Duality and the Monorail of Life

Duality is a condition the human mind is not naturally suited to handle. That's what I think, anyhow. Well, of course, this is a personal blog, so that second sentence is superfluous. SO! Simultaneously holding two states of e.g. emotion that have mutually exclusive qualities causes a curious sensation in my soul. There are pieces of me--the spirit/physical/mental me--that are in 'two places at once.' The sensation is like being in between like-poled magnets being pressed together, or water and oil occupying the same space, opposing and melding all at once.

Okay, that all seems like confusing drivel, at a cursory glance. But, while I can't cause molecules to overlap, electron clouds to fuse, etc, there is something about the intangible universe of emotion that makes this co-existence doable. What is it? Why can I be so enthralled with two at the same time? Why can I feel so deep a connection more than once. Isn't once supposed to be the limit? Isn't there a cut-off? When all the touchable universe 'moves' in one direction, forward in time, like a one-way highway, where does this loop-dee-loop-toroidal-spirally-knotted nature of dreams, love, thoughts, and all things going on in my head and heart come from? Kids, never end your sentences with prepositions like that, it's bad form.

Heghh...It's a funny place to be in, this double state; I love it. I languish in it. I loathe it. I lament it. Embracing the tangle is so often a welcome respite from the trundling spins of the rock beneath my feet, going on and on, around and around, and my circadian rhythm follows dutifully. That ticking clock within me that is the anchor of mortality.

I wish I could live a 1000 lifetimes in a 1000 histories. The odds of striking that precise decimal along the timeline would be so much greater! One-way life is sometimes hard to live with. There we go again with the prepositions...

Mostly content to be sedentary

Wandering is on hold for now. I'm solidly in Golden, diving deep into the graduate school universe. Hearing about the adventures of my friends abroad makes me want to travel, and now I have a wife to take along with me! Since my last post came the day I left Denmark (June 24, '09), I must elaborate on that previous exclamatory sentence: I got married in September. Most of you who read this blog know that fact already, so its inclusion here is merely for completeness' sake.

But yes, I have a friend riding his bike around CO, rafting, skiing and snowboarding (instructing). I have another in Switzerland, working on his masters in renewable energy, a third in the Netherlands attending grad school, a fourth mulling tough decisions for future work in Australia, and a fifth in Germany, somewhere, doing something. Oh, and my parents are going to Kenya in December to teach English and medical skills to kids.

My consolation is my wife and I will be heading down to New Zealand in December (one month away!) for our second honeymoon. We'll be tramping all over the south island, visiting wineries, kayaking rivers, watching whales, and sailing through the majestic sounds of the southwestern coast. More than consolation, it's downright awesome!

For now, I'm enjoying lazy weekend mornings in bed, grading papers for a class I've never taken, crunching literature, writing reports, watching football games, eating pomegranates by the armload, and FINALLY getting back to this blog. Dear Reader, I've kept you in drought too long. Enjoy, as I am.

Day 0: Homeward Bound

Goodbye Denmark! I am off to the airport with big bags packed and a tumult of emotions in my heart. I want to go home and I want to stay. There have been so many amazing opportunities here and I've learned so much. But, I miss the mountains, the family, the friends, the actual darkness (never gets really dark here at night), and cheap groceries! Here I'll miss the bicycle-obsessed culture, the ultra-clean tap water, good public transport, and the taste of Carlsberg (much better mass-produced beer than Coors, Miller, Bud, etc...).

I've been saying goodbye for the last few days. I gave cake to my coworkers on Tuesday, bought a round for friends at a local microbrewery last night, and generally haven't slept so I could maximize my farewell festivities.

I'm leaving new friends, an amazingly good laboratory, and a flat land of boldly blunt Scandinavians. I can't wait to see my beloved CO again, but I also look forward to my return trip (guaranteed so far by my advisors) in 15ish months.

For those who have followed my sparse blog trail these last 5.5 months, I've left out pages and pages of stories, but maybe I'll get around to telling them someday. To you Dear Reader, I dedicate my final blogpost from København. See some of you soon and all of you eventually!

30 Days Till Denver, Kubb

One month from today I will be on a plane bound for Denver International, after bouncing through Frankfurt. The feeling of 'bigness' that precedes and proceeds a significant change in my life has begun to creep into my mind. 30 days remain and I've never been busier in my life. My blog trail has sputtered considerably, but I may catch up some of the stories one day.

Before I stop procrastinating, I do have a short tale to relate that I cannot pass up: the Scandinavian lawn game 'Kubb.' It reminds me of bocce (Italian lawn bowling) and has been likened to a combination of horseshoes, chess, and bowling (see Wikipedia article). Two sides (1-6 players ea.) face each other with a field of wooden blocks in between. Five blocks (~3x3x6 in.) standing on end, spaced about 18 in. apart, mark the 'line' of one side, while a complementary row, placed 20 or so feet away, delineates the other. In the middle of the field, a taller, thicker block, the 'king,' stands. There are six wooden sticks, broom handle-width, cut to ~10 in., that the players on one side toss and attempt to knock over the other side's five blocks. The sticks must be thrown with their ends pointing at the blocks (no 'log-roll' style), which makes for great target practise. Once a player knocks over a block, the offended side must toss it into the middle (without knocking over the 'king'). When the shooting sticks change sides, the player(s) must hit the stranded block from their own line before attempting any of the other side's pieces. When all the blocks are knocked down on one side, the attacking team waits a turn and then tries to knock down the king piece. Once the mighty wooden monarch falls, the victor is declared. It's a really fun game that can get quite heated, especially when your shooting stick bounces just around the opponent's block for the eighth straight time (during my first game). Amazing what entertainment 21 pieces of wood (add 4 boundary stakes) can provide.

I played this game last weekend with an American student friend on my time and against 2 German friends. The USA lost 5-0. Embarrassing (but what fun!).

Happy Memorial Day, people of the States!

On Bicycles...

Today I became the 2907th person to ride my bicycle past an electronic sign keeping track of this statistic. I love this city (and country) for its deep and dedicated bike culture. In my habitual romantic outlook on life, I see a societal undercurrent of cycling being the 'purer' breed of transportation. Bike racks abound, shops do booming business, and there are more bike paths than roads, since every road has its own bike-only lane.

The affection for two-wheel (or sometimes three-wheel) mobility is more subtly apparent in the relationship between motorists and cyclists. In my own adventures on the streets of America, car drivers frequently harangue and even molest the bicycle-bound. There's mutual fault, since I've seen plenty of cyclists arrogantly filling up half or more of the vehicle lane. Yet, no clear idea of "who started it" is ever offered; only insults and too-often gory accidents echo the question. Blame is counterproductive anyway, but this dangerous reality makes the disparity between the U.S. and e.g. Copenhagen clearer to see.

Here, bicyclists are given incredible leeway. There are times when auto drivers honk, rev their engines, or narrowly miss clobbering the offending rider, but the majority of cases favor the cyclist. It helps that nearly everyone has a bike, and that brings to the fore the greatest reason for this cultural difference. Due in part to the sprawling urbaniverses (and suburbaniverses) that make up our continental geography, we Americans love our cars. Furthermore, the last five or so generations (guessing?) have, on average, made the automobile part of their personal identities. These factors (and others I don't want to cogitate about because I'm hungry and haven't blogged in forever so I want to write some of these thoughts down) have set up today's American car-centered lives. Of course there are exceptions, but I write in generalities to stave off a repetative stress disorder.

Maybe someday we will ride more bikes. I would love to see that day. I think I will abandon my efforts to institute a public bike share program on my college campus (for entirely different reasons I won't elaborate on at this time), but continue to promote the healthy, efficient, and fun habit of bicycling. Before I sign off, here's a picture of the bike I've been riding all over eastern Sjælland (Copenhagen, Lynby, Roskilde, etc...):

I bought this bike about two weeks into my stay here. It cost 600 DKK (~$100).

When I get back to Golden, I think I may try to build my own "errand bike," inspired by the picture below:

A large wooden crate or box can sit on the platform. I could haul around my groceries, books, camping gear, guitar, and a fair amount of any junk (even people!).

Income Tax: A Story from Heiko

I heard an interesting story. These last couple months, nearly all my interesting stories have come from Heiko Schlueter, the German-descended, American-sounding, cell phone-loating artist extraordinaire, who calls St. Croix home, and who probably wouldn't like all the hyphenates I just applied to him. Heiko loves to tell his stories, and I love to listen. This one is about income tax. To forewarn you Dear Reader, I haven't substantiated any of it.

Income tax originated in taxes placed on boats. Whoever first thought to tax any and all manner of cargo vessels transporting various goods to and from here and there laid the foundation for a rather strange idea. Sometime ago, 'so-n-so' thought: How can I justify taxing the good people of this land? Well, ships are taxed as they leave their docks in port. Aha! I have a brilliant analogy! As a ship rides out of its 'berth' into the wide water, so are all human beings 'birthed' from their mother's wombs. Therefore, we shall now say because you are like a little ship, coming into the world, you shall be taxed on all your earnings from now until you die! What solid logic!

And so, we have income tax.

Nice story.

Bring Out the City Bikes, Five Days of Påske, The Life of a Scientist

Godt Påske everyone! It's a sunny and clear Easter afternoon from København!

So much time has passed since I last wrote and I have forgotten many things I wanted to write. Research has ramped up to a new level and I'm finding myself less motivated to pause and blog. The mood just hasn't taken me recently.

Spring has come full force, evidenced most recently to me by the appearance of the København Cykler (city bikes) for tourists and citizens alike. These simple sturdy bicycles come out in April and disappear around October. It's a cool system where you slide a 20 kr coin into a box on the handlebars and a chain at the other end of the box slides out. The rider takes the bike around town and, when finished, finds an empty chain slot and gets the coin back. Free city bikes! I've been working with students on campus back home to get a similar program going, but interest really hasn't built for it yet. I think it has to do mostly with the hilly Golden landscape and the preference for cars over all other transportation modes. Perhaps someday bikes will carry more cultural weight in America...

On a related note, I was riding my bicycle to the train station about a week ago and was handed free food by a smiling woman standing on a street corner. She and several dozen others were passing out brown bags containing rolls to all the pedaling folk as they passed by on the bike lanes. And so I was introduced to "Vi cykler arbejde!" meaning "We bike to work." It's a month-long campaign and I'm hoping to snag some more free baked goods this week!

Denmark today is a dominantly secular nation. There are many churches around town, mostly Lutheran, though I've found several Roman Catholic and even a Baptist one. A Mormon temple sits three blocks from my apartment. Yet, congregations are small and some of the churches hold services once a month. Even with the relatively large population of immigrants from Iran, Iraq, Syria, and other Middle Eastern nations, I have yet to see any mosques or even a hint of Islamic worship places. In fact, other than all the Arabic (I think) script I see in my neighborhood, on grocery stores, restaurants, and barber shops, the only advertisement for Muslims I've glimpsed was a small store selling "Islamic dress," printed in English. Going back to the Christian influence, something of a juxtaposition with the agnostic majority are all the Danish flags being flown half-mast for Good Friday. I've only ever seen that ritual connected with memorializing the deaths of politicians, military casualties, and other famous people. Jesus Christ, VIP in Denmark, for one day only.

While actually practicing religion seems to be rare, religious holidays are taken to the max. Easter, for instance, is five days long. Starting (Maundy) Thursday, many Danes don't go back to work till the follwing Tuesday. There's Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Easter Sunday, and Second Easter (Monday). Most shops shut down, though some of the grocery stores, which are regularly closed on Sundays, are open, so there appears to be no uniformity to the holiday-taking. At Risø, most of the technicians left Friday, April 3 and won't be back till Tuesday (4/14). That's all well and good for them, but the safety rules at the lab prevent anyone from working with the furnaces, presses, polishers, and other various (and expensive) equipment unless they're in there. Here, like mismatched gears, the '9-3 regular-drop-it-all-and-scoot' work day (technicians) grinds up against the '?-? gotta-get-this-done-by-Monday-why-does-this-machine-hate-me' schedule (scientists). Such fun! Jesting aside, I really am enjoying the hustle and constantly shifting timelines that go with real-world R&D. I think I'm going to like doing this for a living.

Accepted!

Today I received a metaphorical kick in the rear: acceptance to speak at the 17th bi-annual Conference on Solid State Ionics! This round it's in Toronto, June 28 - July 3. The way it fits in my overall overseas overture, I'll most likely be heading straight to Denver from Canada afterward, since my Danish visa expires July 15. Plus, I'd soon avoid having to de-lag three times in two weeks, and go through that ritual only once.

Now, I'm accountable not only to my bosses in Denmark and Colorado to produce results, but also a slew of international conferencing scientists, coming together for a week of swapping ideas, innovations, and business cards.

I've had some difficulties in research these past few weeks, but this announcement has throttled me forward a few gears and knocked me out of the delay-ridden doldrums. Yay!

Speaking at the conference will be my first big event as a graduate student, and I'm excited to put some of the hard work done here at Risø on display.

Ts'all for now, time to work!

Breeze With A Bite

I was blown off my bike today. The sun was out, the clouds were sparse, the city was bustling, and the wind was on a rampage.

During my ten minute ride to see a friend about going to Iceland, I was caught on my left side by a particularly harsh gust that obliterated my balance. My tires hit the curb at a moderate speed, maybe 10 mph, and I tried to stop myself, but to no avail. Next I was spinning on the sidewalk and a Danish man had stopped his bicycle to ask of my health. I'm really glad it wasn't rush hour and I wasn't on Nørrebrogade, cuz my tumble would have caused a pile-up worthy of the Tour de France. Biking in København is crazy in the heat of commute time! Everyone (mostly) has bells, and almost no one (including I) uses them.

As for the wind again, København just became the "Windy City." It hasn't yet been as strong as it was today, but it's never really gone either, no matter what time of day or what weather. Even out in Roskilde, far from the sea coast, I've been blown back down hills while riding to work. So, more appropriately, Denmark is the "Windy Country." Given my limited world travel experience, this title is probably prematurely assigned, but after today, I can credit this nation's weather with being the first climate to literally knock me down. Roadrash notwithstanding, the whole experience was exhilerating.

Fredag Bar, Enigmatic Heiko, Excess Modifiers, Nørrebronx

I've been feeling uninspired to write lately. Thankfully, the drought is over! There have been some upslopes on the adventure pulse this month, and today, because I've found blogging much more interesting than studying the defect theory of ceramics, I'm finally sitting down to relate them to you, Dear Reader.

Fredag bar every week at Risø continues to provide chances for bettering my pool skills, spectating the intense fooseball tourneys, linguistic smörgåsbord (a Swedish word actually), and enjoying beer cheaper than Coors Light (à la bartender) and many times tastier. This past Friday, a Swedish woman living in Göteborg (midwestern coastal city) scolded us for complaining of the sleety high-wind weather of Thursday eve. I rode my bike home in that storm for 5 minutes, got thoroughly drenched (with the help of a city bus spraying gutter water like a tidal wave) and cold, despite my warm bundling, so I was a bit ruffled by her admonition. But, when she told us that in Göteborg wintertime, temperatures rarely get over -15 ˚C and the sun is up from 9-2, we all shut up. Which was good, because we were in the middle of a heated pool game. It was an international match--U.S.-China v. Sweden-India. Whenever Corin (the Swede) missed a shot, her "Queen's English" turned into a rapid-fire stream of Swedish curses. When I sank the 8 ball for the win, she was especially vocal. No hard feelings at Fredag bar though; we're all mild-mannered scientists.

I made some friends at the International Church of Copenhagen a couple weeks ago. We're mostly foreign students studying abroad and fall into the 20 and 30-somethings category. I find a lot of common ground to revel on with them, and am excited to see what adventures come our way this spring. Tentatively, I'll be going to Iceland in June with some of them, and maybe down to Berlin in the nearer future.

To make sure I get work done this afternoon, I've decided to split up the description of this group of friends I've merged into, and present one or two of these wonderful people here each post. Today, I give you Heiko Schluter. His origins are still a mystery to me because whenever we talk, I get so wrapped up in the deep and interesting dialogue that I've not yet fount out most of the basics. His surname sounds German to me, though I'm not positive. His accent is so similar to mine that he could be a midwest U.S. suburbanite. All this mystery I plan to solve at some point. Facebook stalking has proved inconclusive, as he's more ascetic with his profile than I am.

His stories have been rivetting. Heiko's life (the slices of which I've heard so far) has been beyond cool. He lived on St. Croix for 10 years, where his brother had moved after hurricane Hugo, to help residents rebuild. There, the Schluter I know honed his painting abilities (his job) and designed boats (his hobby). He also dabbled in biodiesel production out of his home. We chatted about eneryg policy, history, literature, religion, science, flying fish, building catamarans, rescuing buildings from monsoons, and the theories of Sanskrit scholars. His painting is very impressive. He works mostly in acrylic from what I've seen on Facebook (an album of an exhibition featuring his work) and fills his creations with resonating vibrancy, exacting perspective, and meticulous detail.

Heiko Schluter. Next post, David Tiprigan.

-----

My København neighborhood, Nørrebro, has been infamous for gang presence in recent years. Hells Angels biker gangs (no joke) have been squaring off with the ambiguous 'Immigrant' gangs for drug trafficking power, or so the natives say. While it's true there is a high concentration of non-Danes living in Nørrebro, dominantly Arabs as I've learned (evidenced by the 'Starbucks-like' density of kebab houses and birka-clad women), I have yet to witness any hostilities beyond a few heckling youths in my end of town. Actually, I am at the 'end' of it. Across the street, not 30 meters from my window, is the neighborhood of Frederiksberg, a decidedly wealthier part of the city containing no ruckus and abundant in pram-pushing new mothers.

Nevertheless, Nørrebro's reputation for being the 'seedy side' of København has been the inspiration for recent comical commentary by my lighthearted Spanish roommate, Fernando. "We are living in 'Nørrebronx,' my friend."

The humor is dark in light of the recent shootings and civilian casualties in parts of København. Nørrebro was one of the scenes, but no where near me, or I'm just completely oblivious. I've seen a few cop cars, ambulances, and news stations vans in hot pursuit, but I've heard no gunshots and seen no arrests. I think it's such a big issue because these violent events haven't happened hardly at all here. Fernando and Kristian have told me about the history of immigration tension in København and Denmark at-large. Many political refugees from Saudi Arabia, Iran, and other Middle Eastern nations were taken in by the Danish government decades ago. Since then, the numbers have increased, and two generations have grown up Danish citizens. Minimal integration (fault of both the immigrants and the government) has contributed to cultural stress and to a degree of societal polarization. And, like any other unmixing mix of vastly different peoples, violence is the speediest and loudest voice of the strain.

In what I assume to be reaction to the killings and injuries, I rode past a anti-violence protest march today. The hundred and fifty or so members, shepherded by several motorcycle-mounted police officers, slowly made their way across the Nørrebrogade bridge as I biked home into southeast Nørrebro. The banner at the front displayed a gun painted over by the universal 'No!' symbol of a circle slashed by a line. Black behind red. The words were simple and big: Våben Nej Tak (Violence No Thanks). At the flank, a couple teenagers unfurled a second banner saying: Liv Ja Tak (Life Yes Thanks). Concisely profound.

Farewell February

The daylight stays with me a little more and more. I saw the sunset as I left work for the first time since arriving in Denmark. It was magnificent and well-colored, though I didn't feel inspired enough to lay out another 500 or so words on the subject (see February post).

Today is Saturday, the 28th of February, the finale of that one truant month so eager to be gone, proclaiming nonconformity in its shorter span. I wonder where it wants to go in such haste? Some holiday for the months gone by? A retirement retreat where Feb '09 will join its older siblings for eternity, after time stamps an one-way punch on that ticket? Or, less romantically, into the oblivion of the living generations' ever-decaying memories.

(shhhhhhhh....*pop*)

There's that sense of importance in the moment again. I get it in my head quite often, at times when I've slowed down from the bustle and business, and thoughts start to stroll in the 'quiet hours' of my consciousness. The feeling that makes me want to seize the day anew and accomplish and learn, knowing this second, this minute, this hour and day, will never be before me again.

I think the current age of "undo," "edit," and "back" buttons brings this mentamotional (mental-emotional) state into sharper focus. So much of my daily life involves computers (this weblog not among the least of these engagements) and a pervasive theme is the general lack of permanence. Roads, buildings, books, cars, bathtubs, bed frames, baseballs, and planes--all human artifice decays and fades, but I'm more accustomed to their longer lifespans. Not online, or even offline (i.e. word processor documents). Here, in the universe of bits and bytes frolicking and marching about on silicon-copper landscapes, everything can be changed, utterly, irreversibly, completely, and no trace of the past is left. I can delete this blog post and not even digital dust will remain (barring some ghost file archive in Blogger's servers, but you know what I mean). All this virtual cosmos is but a shimmer and shade in front of the hard earth and open sky.

So, all that babble down to this point: I sometimes feel numb to the finality of reality. Sinister whispers in my mind repeat over and over, in habit long ingrained: "Don't worry about being lazy today, not pushing for that extra inch, holding back, going home early, giving up on that task; just hit the 'redo' switch and tap your bottomless 'mulligan' reservoir." I am disturbed and unsettled to see these words on (digital) paper, the first time I've ever drawn attention to this aspect of my personality. I find it bitter, and not the good bitter of a fresh coffee roast, the sour and stale bitter that calls for nausea and bile to join.

It's come to me this morning, the last day of February, on the cusp of swinging into time with the 31 days of March, that I've let so many days pass un-seized. I'm thankful for deadlines and professors today, because my time here with the Danes is winding ever downward to zero, and there's much work left to do, experiments to design, manuscripts to develop, proposals to write, and homework to complete. Usually when I mentally address those last few statements, some irritatingly diligent gland in my body secretes the Elixir of Lethargy. This potion dulls my senses and amplifies those sinister whispers, seeking to drown out my inspiration.

Yet, all of that theory is just a fancy and frilly way to externalize my predicament. There's no gland of course; I believe it's me and only me. I have no dichotomy, no split intellect, nor any extra persona(e) lurking in my vast and chaotic id. At least, that's how I feel, and look, I'm back to the start--feeling. No more time to spend blogging today! Now for honor! Now for work! Now for wonder and adventure! Hail, my mind, to me!

Farewell February...

Perspective

xkcd no. 505 is perspective.

When I read this comic some months back, most of my conscious thought was swept into nostalgia's wind tunnel, to a day during my junior year of high school when I finished a novel from the library. It was "The Gunslinger," first of the Dark Tower series, and one I'd selected at random from the stacks (ignorant I was and fated to become a Tower junkie soon enough).

I used to do this a lot when I was back in Englewood--ride my bike down to the biblioteca pública, find a quiet corner, and stroll the lines and lines of fiction, metropolises of stories encased in paper, on foundations of aluminum, silently bustling under the keen eye of Mrs. Jones (why is always a woman?).

Arthur Clarke, Heinlein, Brooks, Bova, Adams, and dozens and dozens more I can't recall; I picked out "The Gunslinger." I think its cover hooked me (well done public relations!). It took a few months to read it; I wasn't as enthralled as I am now (finishing up no. 4 today, junkie to the core and back again). So captivating (and skin-crawling), full of heart warming (and freezing), and riddled with blood-pumping (and spurting), frighteningly wonderful, and a 'drug' worthy of addicted servitude.

Long way about from the start of this post, there's a scene of perspective at the end of this Stephen King masterpiece (the first installment of his magnum opus, sans contest) where a universe is contained in a burned blade of grass and time flows without rhyme, reason, or boundary. I'll write no more on the details, for the spoiler alarms'a buzzing.

I get exquisite pleasure out of losing my mind in these glimpses of infinity. Tip o' da cap to Mr. Munroe and his stick-figuring webcomic...another in the blissfully long line of creators to dazzle my senses (with a spice of humor to boot!).

Snowing Thick, Quirky Sciencing, Pay To Dispose Your 'Private' Waste Publicly

(ahem)

A post mingled with a few just-barely-not-crude topics...

The eminent infinite complexity (the EIC, or "ike" forthwith), that is Earth's Nature, deigned to bestow a bit 'o home on me today, in the form of an all-day (so far) snowstorm. Ths is the first white, wet, coldness that hasn't evaporated by 10am; in fact it's still patching over each footprint, wheel rut, and drain cover as I type. Looks a bit like Colorado out there today...beautiful.

Without the courtesy of a segway, I'd like to mention a detail of the labwork I've been doing recently. In quick summary I'm taking very fine ceramic powders and pressing them uniaxially (like one of those can crushers mounted on walls) into pill-size pellets, about the width of my middle finger. They must be as dense as possible, and for that we have a more powerful machine called an isostatic press. Covering my bases, all this means is an equal force exerted on the pellet from all sides, tops, and bottoms, simultaneously. Any air jammed inside the structure is evicted this way. Evacuated, actually, and to ease this trapped this trace atmosphere's exit, the pellets must be vacuumed sealed before going in the isostatic press. Naturally. A vacuum pump's easy to come by here at the lab, but what to seal the pellets in before transport to yon machine?

Hmmm...

How 'bout a condom, says brilliant scientist?* Of course! Why didn't I think of that? A 'rubber' is a great way to keep _____ sealed inside!**

So, Dear Reader, at this multi-million kroner, government funded, PhD-filled research facility, a critical step in fabricating high tech ceramic test samples comes down to a 15 cent condom. Awesome! Does this whole situation crack you up like it does me? Maybe I'm just very strange, but hardly anyone I talk to about this fact finds it even mildly amusing. A shame. I think it's hilarious.

Again, without segway, the last item on my writeabout list is the state of Danish public restrooms. When I left for Denmark, I had already heard of there being a general lack of these pit stops available in European countries (this is also the case for drinking fountains, but see Jan. 16 post for why that is so, at least in DK). Out of all the farewells I received from friends and family, the most humorous was to compile a tally of all the coin-operated toilets I ran into during my travels (you know who you are that suggested this). I've neglected that light-hearted duty, but the obervation stands in my mind after repeated scenarios where I need to go and there's no decent going to be gotten for miles around. Not in grocery stores, malls, or train stations anyhow. Occasionally a restaurant will have them, with varying shades of vandalism. At Roskilde train station you have to put in a 2 kroner coin to get in the door. This measure prevents all the honest bums from getting in and sleeping the cold nights away, or the rambunctious youths with sharpies, spray paint, and bottomless dictionaries of bad puns and sick jokes. I found a McDonald's right next to Nørreport station (deep downtown Kbh) with the same fixup. There I was fortunate enough to see the 'changing of the change,' in which an employee empties the handle-mounted box of coins and resets the lock.

The water closets (so they're labeled) actually on the trains are free, so that's a bonus.

The takehome lesson on this final topic is that planning your bathroom stops (as well as you can) along with your trip agenda is the best strategy.


Peace to you.



*I haven't asked yet who came up with this idea. It's the first time I've seen it.
**This sentence should be a 'Mad-Libs' staple.

Early Risen, Snoozing Strategy, Nature's Daily Masterpiece

In my frequent search for new adventures, I set my alarm for 5:30 instead of 6 this morning, so I could snooze 3 times, feel good about it, and not be rushed. I enjoy a relatively relaxed morning routine; I am most definitely not the 'roll out and run' type.

Freshened, lunch packed (last night's feasting remains), and warmly bundled, I snagged the 6:28 bus to the metro. I've taken the week off from bicycling to see if my mysterious knee pain (I recall no trauma whatsoever) subsides. I rode the M2 to Nørreport, disembarked, and boarded the 6:55 Regionaltog (an earlier run of the train I took in the Jan. 29 post) and headed out to Roskilde.

The inspiration for this post came from this morning's sunrise, which I first noticed on the 600S bus from Roskilde station to Risø. This far north on the globe, and in this season, Sol does little more than hint at its coming until about 7:30. Most days there's cloud cover smothering in a uniform and decidedly heavy blanket, but Friday the 13th began clear and sharp with Jupiter in the southeast standing out starkly. The thin lines of cloud laying low in the east delayed the full light till 8, but their concert performance with the sun today brought to mind an effect I really enjoy. I see this same symphony of color and light back home (and it stirred up memories) looking from Denver toward the flatlands of Colorado at dawn. I regret forgetting my camera so I'll do my best to paint a verbose 'picture:'


A spectrum of new gold to fiery red blossoms out in quiet prelude, just above the trundling farms and fields. It seems as a cathedral roof painted in scenes of graphic violence, looking down on the timid and basal landscape. A gray and blue mist floats amongst the naked tree branches, permeating and concealing their leafless shame in swathes of dimness.

The hazy panorama is contrasted by the sharp mechanical clarity of a wind turbine breaking away to the heavens, its perfectly circular arc stirring up the moisture-laden air and appearing to poke at the sky’s grandeur—a strangely comical coincidence of perspective, as how distant stars meet in seemingly close constellation symmetries.

All this earthly climate is made low and insignificant in the presence of the Great Show conducting at near-infinite distance. There, on celestial canvas, there is a slowly churning lava field. The dark clouds silhouetted there are like the stringy islands and fat blobs of semi solid stone riding in acrid molasses seas of fire and sulfur. Their carbonic, pyritic, and basaltic brethren beneath already given over to liquefaction’s maddening call. These topside remainders futilely restrain the blazing inferno beneath, backed by reinforcements of cooler atmospheres above.

The magmatic heart relentlessly rises into being, wonderful burning color cascading off it as freely as ticker tape in a grand parade. As it ascends, its misshapen captors waver and fall back, riding along at entropy’s swift commands to regroup and press again from cooler vantage. In these moments of change more warm, red light is cast out into freedom, bringing with it legions of heat that warp the very air into ripples of nonconformity. The sweet disease of chaos spreads further into order’s domain, both sides executing their actions with the calm sense of inevitability.

The patina of snow in the foreground field greedily snatches up morsels of this generous shining substance and flings it along to seer’s eyes, desperately trying to proclaim itself as the splendor's source. The ever-mounting brilliance rising o’er its incessant treachery snuffs out these silently screaming lies.

In the west, the waxing moon nears its vanishing point and swells to double size, well fed by curvature's distortion. Its pitted face is like a clouded mirror, poorly reflecting the dawn's bountiful hues and appearing as a rotten orange discarded from the picker’s basket. It insolently flaunts its dull decay as a farewell to the waking world.

I must be content with this lesser and disturbing vista as I travel down the road to work.

Yet, not all is bad in the western view. A fleet of windowpanes faces east; their straight and serious hides catch quick to smolder in the dawn's tremendous gaze. They are both mirrors outward, like golden armor, and windows inward, belying great furnaces running hot. The effect is fleeting and in a moment their polished blackness returns, as if such glory had never graced them. Such flippancy!

I pause at my building’s door for a final glance. A cold breeze slides over my face and fingertips, and I see at last the immense intensity is unleashed, ready to singe corneas and make blind husks of unfortunate retinas. I turn with a smile.

Full day is here again, overly hasty and precisely punctual all at once.


Thank you God for blessing me with eyes.

Back to work and a new day! Farewell.

Sunny Sunday, 'Bad' vibrations, Telmore, Skype Critically Acclaimed!

It's been sunny today. The clouds here hang low and move fast across the airspace, and the brightness level is always changing. Gold fades to grey and streaks back into brilliant yellow again in seconds. After a week of nothing but dull wet wool-colored sky, it's a nice reprieve.

My work at Risø is intensifying. I'm finding myself humbled each day by how little I know, and how smart all these people are here. I don't like spending most of my work week reading this paper and that thesis, but I've accepted that's how it's got to be for now, maybe even for the next couple months. I'm in sponge mode, full gear.

I've so far found the Danish weekend party scene to last till 4 or 5am. At my old apartment on Voldgården, Peter and Laurids would be out till at least this hour (I wasn't there long enough to experience a party at our residence). Last night, my upstairs neighbors put on American rap music and electronica till these wee hours, and so I didn't get much sleep. I thought about making some noise of my own, but gave up and passed out around 2. When I woke again at 4, to renewed volume from above, I nearly lost it, but was too tired to care. What a night!

I got a cell phone for local use here, from a Danish internet-based phone company, Telmore. The payments amount to $18/month and with a six month plan (convenient for my time here) the phone itself cost $0.17. Sweet deal, though I don't have many people to call yet. There's a party at Copenhagen Business School this week, and one of my new friends here invited me, so maybe my phonebook will grow. I haven't yet figured out how to navigate all its functions; my Danish still isn't very good, and I don't have the energy or time to type the user manual into Google translator. For now, I'm ride the learning curve.

I miss you all back in CO and the States (and others of you in far-off places...like Australia). The mountains, snow, and English advertisements come to mind first. Thank God for Skype. It's been a real blessing to talk for so cheap (0.13 DKK/minute) to friends and family the States. Fellow Skype users, my online name is rorschachfish. For those of you in Colorado, or those willing to take some long-distance charges, my Skype local number is 303-731-5088. You can call this number and pay what you normally would calling any other 303 number, and it comes straight to my computer. So give me a ring sometime, I'd love to hear from you. Just keep in mind your 3pm is my 11pm, but I'll pick up if I can! I think my answering machine's in English, but I'm not sure...

The sun is setting and its dimming rays glint off the third and fourth-floor windows across the street. My first full month here is nearly over. New adventures tomorrow!

Adios and much Love to you all.

Relish Your Cheddar! All the Shawarma You Want!

The Danish don't like cheddar cheese. I really like cheddar cheese. This is a problem.

Well, not a big one; I can live without cheddar, though my omelets will not taste the same. I have found cheddar cheese in two grocery stores in all of København, so far. I've been to Netto (cheap) and Super Best (expensive!) and many in between--Fakta, Føtex, Irma, DøgnNetto, 7-11, and Super Brugsen. At Super Best I found cheddar at $9 per half pound. Yikes! At Super Brugsen (middle range prices) I found shredded cheddar for $4. Not too bad. So when the craving becomes unbearable, I'll bike to the other side of the city (figures this is where I found it) and get my cheddar cheap!

Immigrants from Middle Eastern countries have flocked to Denmark. It's an issue of modest importance to the Danes, who grumble here and there about the 'trouble they cause,' though not enough to start riots or hate crimes (as far as I know). All over the city I see falafel and shawarma restaurants, kiosks, butiks, and stands. I personally love the food, and it's really cheap too. Being and American I sometimes feel I may get hasseled when my accent blatantly flows as I pay and thank the shopkeeper, but I guess manners or a sense of indifference have take hold regarding the States. Whatever the reason, a pita shawarma sandwich and a Ølfabrikken Pale Ale go really well together!

Nørrebro, Lyngby, Spanish sans-Dialects

I'm going to like living here.

Fernando and Kristian are my flatmates. The former, a Spaniard, followed a Danish girl to København and these days the girl is gone. The latter, a Dane, owns the flat and is looking for work as a late 20-something. This morning was my first here, and it felt like a confluence of cultures. Spanish, Danish, and American, converging in the kitchen, over coffee and breakfast. As an aside, french-pressed coffee is the best to my taste thus far; thanks to James for making me my first pot of it all these months ago.

Kristian, Fernando, and I spoke of language first. There are no dialects in Spain according to Fernando. There is only Spanish. Basque is a different language and Catalan is an accent, not a dialect. Potayto potahto I say, and Krisitian agrees. Fernando will have none of it. Segwaying into a brief discussion of Spanish imperial history, we next discussed Italy, how it is split in two with the affluent, 'civilized' north, and the poor, mafioso-controlled south. The Vatican sits as the centerpoint. "It's a funny country," says Fernando, with division and corruption everywhere; the mob controlling the southern half of the nation and pushing its influence into the north through commerce and networking. Fernando says the country's Prime Minister has sent the army to combat the mafia, and even now they are skirmishing. I've not confirmed this, but I haven't really read much into Italy's current events.

The kitchen table is customized with newspaper pages under a varnish layer covering the entirety of its top.



Kristian and I walked while a real estate agent showed the flat. I suppose this is a good time to relay. Kristian has been trying to sell the whole place for some time, since September 08. I recently discovered this fact, in conversation. What it means for me is another move should he finalize a sell. But, not for 2-3 months minimum. The worldwide financial slump has dealt me a fortunate turn: banks won't loan money, so people can't buy homes, which means owners needing to sell will rent out until the the economy swings skyward again. For now, it's a rentee's paradise, and that suits me the rentee just fine.

I scouted out a chunk of DTU's campus this afternoon, riding along from Nørrebro station via S-tog lines to Lyngby station. As the sun set I caught a bus to campus, and found the building where I'll be taking classes starting Tuesday. On my way back to the bus stop, I went through the student center and caught these photographs, each taken through a different color of glass looking out onto a courtyard.



More adventures tomorrow! Hasta luego!

Abstracts, Serendipitious Poetry, A Harrowing Bus Boarding, Roquefort Rejected

(Lately I've been titling my blogs in a style Stephen King uses; see The Mist, The Little Sisters of Eluria. I like its summarizing fragmentary MO.)

Today dawned in New York as the deadline for abstracts concerning the 17th Conference on Solid State Ionics. This biannual grand palaver between a bunch of the world's solid state chemists, physicists, ceramicists et al. will be held this year in Toronto, Canada. Turns out both my advisor at Mines (Nigel) and my boss here at Risø (Mogens) are members of the organizing committee. Nigel told me late yesterday evening (my time) to submit an abstract, angling for a chance to present my work. Trouble is, I don't have any even barely scientifically rigorous 'work' to show for it (I just started in August for heaven's sake)! This fact doesn't phase Nigel in the slightest and Mogens calmly agrees. They told me to write up a proposal of sorts, conforming to the SSI organizers' guidelines, talking about what I will be doing in the next 6 months. These conferences work by amassing results people have obtained far in advance of the actual gathering, giving them time to refine, add, subtract, and work out professional presentations. Should my abstract be accepted (I'm proud of it), I will be doing all those things in tandem with the actual research needed to legitimize it all! What fun!

shift

I subscribe to the podcast "Poetry Off the Shelf," which updates once a week with a 10 - 15 minute program covering various news, tributes, history, and language in the universe of this wonderfully undefinable human art. I hadn't listened in since before Christmas 08, and when I updated the feed, the first cast was all about Inger Christensen, the recently late Danish poet. How uncanny that I should first hear it while in Denmark!

Two Danish-born poets living in New York (where the show's produced) were guests on the program. One of them actually traveled and gave readings alongside Inger, and reminisced fondly on those days. They played several soundbites of Christensen reciting her work. Her background fascinates me too. She grew up interested in mathematics and enjoyed playing with numbers as much as words. She incorporated math into some of her poems. Check out "Alphabet," where she crafts verses in groupings to mirror the Fibonacci sequence (1,1,2,3,5,8...), assigning A to '1,' B to '1,' C to '2,' and so on, going all the way to O.

shift

Tonight I left my building late (the abstract's to blame), looking for one of the public Risø bikes to make the ride up to the guardhouse and adjoining bus stop, hoping to catch the 7pm line to Roskilde station and on out to København and home. But, to my slight frustration, the only remaining such cycle was broken (hence its presence half a kilometer out from the main gate at this hour). So, I walked the tree-lined lane expecting to wait for the 7:18 ride. As I stood at the stop eight or so minutes later, I saw the northbound 600S arriving at the Risø stop on the opposite side of the bridge carrying Frederiksborgvej over the entrance road to the lab. I hesitated maybe 10 seconds before running full tilt towards its idling bulk, hoping the driver would wait a half minute longer! I was able to see the bus would take me to Ølstykke station (another way to get to København, via the S-tog train system, a not-quite-metro-not-quite-regional-train network) and just as I confirmed this fact on the curbside time table, the bus began to pull away. I lunged forward and tapped (well, banged) the door with my hand and the driver (a middle-aged woman) slammed on the brakes while jumping half out of her seat in surprise. She clearly hadn't seen me sprinting to catch the 7:08 departure. The whole vehicle followed her movement and audibly protested the abrupt change in momentum. As I boarded and showed her my pass, she rebuked me in Danish and gave me the stink eye, two of them actually, complete with a frown/sneer. I didn't understand a word, except "nej," meaning "no," so the embarrassment was diminished.

shift

Home now. I bought grated cheddar cheese tonight. I've only been able to find it in one grocery store so far. The purchase recalled to my mind an article I found on The Washington Post's web page, covering the recent 300 % duty applied to Roquefort cheese, the blue-veined delicacy from southern France. I liked the story so much (for its eloquent journalism; I'm not rejoicing over the plight of cheese falling victim to international political tantrums) I decided to go find some of this cheese. I found my precious shredded cheddar instead and forgot all about the Roquefort till just now. Check out the article. The history of the cheese makers in Roquefort is fascinating.

Godnat, Dear Reader...

Breaking News!

I interrupt the usual string of bulky and long-winded posts to bring you this mercifully short announcement (complete with picture for those who find reading dull and maybe even harmful):

I am now Fish, Bespectacled! Behold!


I can see so much better at distance now. Mange tak (many thanks) to Micki, my Love, for airmailing them! Now I can actually read the Danish street signs from across the road.

That is all.

A Treatise on Cake

Cake: a multitudinous class of comestibles that carries significant weight here at Risø. Success in this national laboratory is measured by credible publications, healthy research grants, favorable press releases, and cake.

Cake is scheduled, often days or a even a week in advance. Everyone syncs their Outlook calendars, Gmail calendars, notifiers, and Entourage agendas with cake. E-mails are sent. Phone calls are made. Planners are marked. Kitchens are busy! Cake is good.

In snynonymity with 'party' or 'informal meeting,' a cake will be "thrown" for several reasons (that I know of so far). The obvious birthday cakes, wedding announcements, and anniversaries (of employment). Successful experiments, tests, arrival of new colleagues and equipment alike, and the 'christening' of lab stations. This last category was the reason for today's cake, given for the official naming of test rig 32 and declaration that it is ready for operation (meaning mostly debugged). It's new name is "Lichen" (after the plant), given by Chris, the American PhD student from Columbia University whom I am working closely with in my tenure here. He said he chose the name because all the other rigs and machines in the lab are either named after Norse deities or Earthly bodies of water, except for one, called Flower. He reasoned that 'flora' needed more representation.

The cake was good, a confection resembling chocolate brownies (after squaring it in its rectangular pan) with orange-flavored frosting and two slices of clementine cuties per piece. There was also a side dish of coconut balls layered with chocolate and sugar. Delicious!

Cake has the added feature of sparking technical discussions amongst us nerds, geeks, and engineers.* Today's topics included a thorough discussion of using gadolinium-doped ceria to absorb unwanted silica from the working atmosphere of a solid oxide fuel cell and solid oxide electrolysis cell test chamber, leak testing on "Lichen," the explosive tendencies of a custom-designed glycine-nitrate wet chemistry powder synthesis process, and the precise workings of an isostatic press machine in the context of fabricating dense ceramic electrodes from powders. One of the older researchers present, a Greek named Nikos, took us on a tangent about how he could float his ceramic powder down to the bottom of a trench in the Aegaen Sea on a nylon string and isostatically press it that way. Being nerds, geeks, and engineers,* we of course discussed (and joked) about the specifics of this pragmatically ludicrous suggestion.

Cake is good.


*redundant, but I included it for completeness' sake.

A train, a bus, a winter morning, (a bit of) procrastination

I'm on the 7:34 Regionaltog (regional train) out of København Hovedbanegård (Copenhagen Main Station), bound for Kalundborg.



On the way, about 20 minutes into the nearly two-hour journey is Roskilde, and I will be getting off soon (we just pulled out of Hedehusene station). From there I get on the 600S bus that has a stop right at Risø. Frederiksborgvej, one of the main roads running through Roskilde, winds north of downtown along the fjord that butts up against the city's northern border. Risø sits on a small peninsula jutting out west from the eastern shore and the main entrance is 60 meters or so from the two-lane blacktop. So, it's quite nice to be dropped off at the bottom of the exit ramp and then a minute's worth of walking beneath the highway and onto the lab's property, and to work!

Here's my stop..."næste station, Roskilde!" Thank you charming Danish female recording voice.

Fog and mist are close on the land, a typical Danish morning. The heavy moisture will probably become a little lighter as day goes on, but the scant few peeks and wisps of blue sky come and go just long enough to notice and too short to cherish. The tether-tied radio tower (I assume that's what it is) a few hundred meters south of my office window is topless, its blunt triangular peak lost in the clinging weather. Outside is not quite what I would call cold, certainly not the harsh freshness of Rocky Mountain winter nights, but cool enough for jackets and hats, and to numb fingertips. The absence of wind in the insulating vapor is a welcome reprieve from the usually vigilant north-bound gusting.

I picked out one of the Risø public bikes and rolled off on a rust-tinged frame with a loose right pedal. The cycles are sturdy, but maintenance is not top priority among the many machines here, and even the Danish cannot make an invincible bike. But it serves just fine, though I wish they hadn't bolted this one's seat; I feel like one of those slouching, surly BMX riders, knees pumping nearly to my chest each revolution, and without a neighborhood skate park to show off my two-wheeled talent. Instead, I make use of static friction lean muscle to traverse the well-worn half kilometer roadway between the guardhouse and building 778, where I now sit at half past 9. The trip down that stretch of pitted pavement is a daily highlight for me, and I'll have to take pictures when the light's not so perfectly flat; maybe a sunny day will happen upon us soon? Trees (haven't figured what kind yet), old and tall trees, line either side, down its full length. Spaced a few meters, they form an airy wooden tunnel. The site is beautiful now and I wonder how much more stunning it will look in a few months. Nature's awesome.

Just south of the road is the fjord, petering out and ending in dozens of niches, coves, and ponds, grabbing every last bit of space it can, and coming within 10 meters of the trees. If you see pictures of fjords in books or online where they show inlet ocean channels surrounded by steep, rocky shores (I know I have), this isn't one of those fjords. Like the rest of Denmark, the landscape is mostly flat, rolling and jutting here and there a bit to show some spirit, but not much. As with every winter morning I've been here for, there's a layer of ice close to shore and it mixes in with the mud and grasses to look like a smooth beach in the soft gray light. Ducks and gulls strut and slide on its glassy surface, and I roll on by, to work and (a bit of) procrastination. By the latter, Dear Reader, this post is brought to you.

Tilbage arbejde (back to work)!!

Danish First Floors, Bicycle Streets, Moving Again

I imagine once my stream-of-consciousness peters out here tonight, this post won't qualify as short, but if you hate long blog posts, just take comfort in this, Dear Reader: it could be a lot longer if I wasn't so lazy!

Some interesting features I have found in Denmark (I call them 'features' because I have no better word for them, and, to write 'things' is terribly trite):

The Danes count building floors starting with 'ground' or 'zero' as what Americans would think of as the 'first' floor. So, the 'second' floor in an U.S. building would be the 'first' floor in Denmark. Perhaps this is true elsewhere in Europe and the world? I'd not be surprised to find out America is the only country with a system like it has (e.g. holding to the Imperial (British) system of units and measures as opposed to metric). Cogitation aside, this change caused me some confusion the first time I got directions to find an office on the first floor of a building last week.

Secondly, the fact there are raised bicycle lanes running between the pedestrian walks and streets in nearly all parts of the Danish cities (the ones I've been in anyway: Roskilde, København, Århus) is really very awesome. It's like a cyclist's own street. These bike paths are set at a height greater than the road, but less than the sidewalk. The elevated plane with its well-weathered borders actually makes me feel safer, more contained than I feel riding on the same level as cars or people. I suppose this feeling comes out of my desires to see order and neatness in a lot of life, and to have thorough organization. I don't think it's OCD (I'm quite uninformed on that condition), but maybe it's my equally inherent laziness that combats true obsessiveness. Simply put: if I don't find order and organization quickly or relatively easily, I usually just give up and stop caring, perhaps to return and tackle the task later.

Anyway...I moved into a spare room in a downtown København flat owned by a Danish doctor and lived in by his son Laurids (say it: Laord-ss and swallow the 'd') and Peter, Laurids' friend. I took my stuff down from Risø in a couple trips. The room has a backwards 'L' shape, enclosed with white-painted concrete walls, a wood panel floor and a plaster ceiling with an obscure rectangular hole shooting upwards into darkness and the fourth through sixth floors. A floor-to-ceiling window that opens two different ways depending on the handle's position overlooks a triangular courtyard where the residents' bikes and the trash bins sit. I'm living on the third floor (Danish third) of a good-sized apartment building on Christianshavn, the small oblong island that rides up alongside København central with a couple hundred meters of water between. My street is Voldgården if you'd like to look it up (the zip code, which goes before the city, is 1412; Google Maps'll pick it out right quick).

I'd say to mail me some letters telling me how much you miss me, Dear Reader, but, alas, after two nights living in my island-bound room, I heard back on another apartment lead. This one's in Nørrebro, a region of København to the northwest of center, about 10 minutes' bike ride from the main train station, Hovedbanegård (meaning roughly 'main station'). I hadn't expected to get contacted by this other landlord. In the variable sieve of my memory I didn't pay enough attention to the detail that he'd be telling me by Tuesday (20 January) if he found me the best choice for the room. I had thought it was to be Monday (19) at the latest. So! I am moving again! I lose my deposit to my current roommates, and I'm paying 1000 kroner/month more, but I gain some nice benefits.

First off, my Nørrebro room is three times larger! The L-room I'm in now; it's a mere 6 square meters. if I lie down across the widest portion, I can't stretch out fully. For the visual learner (like me), imagine a letter 'L' whose base is thicker than it is long. This geometry leaves only one place to put the bed, running parallel to the 'L's vertical spine, nestled in the corner of that 'thickened base.' As for the bed itself, we found the frame on a dumpster dive. It's a single-person rig that's just wide enough to let me lie on my back and long enough that my toes come to rest on the wooden footboard as my scalp touches the head piece. No mattress. When I arrived with my belongings, it was the only piece of furniture. Why would I even take this small, bare room? All my other leads hadn't contacted me back (not including the one that did two days later), and Svaleholm charges about double my rent for this place. I decided to wing it. It happened that my roommates are kind Danish guys, and they lent me a mattress, pillow, and sleeping bag to cover me during the cold København nights. One of them (Peter) even gave me a lamp to plug into the lone socket. All together, it was quite a shift from the well-furnished farmhouse near Risø. To make matters even better, when I reassembled the refuse bed frame, I found some of the screws missing. While I was able to get it into a whole piece of work, I had to use screws from the foot and head boards. Even then, I may have discovered why it was all trashed in the first place--it wobbles, even with the transplanted screws. Definitely not a bed to be used roughly! I have slept on it now for a week and it hasn't fallen down. Oh, what fun!

Second, third, and fourth real quick. The new room is furnished with bed, couch, and desk. The apartment has its own washing facilities (I pay 17.5 kroner per wash here at Voldgården). Finally, it's closer to the train depot (Nørrebro station) where I need to get to classes at DTU (they start next week), and a connection down to Hovedbanegård (often abbreviated to København H) for my ride out to Risø.

To make this long post not so long, I am moving Saturday, another adventure to close out an action-packed January. What a way to spend the first days of 2009!

For those of you I relayed my Vodgården address to, I'll let you know my new-new address soon, and the rest of you will get a (hopefully) more permanent one.

That's enough for tonight.

Until some undetermined future time! Hej og godnat.

At work, clean water, House of the Swallows

I've begun the workweek on a Friday. How incredible! After three days of workshops and conferences that I had no inkling I would be participating in beforehand, I am in my new office here at Risø. I share half a room, back-to-back with Janet Jonna Bentzen, a Danish scientist who has been here for some years. Our office is about 8 feet wide by 15 feet long; the upper half of its southern wall taken up by a three-pane window looking out onto a narrow parking lot between some of the buildings. It's quite cozy, but doesn't feel cramped. Janet, conversely, has filled nearly every inch of storage space. I have half a shelf along my wall, out of six shelves. The storage landscape is dominated by red binders containing a myriad of proposals, papers, research plans, student projects, conference material, and the like.

My desk is mechanized! By pushing a button near the right front end, I can raise or lower the top to a good height. This is a common workspace type (at least at Risø) and as I walk the office halls, I see a variety of configurations, from low to accommodate the shorter person, to stomach-high for the worker who desires to actually stand rather than sit during the day.

The day went well. I will be spending most of the next week in a lot of introductions to this machine and that co-worker, and this administrative procedure and that instruction manual. I have lab safety training sessions Tuesday and Wednesday. The facilities are so much more well-endowed than the ones at Mines (at least the ones in the Ceramics Center). No doubt this comes out of a sizeable bit more cash, but for my purposes as a visiting PhD student, I'm working in a gold-mine of furnaces, mass-flow controllers, soldering irons, and test stands, among many other tools, not to even mention the large chemical/powder inventory!

ø ø ø ø ø

I've moved from Anne and Klaus' house into a renovated farmhouse near the lab. It's called Svaleholm (Home of the Swallows), and the sign over the main stable door says it was built in 1868. On a bit of a tangent, in any conversation I've had involving the term "old" when applied to architecture, customs, or ideas, the Danish don't consider anything younger than 500 years to fall into this category. I tell them the School of Mines was founded in 1874 (already younger than the farm I'm living at), and they tell me, "Oh, well DTU was built in 1822," or, "København University was started in 1479," or they just smile and say something like "that's nice." It's quite alien to me to see buildings that have been around since before the Crusades, and still quite well-preserved and open to the public; some are even still used.

Anyway, Svaleholm's interior feels more like a medium-priced hotel. I've got my own room and am sharing a bathroom and kitchen. All the appliances are new, the furniture is new, and the heat stays on in the night. It's nice.

I think the most incredible discovery to me recently has been about the tap water. I've been told Denmark has really strict guidelines and enforcement policies for clean water everywhere, so anyone can drink right from their bathroom sink with no worries. In fact, some of the Danes have told me the tap water is often safer to drink than the bottled water from France.

I've already started looking for alternate housing. I want to live down in København if I can find something. After asking lots of questions and heavily relying on Google Translator (a nifty tool!), I found some good "classifides" websites, mostly in Danish. There are some good deals on here, so I'm going to check 'em out.

To that end, I've planned a trip into København for the weekend days. I've been using a really great public transportation site called "Rejseplanen," meaning "trip planner." You put in your start, end, time of arrival or departure, and it calculates all the possible routes to get you there the fastest. It includes the Metro, all trains, buses, and walking routes, even giving prices and detailed maps. It's quite handy for me and my poor Danish pronunciation skills (asking for directions without a map can be a real hard time).

Adios and hej and goodbye for now!

A Conference, Good Science, A Fifth Force

I've spent the last two days far away from Risø. Many of us from the Fuel Cells division are out here in Lyngby, a municipality north of København, at the DTU campus. The university is hosting a conference on sustainable energy technologies this week, and many scientists and students have come from across Denmark, Europe, and the world to participate.

This conference is really more of a workshop. Rather than listening to lectures and presentations (no poster sessions) all the time, the schedule has been split between this 'conference-style' and a 'think-tank' process in smaller groups. I estimate there are several hundred people here at the event, and the small group I'm in is numbered at 14. Our task is to discuss and present a developmental road map for synthetic fuels as chemical energy storage. It's a fascinating experience, because I feel so useless around these people. For any readers who've gone to Mines, this working group like an EPICS team involving your parents and grandparents. What I mean is, we have a few students (my age), a bulk of professionals and post-doctoral researchers, and a few (politely) older gentlemen from the university and research institutes (i.e. Risø). Basically, us students are sitting here while the 'big guys' quote us their publications, their numbers, and their knowledge, and we write it down and put it all in a report. Later this afternoon, our group will present our conclusions to a panel of sustainable energy big shots from around the world, though most of them come from Denmark and Sweden.

I wasn't required to come along to this conference/workshop, but, since registration was free, and Anne, the woman in whose house I am staying and who I depend on for transport, was going; so I came too. I actually got to contribute to the group discussion yesterday and today, so I feel much less like a broken vacuum cleaner, sitting in the corner and looking ridiculous!

Not wanting to be too boring and technical, I'll briefly say our group's goals, and then go on in more detail about the more interesting implications. We're comparing the energy value (Joules per kg or liter), efficiency of storage (euro-cents per liter), and production cost for various synthetic chemical fuels. Specifically we're considering hydrogen, ammonia, and hydrocarbons (methanol and DME). We've also thrown in an environmental comparison, looking at the cost of carbon and carbon-free fuels, and, if we use carbon based fuels, how best to recover the waste.

On this last note, one of our group members is a professor and scientist from Columbia University, Klaus Lackner. He is personally credited with the development of 'artificial trees' for scrubbing carbon-dioxide out of the atmosphere and processing it back into usable fuel (e.g. electrolysis). Check out his work here in a post on The Breakthrough Institute's website. Dr. Lackner is an amazing guy with a lot of experience in tackling the enormous complexity of renewable and sustainable energy technologies. I know a major criticism of renewable energy proponents is that they don't consider the vast number of hurdles (technical, economic, social, political, etc...). Lackner eloquently acknowledges these problems and constantly produces data and new ideas on how to solve them. For example, in his artificial tree project, he told the group about how his research has extensively looked for the best absorbent agent to capture the CO2 from the air--not just the cheapest or most efficient, but the cleanest, the least-harmful to the environment, and the most sustainable. It's this multi-faceted approach to everything in his work that impresses me the most. When we go around the table, everyone has made this ideology part of their scientific method. It seems to be a commonplace trend here. In fact, at the keynote speech for this whole conference, the director-general of the Swedish Energy Agency stated this: "In America, wind power is patriotic, in the Europe it's just good for the environment." Quite an inciting diction, and, though I don't believe for a second that European sustainable energy is solely 'fueled' by morality and environmental conscience, this attitude of sustainability in every aspect of life (technology, society, politics, and economics) is much more applied than it is in America. In the good old Red, White, and Blue, I feel we do more talking and excuse-making than actually doing anything. Here, everyone from the politicians to the assistant professors is producing real plans, objectives, and 'road maps' that can (will I believe) be realized in the next few decades.

The highlighting statement at this conference came from the same keynote speech by the Swedish energy administrator: "Don't ask: 'why go for 100 % renewable energy?' Ask: 'why less?' They believe it, and they back it up. A tactic of debate my dad wields very well (and I, unfortunately, often lose control and get overly excited when he does this) is to point out all the downfalls, the drawbacks, the shortcomings of an optimistic proposal, such as 100 % renewable energy. The Swedes, Danes, Germans, and all the rest, the companies, universities, and whole governments, are not, I repeat, not, negating the obstacles and the difficulties of achieving this goal. They've been 'pointed out' ad nauseam. Now is the time to focus on solutions, to plan out the paths, and re-plan, and re-evaluate, and retry when the proposals fail. It's time to stop talking and start doing. To shoot for anything less than 100 % is not only environmentally negligent, its economically moronic.

Of course, a nice bonus (to me it's saintly) is that none of these arguments and goals for renewable and sustainable energy need the 'Al Gore fever' at all. They stand plenty fine all on their own. As everyone in my small group here today agrees, fossil fuels have the edge. They are cheaper. The technology is cheaper. The companies, organizations, and governments controlling them can be very flexible to compete with renewables (see the impossible-to-predict price of crude over the last 30 years).

(In my humble opinion) it is clear there is a fifth fundamental force in today's globalizing world, one we can add to gravitation, electromagnetic, strong, and weak: money. It drives, pulls, pushes, tempts, motivates, creates, and destroys, and to a large extent, deaf to any moral outcry. Money has gone far beyond simple barter and trade, supply and demand. It has become a form of identity, raising up empires (i.e. corporations) to power, and in the same moment crushing them down into oblivion. My point is that instead of resisting this force and bogging down the quest for renewable energy with pointless pessimistic drivel, the job of the scientist is to make his technical solution more economically, socially, and politically attractive than the status-quo.

Bah! This post turned out to be much longer than I wanted. There's a whole other argument I want to make about the impatience of today's world regarding scientific, technological, and cultural progress, but I think I'll leave it for a later date. I am passionate about renewable and sustainable energy technologies. I believe if each member of the global scientific and engineering community starts every project with the ambition to address all aspects of our interconnected reality, the policy, economics, social impact, etc... we can silence the radicals, please the politicians, fill the banks with cash, give the stocks their green arrows, and become more responsible human beings. I will dispute the extent of human impact on the Earth's well-being with anyone, even the infamous and be-shamed Mr. Gore, but that's all irrelevant anyway.

The major notion to take to the lab each day and home each night can be summed up in this statement by Dr. Robert E.D. Woolsey, a co-founder of the McBride Honors Program in Public Affairs at my School o' Mines: "...pure technical problems do not exist--only those embedded in political, cultural, ethical, and moral problems."

Afsked Dear Reader

Denmark: Round 2, Jet Lag, First Full Day

Hello Dear Reader and goddag! I have returned to Denmark, and have begun blogging again after a lengthy hiatus. My writer's block (blogger-block) has been forcefully thrown aside by the need to keep you informed of my adventures! So, with some introduction to start...

I flew from Denver to Frankfurt non-stop, and non-sleep, starting Sunday, January 11, and ending up in Germany about lunchtime January 12. I estimate my total REM time aboard the two-deck jumbo to have been no more than two hours total. Credit goes to the (Indian?) family with two toddlers in the row behind mine. Ah, what a true test of patience and good manners!

Blearily navigating my way through Customs, and explaining the presence of my alarm clock and flashlight to German security, I caught my connecting flight into Copenhagen (I like the look of "København" better, personally) without any hassle. I had to get on a bus that shuttled a load of us Denmark-bound passengers out onto the tarmac, where our plane waited, and we climbed the set of rolling stairs to board. The briskness of the foggy German Monday was refreshing after the hot and cramped plane-ride.

The plane arrived on time in a clear-skyed Copenhagen. As I disembarked, I thought about the service I've received while flying throughout my life, and I've concluded Scandinavian Airlines (SAS) provides the best. These people are very polite, observant, and seem to have unshakable cheer and uncrackable patience. Lufthansa (my carrier from Denver to Frankfurt) comes in a close second.

After picking up my checked bag I made my way into the airport's main building to find the train ticket office. The Copenhagen airport is very beautiful, full of glass and color and winding, swirling designs in everything from staircases to chairs. There are reclining armchairs lining some of the concourse walls for the weary traveler to rest in between or after flights, a feature my jet-lagged body sorely wished to enjoy, but declined in favor of getting to my final destination with all haste.

I found the train ticket booth and bought a ride to Roskilde, the city where I am living (for now), and where Risø, Denmark's National Sustainable Energy Laboratory, is located. I am glad nearly every Dane speaks or understands English, for while I can read it in fair fashion, I cannot pronounce it correct enough to be useful, yet. I made it to the correct platform, looking for "Roskilde" on the view screen and boarded. I thought I would be fine all the way to Roskilde, but it turned out the train first stopped in Copenhagen Train Station. Here it stopped and everyone who did not want to go right back to the airport had to get off and transfer. By the time I found someone to ask, I had two minutes and had to be two platforms over. I think I looked like an overburdened Sherpa with my bags slung across my back and front, running up one escalator and (carefully) running down the other one, getting onto the right train connection 30 seconds before departure. Phew! A good thing too as the next one would come an hour later. The station is very nice, but I was anxious to get to Roskilde before it got too late.

Upon arrival in the mid-island town, I grabbed some cash and a cab to the home of Anne and Klaus Hauch, about 1 mile from the train station. They are a very nice, young couple, with a 9 month-old son, Jacob. This little tot is real easy to like. He has to touch and eat everything within reach, and he stares curiously at any new object (i.e. me), but he's also very pleasant and he loves his Lego bricks! I'm staying with them till January 16, and then I'll move into the Risø-DTU Guest House. My new home will be closer to work, but I'll have to cook for myself and I won't get to learn as much about Danish culture and family life, so I'm a bit sad be leaving so soon. Free meals and lodging is great!

I had not originally intended to spend any time with a Danish family, but when there was a scheduling mix-up with the Guest House people, I found myself homeless in Denmark for four days and nights. My boss, Mogens Mogensen, put me in touch with Anne, a post-doc researcher at Risø, and she agreed to put me up in a guest room for the week--very nice of her indeed. I have learned a lot from them about Danish customs, history, and language. I'm still real rubbish when it comes to remembering pronunciations (a real hindrance is that, like most native speakers, the Danish don't enunciate very well), but I'm getting there.

So far at this house, I've accompanied Anne on a grocery run, using bicycles (I rode Klaus') and towing the food home in a small trailer bin attached to my seat by a bar, running behind me on wheels. Klaus' birthday was today (January 13), and I heard, though I cannot remember, the Danish version of "Happy Birthday." Klaus' parents are visiting today also, having driven the 130 km from the city of Odense (say: 'Ooln-suh' while swallowing the 'l' a bit). They speak very little English, but are happy to trade expressions and learn new ones. Klaus is quite a cook, and we've had several great meals. When they don't know the English word for a vegetable, food, dish, etc..., they look it up in their Dansk-Engelsk dictionary and tell me. I've never had 'jordskok' before, but it's called 'Jerusalem artichoke' in English, looks somewhat like a mushroom, and has the consistency of a radish, though it tastes like a potato. Yes, very good food! In our dinner conversations we've been over Danish driving laws, what Americans eat on New Year's Eve (Klaus' father thought maybe we all ate 'Big Macs'), Danish history, food, a bit of politics, and all sorts of descriptions about the Rocky Mountains, Denver, and Colorado. Klaus works as a math teacher at a university that trains teachers, so we talked about the Danish education system and its comparison to those in America. Jacob is perpetually either at the dinner table or playing on a toy-filled blanket next to it. He cannot yet walk or talk, but he scoots himself between our legs, tries to eat our toes (or slippers), and often grabs the attention of one or more of us. Cute kid.

Ø Ø Ø Ø Ø

I went into work with Anne today. We rode the bicycles the 6 km (~4 miles) to Risø. Even though we left at 7:45 am, it was still predawn. At least, I think so, for I never saw the sky today. Fog and low-hanging clouds was the forecast and it held. I don't mind, really, the countryside is still quite beautiful and the town is very nice. Bike paths are built like separate, miniature highways running along the car roads. Except for the small side streets, every roadway has them. In town, cyclists even have their own set of traffic lights to obey at intersections. While it had rained during the night, the air was merely damp on our way up to Risø. It felt about as cold as a Colorado winter, and I'm glad I came plenty prepared for winter weather. Anne tells me ice and snow are rare; mostly it's wet, windy, and dim during Denmark winters. I've been told the worst part of the cold season has passed, and the days are about seven hours long now.

We arrived at Risø around 8:15 and I got my guest badge. I'll soon have a more permanent ID with a picture, and access will be easier. Anne showed me around some of the facilities (I'd been given much the same tour when I visited back in August 08), and I met some of the other 'early birds' (it's typical to arrive around 9am). Mogens was already there though, and we talked briefly about my initial duties here at Risø, i.e. getting safety and liability paperwork, lab tours, my office set up, a network password, and so on.

The rest of the day was occupied with a workshop on hydrocarbon fuels. This event consisted of nine half-hour presentations by scientists and PhD students working at Risø, all within the Fuel Cells and Solid State Chemistry department. We heard about hydrocarbon and hydrogen fuel production, systems integration, economic considerations, modeling, electrochemistry, and materials research. Much of it directly related to my work here, so I kept fairly good notes throughout the day. As with everything Risø-DTU is involve in, sustainability is a major factor, from basic design to system and market integration. This idea gets a lot of attention in Demark, coming out in mandates from their government, initiatives in companies (e.g. Vestas, DONG Energy, Haldor Topsoe), and all over academia. If you, Dear Reader, are not informed, Risø was originally founded by Physicist Niels Bohr in 1958, as a nuclear power research facility. It has long since shifted track to renewable and sustainable energy technologies, and the fuel cells division (where I am) is only a small part. Researchers here also work on fusion, wind, biomass, and solar, among others. So, yes, sustainability and renewability are two buzz words going around everywhere.

The talks were spread out by several coffee breaks (the Danish are religious about this custom) and a catered lunch in the cafeteria. The food was much the same as the fare I ate back in August, at Fulgsøcentret, and I made acquaintances over bites of fish and bread with several other people in the workshop group. Most of us are Danish, though there is another American, Chris, whom I met last time, a few Asian-looking fellows, and an Indian man named Shital. In all we numbered about 20 or so, I didn't count.

Tomorrow I will go with Anne in a Risø-rented car to DTU (Technical University of Denmark, the academic institution financially and legally linked to the government lab Risø). Many of the people from today's workshop will be there. The occasion is a two-day conference on renewable energy, and there will be more intensive and longer presentations on solar, wind, biomass, and energy storage. People are coming from around the world to attend and talk. A woman from NREL is scheduled to speak about the Colorado lab's wind program. I may attend that one. The schedule is largely a free-for-all in the reservation department, so I guess it's just "show up and listen."

That's enough for one day! I'll write more soon, so take care Dear Reader.

Afsked og godnat! (meaning farewell and goodnight. I had typed it as 'Afskend' back in August, but I was wrong, so, AFSKED!)