still shaking the turbulence off from that small aircraft.
I had to be in Denmark, ready for busing to a small rural campus called Fuglsøcentret (thanks to Google for the ø (say 'eu' like the French word bleu)) by 6pm local time. My flights all jumped around the U.S., from Phoenix to Philadelphia to Chicago. For each of these flights I had to hurry between the gates and through security to make the next connection. I got good excerice, but not a lot of food or water. Phoenix has a nice airport. Philadelphia has a so-so airport. Chicago ... when I reached this final stateside airport, my story got even wilder.

When I got off the plane from Philadelphia into Chicago, the directions to the next gate were so bad. Since it was already 9pm (I got in an hour late because of a delay), there weren't many employees around to ask for help. All the information desks were closed. O'Hare is a terrible airport, all narrow, widely-spaced terminals with long walkways or trains to get between them (as many of you well know). In my case, I needed to traverse the entire length of the airport grounds by elevated train to reach the international terminal. I eventually found a security guard and got directions to the train. But I didn't pick up on the lone sign for "international terminal" in the train depot soon enough and so missed the first train. By the time I got to the international terminal, I had 30 minutes till take-off. The one remaining ticket seller at the check-in counter gave me some light-hearted crap (I think, he had an interesting accent) for being so late, and then asked me if I knew how to run, because I was probably going to miss my flight. But, after flying all day long from Page, AZ (after sleeping in the van with no bag or blanket) through Phoenix, Philadelphia, and Chicago, I was NOT going to miss this flight. I nearly had a panic attack in the security lane, because I cleared the line with 10 minutes till take-off, and the lady in front of me (from Turkey I saw on her passport) was giving the TSA people a bit of a hard time, adding to my delay. Actually, I really felt the TSA people were giving her a hard time, because she spoke almost no english and couldn't easily remove the jewelry on her wrist when they asked her to, for the metal detector. I felt bad, but still panicky, and I ended up running full tilt down the remaining 200 yards of corridor to my gate (seriously, that terminal is LONG). They were starting the boarding announcements when I climbed on, and one of the stewardesses noticed my exasperated and out-of-breath appearance, and gave me a glass of water (very good service on Scandinavian Air). Yah, so that's it for background, now, onto the ocean-crossing!

CH 1 - MY BUTT HURTS:
As with my flight to China/Mongolia last summer, when you are tall like me and sit in an airplane that long, you don't feel good afterwards (or during). I did get up to stretch after the first couple hours, but I was trying to sleep some, so I wouldn't be totally off-whack when I got to Denmark. They served dinner and drinks about an hour and half into the flight, and I caught the last 40 minutes of '10,000 B.C'. on the inflight movie selection. I now know why the tax on this flight was over 50 % of the ticket price: the service is phenomenal. Seriously, fly SAS if you go to Europe. The stewards/stewardesses were all really nice, multilingual, and attentive. I got a free set of headphones (U.S. Airways charges for them (my flight to Philadelphia)) and over a dozen movies to pick from, as well as comedians, news, sports, and music. There are even video games, and a piece of your armrest detaches to become an impromptu Nintendo NES-style controller. The only bummer was, of course, the sleeping part. The blanket and pillow were not so good, and I got maybe 2 hours total sleep during the 8 hour flight. I drifted in and out for a bunch of it. The really incredible part of the overseas flight was my neighbor. Out of all the people on that enormous AirBus, I get paired with a third-generation Norwegian from Iowa who spends a good deal of time in Denmark and other parts of Europe on business, and he gave me a bunch of tips on getting around in Denmark, where to exchange currency, how the food is, and what to expect culturally. He also holds an undergraduate degree in Physics (not sure if it was B.S. or B.A. ...?) like me, and his work is engineering-related. Plus, he's worked with Mines alumni over the years (he appeared to be in his forties/fifties). We didn't share personal information, but it was fun chatting and learning about where I was headed. Yeah, so I got into Copenhagen without incident, learned my way around the vastness of its airport, finally found out how to get my boarding pass (I had to 'take a number' like in those deli shops or the DMV). The ticket counter lady was so surprised I didn't have any checked baggage (actually, nearly every ticket counter person was surprised). The keyboards here have some extra buttons for Danish characters like Æ Ø Å (got those from Google). Like in O'Hare, it was a LONG walk/run to my next flight, but Copenhagen's airport is WAY nicer than Chicago's. I reached my gate with 10 minutes till take-off again (a really really long walk, no train/bus available) and boarded a small plane of about 60 seats I think, bound for Arhus.

CH 2 - SMALL WORLD:
The ride took less than half an hour, and the views from the window seat were really neat (when there weren't clouds in the way). I landed safely at around 3:15 pm local time and found the Arhus airport to be as small as Copenhagen's was big, only about 200 yards long total, and very nice, clean, and quiet. There was a group of guys lounging in the waiting area outside the baggage claim, all with different accents, but I did recognize one of their faces as belonging to a Mines student. I found out they were all going to the Wind Program, so I sat down with them. I met Joonas (Yoo-nas) from Finland, Christian from Germany, Marco from Italy, Zack from Texas (Mines), and Pablo from the Canary Islands (Spain). Quite the diverse group. Joonas taught us a card game to pass the three hours till the bus arrived to pick us up. Anyway, at about 6 pm, a man from the summer school program walked up to our group in the waiting area and introduced himself. He checked our names off on a list and we got on a bus waiting outside.

CH 3 - FUGLSØCENTRET:
That's the name of the place I'm staying at (I still haven't caught on to the pronunciation, a lot of Danish is slurred together it seems (e.g. the common last name Jørgensen is pronounced "Yousen" and the 'ou' part is blended into a short 'uhh' kind of noise)). As it looks right now, Fuglsø Centret is like a small college campus, or boarding school, or maybe retreat/recreation center. There are dormitory-style rooms (I got put in the room with Zack, so no big culture clash) in separate buildings from the main event center. We're way out in the country, about an hour from Arhus city. The countryside is very beautiful here. It reminds me a lot of pictures I've seen of rural England, and even parts of Colorado, although it's much greener and wetter here. The landscape is pretty flat and the campus is about 1/4 mile from the ocean (I think it's the ocean, Arhus sits very close to it on the map, and the water out front looks really really big). Well, so after arriving, we got room assignments, keys, signed in, met the staff, and headed off to our rooms. I took my first real shower in over a week, sorted out my stuff (they gave each of us a bunch of free swag, books, binders, shirts, lanyards, even a backpack and an i-Pod knock-off music player, apparently the wind energy business pays well). That's about when I sat down to e-mail you guys the first time! I found out I didn't bring an adapter for my wall-charger to go with the different European socket set-up, but Zack did bring one, so I was able to rejuice my Mac). The opening ceremony was a short presentation by the staff about the summer school's purpose, our expectations, and a brief lecture from a professor of engineering at the sponsoring university (Engineering College of Arhus). He told us we'll be traveling there tomorrow morning to make use of some of the lab facilities for our first project/lecture. We then adjourned to a room with tables and benches, topped with sandwhiches, wine, and beer. I made more introductions with the 34 students present and chatted about different cultures, countries, and customs. Now full, and even more tired, I finally finish typing this long long LONG e-mail.

CONCLUSION:
It's 10:30 pm here now, and I'm off to bed finally, after some teeth-brushing. I have to be up for breakfast at 7:30 am and then a prompt departure at 8. That's something I've been told by some of the other students here: the Danish expect precise punctuality and professionalism, so I musn't be late.

Sentiment

I miss you all.

Goodnight.

Fish

Summery

Ah, it's like gasping breaths of air after being stuck under the inflatable shark at the city pool for 30 seconds (it happened). That's another instance where some kind of relativity occurs in your brain, a dilation of sorts. The giant wall clock shows 30 seconds have passed, but your mind leaves you with the indelible impression that the half-minute you spent without air surely was more like 5 minutes. The main contributor to this difference in reference frames is, of course, the fear of drowning, followed closely with all the other scary thoughts entering the mind of a 10 year-old who's carelessly fallen into 3 feet of munckin-infested water beneath 20 pounds of shark-shaped, plastic-bound atmosphere.

I'm back. That's the short of it. When last I bloggered my thoughts here, I proclaimed my rejection of all things coffee (horns blare triumphantly). I lasted about two-and-a-half weeks, had all-night academic bonanza into the wonders of Statistical Mechanics, and promptly drank a pot of dark energy. This is the substance astrophysicists have been seeking to tie the laws of nature and the universe into closed loops of physical harmony. Dark matter hid itself in coffee beans, because it knew we were searching for it, and it contrived a most amusing scheme: provide wakefulness and concentration to the scientists diligently seeking the same material they percolate and ingest whilst working late. Sneaky dark matter. That whole inexplicable acceleration of stellar expansion is a ruse, put on by dark matter's loony counterpart, the graviton. For a tangent, this isn't that bad.

Back to coherence. I've been out of the blogosphere for a while, visiting plants and trees, textbooks and exams, friends and the bottoms of beer bottles, steins, mugs, and the occasional vase-used-as-a-cup-because-no-one-did-the-dishes. Cheers!

It's all summery now. The fans run all night, frisbees fly, constant sunshine (California stole our true name!) fills the land with light, beautiful vistas abound (with the certain exception of the new Microsoft OS), and there's green green green on everything. It's a time of year that affects me the same as caffeine. I just can't wait to get outside, bursting with energy and fidgeting like a drunk vying for an immediate time share with the porcelain alter.

I've got a laptop now and will be posting on it soon. As summer gains momentum, blogging will become much more attractive on this new bit of hardware. I can squeeze grass between my toes and feel the warmth of Colorado photons bombarding my skin, all while typing these thoughts over the wireless junction to the blogiverse. Hooray mobile computing! Hooray Colorado! Hooray beer! Boo bird-who-shat-on-me!

I don't feel deep, contemplative, or ingenuous this morning, just exhilarated in the new day. I want to share some of this energetic high with you, Dear Reader. These moments lighten all the soul baggage, the bad dreams, the despairing notion of "What's the point?" I like these moments. Here, have some of them, there's plenty for you.

Honestly James!

I made a pot of coffee this morning. I measured the water and poured it, peeled a filter from the stack (a difficult task with short fingernails), evenly distributed the grounds like I was planting a flower bulb, flipped the lid shut and tapped the "on" button, all the while feeling that small rush of maturity--'I'm making coffee, I'm an adult, I'm an addict, respect me, pity me, gaze upon my scars.'

It finally hit my cerebellum; I'm not drinking coffee for its flavor, its zest, its warming energy rushing into my cold and listless blob of biology, but for the title 'coffee drinker.' When I'm done downing the bitter stuff (I drink it black), I wait for the caffeine to take me in a firm grip and sustain my awareness and motivation to work and play. I am drawn to the sense of identity of 'coffee drinker.' I want to be treated as the hard-lined, weather-beaten, life-beaten, dependably dependent, terse, bad-ass (OH! sensitive, wise, and compassionate too) who inspires and will have never be embarrassed or caught unawares in any situation. A James Bond sort of guy.

Actually, all of that is not what I really WANT at all. The last paragraph was the cannon ball launched to puncture the smothering blanket of selfish arrogance and angst in my mind and heart. What I want is to be me--to be honestly me. I wrote all of those coffee-motivated desires down to bring them out from the cloudy comfort of my thoughts. I drew them out with words to be struck down by my soul. Dear Reader, you've been witness to a battle on the Personality plane. I think I'll make a movie about it--then everyone will compare me to Martin Scorsese and my identity will be complete! HA! There they are again, those agents of selfish distraction! Back you fiends! Back! Quick Lieutenant Courage, prepare another barrage of Compassion Burst! And......FIRE! Yes, good, very good, that got 'em.

So yeah, what I really want. I want to stop drinking coffee. I smoked cigarettes for the reason the volunteers warn you about in D.A.R.E classes--approval. Peer pressure. Those ads on television where some 'cool' kid offers pot, cigs, alcohol, sex, coke, or some other malicious substance (sex doesn't really fit here, but, you know what I mean), and the shining protagonist refuses. When the screen fades to black and the calm narrator's voice enters, the message is over and the ball game is back. It's the truth of it all though that when that nay-saying kid goes back to school, work, or the skate park, the pushers won't go away, they don't like being miffed, and more offers will come, along with harassment. So, the point of all that explanation is that this thing called reality isn't rolled into little 30 second anti-drug ads. It's a shifting dynamic of choices, risks, and moments to stick up for what you really feel is 'right.'

As for my bottom line here: I'm kickin' the coffee drinking. I'm putting away the pot (the electrical one), tossing the beans, and chopping walnuts in my processor in future days. I don't need caffeine to be my identity PR guy.

I'm going to make a breakfast burrito. Bombs away!

Disgruntled (or, Love Part II)

The magnitude of frustration is difficult to describe when I am holding my breath underwater and, for some reason, am caught and cannot reach the surface for more air. It brings tears to my eyes. This anecdote is all I can think of to describe my feelings at the end of this day.

Public speaking. Ever since my freshman year of college, when a professor of mine actively called out those students in class who used improper language and grammar, I have been annoyingly more cognizant of these habits in myself and those around me. "Um," "Uh," "You know," and the ever popular "like" (incorrectly used) have become like the sudden spike of squealing when a mosquito ventures too close to your ear, sending shivers of irritation throughout the body. Thanks John Andrews! Gaa! They're place-holders, meaningless junk that distracts from conversation. For years now I've been listening to friends, foes, and strangers speak, only to stumble over their misuse of their own tongue and their linguistic stupor knocks my attention flat as well.

Bah! I had a discussion with my mom tonight about the church we've attended for over 10 years. I can recall so many wonderful experiences: van rides to mountain camping trips, taking photos with disposable cameras, throwing rocks at food-stealing squirrels, climbing rocks, gambling with soda straws, playing basketball, staffing food drives, landscaping rundown neighborhoods, giving blood, and worshiping God together, with hard-earned friends, kids you could trust, insult, and stay up all night talking to. I remember looking forward to youth group and arguing with my parents about what "dressed up" meant each Sunday for the service. Ah, it felt like home.

Not anymore. I've grown up and seen the uglier side of my childhood haunt. Politics, hidden agendas, stubbornness that would leave a spoiled 4-year-old in awe, the adult human beings in charge of the institution I put trust in, rotting its core with the "easy way out," the "more profitable turn," the "good of the community" arguments. All the while, my accusation are in doubt because I know so little about what's behind the scenes. I loathe the reputation my faith has accrued over the millennia, the narrow-minded (though often not unjustified) opinions of the "Christian," the mind games, the logical booby-traps, the mistrust, the anger, the hearts of stone, the ears of wood. It's all shit. The way I clung to, the words I grasped for some real essence were these: "Love thy neighbor as thyself." The rules, the commands, the edicts, the covenants--these all were created to appease the fear and doubt and stupidity that continue to proliferate, on, and on, and on, into each generation. Where did that 'greatest commandment' get lost?

Sure must sound all high and mighty and, ultimately, cliche. Well, fine, if that's how you absorb this ranting Dear Reader, then I have failed again. I am not the sharpened tool, the focused beam, the perfected light to show the path. The reason I attached myself to that philosophy above, the necessity of Loving all around me, was because it brought, and brings, me joy incomparable. Not a 100% on a midterm, not a juicy paycheck, not the beating sound of applause after a successful speech, not alcohol or drugs, not even the healing of all wounds and aches, physical and otherwise, radiates the ecstatic pleasure of genuine Love. Its calming torrents soothe the bitterness of contradiction, the embarrassment in my upbringing, the pain when a friend derides what I feel to be vital for happiness.

Ahhhhh, well, that's better. I think there is hope for a new view, as long as someone hopes, and knows what they hope for--as long as someone Loves, and knows there are no bounds, no locks, no separations. Fear is as nothing in its presence. It's the way I feel when a good song comes across the air molecules to slam against my fragile drums. As Anthony Keatis sang: "Music, the great communicator... ." That's a good song (Can't Stop by RHCP), but that line strikes me in the face most of all the lyrics. I feel the same jubilance of Love when listening to some songs. I can't yet put some definite criteria on it. The song just has to move me (a truly 'bad ass' piece).

There's not really an end to all of this business. It's a continuous adventure, as unending as the Mobius strip, the horizon, and the number of ways a woman can surprise me. I'm a dirt-poor example of what I believe, but, hey, I'm still searching ... so be patient!

Thank you

Well,
It's a Friday night and a Saturday morning all wrapped into one. About this time of night it blurs; it being my perception of time. I've had some incredible journeys this evening. After a pitcher of superb beer with a few friends, a home-cooked meal to refresh the taste buds, a movie ("Waking Life" - yes Thomas, I finally saw it), a sauntering walk up to a going-away party, hookah, handshakes, hugs, laughs, (inner) tears, AND, finally, a stroll home, I am adding to my blog after a month of silence.

My friends are awesome. I've been forging through novel terrain in my life for the past year now, and so many of my companions have stuck with me, giving 'shoulders' to lean on, cry on, and pound in frustration. Late-night conversations, phone calls, invitations (I wish I could accept them all), have been wonders to my soul. The Love of an amazing woman has kept me sane too; all these elements summing together, flowing into and through me. I have fortune beyond count.

I don't know what adventures are ahead, and that's just plain exciting. Terrifying, but thrilling too, a mix of emotions. I am tired, so adjectives are not coming easy, but I know, somehow, the Sun will shine again. The Sun will shine again. The Sun will shine again.

I Love you all.

Love

Trying to define Love may be one of the most difficult challenges I've faced so far. Love is the subject of unknown numbers of books, papers, dialogs, television and radio programs, movies, and nearly any other media category. I see it plastered on billboards, in newspaper ads, thrown about in the classifieds, and inscribed upon bathroom stalls. Love is pervasive (at the very least as a word). I mentioned in one of my first posts that I would be making a future entry on Love, but I've been uninspired lately. A conversation I recently had with a dear friend was the catalyst.

As introduction: I Love Love. Why capitalize Love? The big "L" functions as a way to highlight Love's importance and give it a sort of personality, as if it were a living, thinking, dreaming creature sitting next to me. I imagine Love as overall androgynous, though a great deal of the time it comes into my mind as a woman. But the image is never clear. There aren't any boundaries, hard lines, or logical direction. Love appears in my dreams as if all of space around me were filled with color and light. It's like when I gaze into the night sky and a starry point of light becomes fuzzy only when I try to focus on it. In peripheral the image sharpens, but, because it's peripheral, I can't focus on it. Love is everywhere in my dreamscapes, in the minute spaces between my cells, encasing my body, always flowing, never smothering, visible, never containable, and, after that long string of descriptives, still as undefinable as ever. I am trying to express a paradox I feel about Love. I seek to put descriptive limits on Love, but, by my definition, there can be no limits. Love is unquantifiable and unmeasurable (by conventional means, compared to the wavelength of light or the stress on a steel bar). It has no units, no boundary conditions, no one-sentence definition (not even a 10,000,000 sentence version). No telling where it began or where it ends. Maybe I'm a nutter and you see it differently Dear Reader?

Love all, Love all. Love in your own way. For me, Loving is finding joy in their joy, pain in their pain, wholeness in their wholeness. Loving is devotion to individual choice. Loving means overthrowing all mental walls, criticisms, and assumptions to view them through a Lens of Love. I say a "Lens" to further stress the importance of relativism. Love is how you see it. I believe in no absolute definition of Love when considering fine details (good example of the Absolute/Relative paradox ... I'm all over the paradoxes today). Specific perceptions, scenarios, and experiences create a vast spectrum of Lenses. Yet, I think the absolute theme in Love is connection--relationship. I cannot conceive a circumstance where Love exists without connection of any kind, brief or long, intimate or distant. Maybe, you have examples Dear Reader?

What a lot of words. As far as I know, every human language has at least one word for it. Love is the ultimate one-way radio. It effects me, but I cannot change it, give it form, find the limits of its curves, the endpoints of its influence. I'm like a point charge so close to a surface it makes up my whole reality, my whole existence. Metaphors and Similes aside, Love is my world, both waking and sleeping. I am not always paying attention to this fact and exude un-Love. Yet, even when I feel consumed with anger, fear, and bitterness, I have always ascended from those lonely depths to see through my Love Lens again. I cannot say anything for indisputable truth (as is true for all of this post), but I deeply believe I belong with my Lens at every instant, waking or sleeping. I Love Love.

Guest Appearance

I want to preface this post because it is, beyond this preface, not my own. I am placing a bit of fiction here, written by a good friend, Mike Raevsky. Through a collaboration of our own reasons, it is appearing here in Wanderal. A note to you, Dear Reader: The content is not light and may cause you to think deeply ... or, perhaps not. Your reaction depends, forebodingly, on your perception.


Deja Vu

The conniving controller created a swirling cacophony of colors caustically crossing his vision contriving a low level panic. This was the Somnatextorix's job every night; to oversee the maelstrom of dreams that hid her creative process. Now, the floor dropped out from under Maxwell, and he was swimming in a giant tank with fish, manta rays, and most quizzical of all, audacious swimming parrots. This didn't seem strange to Maxwell because, of course, he was dreaming. It happened every night. The sun rose below the ocean, and the diaphanous explosion of salmon and burnt umber hues evaporated the sea. The fish and manta rays became cats and cars, and Maxwell flew far above a typical English countryside. Exultant in the feeling of flight, Maxwell was dry and weightless.

Somnatextorix couldn't feel. She understood the idea of emotions much like a physicist understands that electrons are waves and particles, but she couldn't fathom what they would be like. She attributed colors to them, named them, and above all, she inflicted them on Maxwell. The key to the whole process was to drain his mind of any possibility of remembering the events of the evening. The cheery green hills and vibrant blue sky filled with impossibly puffy and white clouds began to gray. The undersides of the clouds began the process, and as they expanded, they foretold a violent storm that would rend the world. Maxwell was dimly aware that the flying had stopped and the world was fading. He was along for the ride tonight.

Maxwell walked past street lamps, grateful for the light they gave off. It wasn't as cheery as the setting sun, but ominous brick buildings blocked its warming glow. He wanted into the door. He needed something inside that building, and the door was locked. Of course, he'd left the key. The crushed sky made him feel like he had sepia toned sunglasses, and the shadows from the buildings cut across the street, stark and mysterious. The transformation from dream to
nightmare was complete settings wise, now Somnatextorix infused the plot with details from his ordinary life. A hurt friend inside the building, the key at his work. Maxwell was running by this time. Endurance is never an issue for Maxwell because he is a confident man, but in this dream, he could never be fast enough.

His office is locked, so he climbs up the outside to an open window on the second floor. Somnatextorix added another floor between him and the open window, and then another. The journey must be interminable, but when Maxwell reaches the open window reflecting the sun like an egg white on a cast iron skillet, he looks down to the harsh asphalt just one floor below, unsurprised that he's only climbed one story.

The office has been ransacked, and he trips on his way to his cubicle. The light switch doesn't work, and he walks by inference through the subdued navy and gray tone shapes to his desk. There is a meatball sandwich with lettuce covering the meatballs on the left, and on the
right, he sees a stack of papers. The key! Maxwell exits the front door without incident, but he can't remember where the building is. He runs in what he senses is the right direction. There are new turns on his route back, but Somnatextorix guides him with her most ingenious creation. Death would not be so frightening if you could see it. The Enemy has no real properties except for its shining red eyes and the sound that it makes as it follows you, just entering your sight as you round corners, always encroaching. Like a kitten playing with a mouse, the Enemy guides Maxwell and his hammering heart to the building with the nerve jangling sound only possible within the confines of nightmares.

Somnatextorix inserts a fumble before Maxwell gets the door open, but he is inside before the Enemy reaches him. The search begins again, and when Maxwell finds his friend, there isn't much left. The sadness that would accompany an ordinary death doesn't strike Maxwell; his terror and self-preservation instinct cause him to coldly examine the red splatter painting for patterns that might lead to the killer. Whether Maxwell is intent on vengeance or flight is unclear at this time, but he studies. Limbs seem to be strewn over the floor at random, and a grisly head with eye-sockets and upper teeth glares at the wall in a pose fit for eternity. Maxwell finds tracks in the blood. They are the Enemy's, but Maxwell does not know this. Maxwell wants out, and he would like to wake up.

Somnatextorix pulls him up just enough to feel the comfort of darkness and blankets before bringing him back down to a red velvet room. The windows have translucent white curtains that gently flutter in a breeze that Maxwell cannot feel. There is a four mahogany post bed in this room, and a doorway that leads to a bathroom. Maxwell is wearing faded blue jeans and a tight white T-shirt. His belt is simple, well loved leather, and a pair of old cowboy boots adorn his feet. He smells flowers and turns around to see a woman, five foot eight and draped in a satin night robe. The sunlight flows freely through the windows that do not allow the wind to pass, and he moves to her.

Some part of Maxwell knows this is a dream, but running his fingers through her auburn hair and tenderly examining her stunning hazel eyes, he lets himself enjoy the foreplay. She runs her hands up his chest, fingernails first, sending chills up and down his spine, and he pulls her robe off with a flourish to reveal beautifully freckled, somewhat tan skin that runs all the way to her toes.

"Max" she breathes. Her deep purple bra only just holds her breasts. He doesn't know her name, but this is a dream, so what the hell. He reaches around her waist with his right hand while running his left hand's fingers up her neck, into her hair to pull her face to his. Their kiss is slow and passionate, allowing all 20 fingers to explore cheeks, then necks, then backs, then breasts and buttocks. He picks her up just above her thigh, and she wraps her legs around his waist while he carries her to the bed. It's a dream, so she doesn't weigh anything; all he feels is her warmth encircling him.

She reaches for the ground with her toes, and when he lets her down, she unbuckles his belt, and pulls it out with a satisfying snap. With a devilish glint in her eyes that never leave his, she belts his feet to the bottom of the bedpost. Her fingernails push his T-shirt up over his head, but by some trickery that Maxwell doesn't understand, his hands are locked above his head by the shirt, and she is kissing his chest as she unbuttons his jeans. She moves with a frenzy that would
have scared him if he'd been conscious, but he's not. Her bra and panties vanish and she's kissing him and standing up on the bed, holding the bedpost above his head. She bends her knees to position herself and pushes him inside her, warm and safe. She holds there for a full minute, kissing his lips, neck, and chest. He kisses her in return, but as she moves out of range, he is forced to look at her hungrily. Again, she grips his hips with her legs, but this time, she moves her hands down the bedpost behind his head, and leans back putting tension in her arms.

She lustily looks into his eyes as her hips begin to move. He can see her lithe thighs, abdomen, and hips flex in a slow, coordinated symphony of movement that has brought men to their knees from the dawn of time. He moves in time and out of phase, all the while yearning to taste her lips on his. Her wanton eyes loll around the room as she moves up and down on him, and he watches her breasts and stomach. He can now feel the gentle breeze flowing across his bare skin, pulling the sweat off. She moves faster and faster, and he surges to keep up. Maxwell is virtually senseless with ecstasy but as she reaches her climax, the world fades to black, and the real dreaming begins.

Somnatextorix could not have said if she was the woman in Maxwell's dreams. She did not have emotions. She could not feel. She certainly moved her, but those two things perhaps aren't the same. Then again, it doesn't really matter. Maxwell's emotions had run a brutal gauntlet, and now that he is drained, she goes through his life as it will be for the next month. She builds the scenery and the images with an amazing eye for realism. Part of what makes Somnatextorix godlike is her ability to build realities with whatever stylistic bias she wants. The dialog is infinitely faster than the backdrop. People transmit infinitesimal bits of information over periods of hours, while building a sunset requires an incredible swath of data for every changing instant and every viewpoint. It was the rare person that valued her work, but again, she could not feel; she could not care.

She weaved her creation together with the realities of nearby people to create a seamless version of their lives yet to be. As she finished up with his dinner, he began to recover. He rolled over in his sleep, and she considered the possibility that he would remember this snippet of his future. The stars came out after dinner as he walked away from the restaurant, and she pulled out. She'd have to finish his month later. If she could love, she might have had feelings for Maxwell; she always gave him more time than her other charges because he stopped to enjoy her sunsets. It did not occur to her that he might be watching her sunsets because they were more beautiful for him, or that if he was simply watching because he enjoyed them, that his life wasn't as preordained as she believed. A small part of Maxwell knew though. What made Maxwell special was that he also knew that it didn't matter, and that made the sunsets worth watching.

Insomnia

I have been bitten. I am here at nearly 1:30 am, writing a blog post because the fever I've been developing all day is making it impossible to sleep. So I was lying in bed, and thought, let's get up and be productive. Sometimes I enjoy being idle, but tonight, I have an itch in my brain that must be scratched.

I finalized my application for graduate school here at Mines in the coming fall. I feel a sense of pride in this fact, since I actually spent a great deal of time assembling it. What surprised me the most of all the application's elements was the statement of goals. As described on the application's web interface (more and more of the world is being run through the internet these days), this short essay should describe my interests at Mines and beyond and why. Though I've written many papers for classes over the years of my academic career, this brief personal decree plagued me. By far, it underwent the most revisions I've given any writing assignment to date: eight. Throughout the whole application process I have felt a great sense of anxiety that I will make some egregious error (or multiple ones) and be rejected from admission. I have been struggling to put words to these emotions and I think I have found a good explanation. I believe I have not done my best over my college career and I desperately want to change my image in graduate studies. I have always battled with confidence and self-worth issues, but I am strongly compelled to prove to myself that I can shine on a more advanced academic level. I long to 'make waves' in the realm where my work has the potential to be published and read by many intellectual and scientific minds, rather than simply be marked with red pen and returned to me to sit on a shelf collecting dust.

I have found all of this striving and thinking to be rooted in some fundamental characteristics of me. First, I am a voracious learner (this trait is tempered, sometimes embarrassingly, with powerful habits of laziness and inadequate patience) who wants to understand how all of the physical world operates. From Physics to Economics, I desire to cover all subjects, gathering as much instruction as my neurons can contain (I expect I have not even begun to make a dent in their capacity), and to remember it. I have great admiration for a friend of mine, Sean, who possesses the astounding ability to store and access a vast amount of information without writing it down. Whether this characteristic is inborn or comes out of an iron-clad self confidence and deep understanding of himself, I am not yet certain. I like to think the latter is true and that if I can develop my own mental skills in such ways, I will be more satisfied with my efforts to look on the universe and know its workings.

I seek to comprehend the why of all things too. As Mike pointed out to me recently, the whys of the world are dealt with from a more spiritual and metaphysical perspective. Gravity is a mysterious physical presence that, literally, binds much of the universe together. As a physicist I can study its effects on macroscopic entities and observe its reality. But to answer the question of why gravity exists is a much fuzzier query than my soul can grasp. I say soul because I think the mind deals with the how and the soul with the why. I must justify to myself that the world I perceive operates for a reason, whether that reason is order borne of pure chaos, or of intelligent design (a two-word snippet of language that has become quite trite over the last century).

It seems as though the fever and the lateness have caused me to babble and ramble, but what I really want to say is that I have caught another disease. The joyous plague of wanting to know, to explore, to wonder. I do not mean this condition in a bad sense, though the words 'disease' and 'plague' have, traditionally, negative connotations. What I mean is, I cannot help myself in these pursuits, that they are embedded in me so completely, I am sure I will never recover. I will never be complacent with stopping my trek for knowledge. I will never be satisfied with a day job at a restaurant, where the only intellectual stimulation comes in the form of day dreams while whiny American customers demand my immediate and complete attention. I will not truly be at peace until my feet touch the surface of an extraterrestrial sphere and I can look up into the heavens and see only more adventure and more wonderment.

I think I'm going to go do some homework Dear Reader. Whomever you may be, I hope you'll look at this smattering of sentences and not see disconnected mumblings. Rather, a restless spirit who still needs to learn patience and coherence in a wide wide universe of possibility.

The Need to Read

I first researched Creative Commons by reading an XKCD comic involving one Cory Doctorow. Following a trail of Google Screes and Wikipedia entries, I discovered the Canadian novelist and internet activist has published a lot of material online about limited copyright and free flow of information. Recently I have become more interested in news, current events, politics, and the like. I want to read read read read READ! The amount of information available in the world is gargantuan, and (for me) there's rarely a boring moment in the trolling of online media material.

Yet, I am sometimes blocked from reading certain items by the demand of payment (e.g. majority of The Economist.com). SpringerLink and other online journal archives are very protective of their content and, being a frugal college student, these cash-keyed barriers make research (for pleasure and work) difficult. I imagine there is a plethora of interconnecting reasons and agendas for why so much interesting reading is walled away behind subscription-only gates, but I get frustrated nonetheless.

Perhaps there is a better way of organizing and distributing online information. By "better" I mean easy access for everyone, without paying for a subscription. Businesses have to offset the cost of supporting an online interface by charging customers, but maybe there can be cooperation between state departments and the private sector: subsidization of online costs for the purpose of making all journal and news material free to viewers. This suggestion may sound political (another annoying stigma of my culture: the habit of labeling ideas with partisan politics right up front), but I think it has merit beyond campaign fodder. We citizens already pay for internet service to our homes and offices, perhaps a cooperation between ISP companies and information brokers would be a better solution. Cash flow could be further supported by side bar and banner ads for the ISPs and there services.

Looking back on these last few paragraphs, I need more research to support these ideas. For now, total free access to internet material is a nice thought, and I know I'm not alone in that dream. There has already been a great deal of talk about this subject. Entities like Creative Commons are monuments to this public dialog. A third thought that occurred to me was the ever-increasing "blogosphere." I came into contact with quantifiable information about the world of blogging recently, through a Popular Science article on techpresident.com. This site tracks the 2008 presidential candidates to correlate their online presence with their success in the polls and at the caucuses. Techpresident compiles and daily updates statistics like MySpace friends, Facebook supporters, and, most importantly, the discussion of the candidates in blogs from all over the net. While there is doubt as to the reliability of the site's 'measuring sticks,' I think the concept is brilliant. Most important of all, every last byte of information is FREE. From techpresident.com I traveled to Technorati.com, a website dedicated to compiling blogs from around the world and posting a select few for online readers to view, much like how Google News sets up their site. This blog archive (blarchive -- credit Mike) is also free to any internet user. Check out the "About" section on Technorati.com. The figures on blogs are quite telling of the blogosphere's size and influence.

All free, all available. I am fortunate enough to have been born in a time where information is power and more and more people are striving for it to become totally accessible to all humankind. There is no excuse to not learn about the world.