Close the door--you're letting in a draft!

SCENE

Just finished dinner at grandparents'. Getting ready to leave for cousin's All-State Lutheran Choir Concert.

GRANDPA

(while leaving the room)

"Should we bring the pictures with to show Jane (my aunt)?"

GRANDMA

"We don't need to, Les--they're staying with us, remember?"

GRANDPA

"Oh, yeah."

GRANDMA

(aside, to me, while putting food away)

"Your grandpa's getting so forgetful."

(beat)

"What was I doing again?"

I sleep what must be three meters (I go to the science/engineering school, wanna fight aboud it?) from a parking lot that literally straddles my house. My room is an oasis in a sea of concrete. Oh yeah, and I also live in a super-saturated world of color. 

Chef Boyardee Lasagna: Pasta With Chunky Tomato & Meat Sauce

Good times in Dinkytown.

Last night a bunch of us went out to McDonalds for a midnight snack that also constituted a refueling of sorts. While finding a seat outside with our edibles, there was a fellow sitting at one of the tables by the name of Chris.

Chris is a 21-year-old incoming Freshman who was writing a letter to his mother, with whom he has been estranged for six years. Chris is also gay. The connection between the two facts was implicit, but understood. We invited him over to our table and engaged in a 40-minute chat. It was very carefree and open--a great conversation. I might not see him again (whatwith going to a school with 50,000+ students), but I wish him the best of fortune for his future.

Other goodies from the night:

1.
A conversation between me and some random girl progressed as follows:

(overheard conversation between she and another person): "blah blah blah blah blah-ical engineering blah--"

Me: "Hey, did someone say engineering!"

Her: "Hell, yeah! What are you!"

"Aerospace"

"Awesome! I'm electrical!"

"Sweet! What year are you?"

"A sophomore at Georgia Tech! Georgia Tech rules!"

"Oh that's nice...HEY! I'm originally from Duluth [Minnesota]. Georgia has a Duluth, too!"

"Oh, hey! Yeah!"

"Yeah! Runaway bride!"

"hhahahahaha!"

"lolz!"

"Yeah, that's awesome!"

"Yeah, small world!"

2.
We walked by an old man sitting on a chair on a sidewalk opposite from a sidewalk overflowing with bar patrons. He stared at them thoughtfully. As we walked by, he caught our attention.

"Hey, guys! Do any of you have a cigarette?"

Each of us responded with variations on "Sorry, I don't smoke."

He inquired if any of us had any change.

We gave him a combined $3.32.

"Oh, thanks guys! You know, I may be 60, but I'm never too old to smoke a little weed, you know? I think I have it all figured out, you know? The three B's is what I live by! You know what that is? Bags, booze, and broads! That's what I always say! Hey, thanks you guys!"

We all shared a jovial laugh, and continued on our way.

I love Dinkytown.

I'd imagine that it's ironic that when I woke up this morning, I continued reading my current book: Dante's Purgatorio.

So there I am

So there I am, exposing my underwear to passerby...

...at the laudromat.

Anyways, I'm unloading clothes from the washer for subsequent loading into the designated drying apparatus when three techno-punks walk in. There's three of them, each one with their own revival of the flock-of-seagull hair-style that didn't look good in the 80's and is still unflattering. They walk up to the Coke machine and the alpha-seagull puts his dollar in and makes his selection.

**Beverage Denied.**

**Change Denied. No, wait, here's a dime.**

"Shit, man," says the alpha.

"Shit!" quoth the beta.

"Dude, shit," mutters the gamma.

"Dude, shit dude! It took my money and only gave me a dime back!"

Unison: "Shit!"

They all proceeded to leave, mentally suffering beyond belief, and ironically stepped in a pile of dog droppings.

At least in my imagination.

THE BEST PART: Fourty minutes later as I'm reading my book waiting for my clothes to dry, a can of Coka-Cola falls out of the vending machine slot as some random bloke walkes by said machine. He looks at me, dumbfounded.

I think it says something about your culture when even the vending machines are beauraucratic, eliciting a forty-minute waiting period.

A spot of graffitti that is not on any old wall, but a wall that constitutes one of the four that make up my house.  

I've enhanced this picture so you can get an idea of the nexus of wires that pass over the parking lot that is by my house. Dinkytown is a small entertainment district that is sidled right up against the University of Minnesota.

My neighborhood of residence goes by the name of Dinkytown, but should really go by the title 'General Debauchery Annex of Minneapolis.' Still, there are many churches and religious centers within arm's reach in the neighborhood. 

Tales From the Homeroom, Part II

After reading the the gag-fest that was Jane Austin's Sense and Sensibility, my class was forced to write a love letter from one character to another. Well, I suppose the girls were more willing--it was the (three) guys who were, in fact, forced. To be fair, Jane Austin isn't so bad if you're into really old femme-novels.

Onward!:

Erik Axdahl
Mrs. Jensen
AP English 12
April 27, 2003

Dearest Marianne,

I sit here on a benevolent precipice watching the golden sun slowly drift into its cradle amongst its fiery cousins of the heavens. Yet, even amongst all this natural beauty, my mind cannot but think of your beauteous countenance. I cry tears of love and hope that I may never have to leave your side in this countryside which is now analogous to Heaven for myself. I love you more than the love that binds itself into Cupid's arrow. I love you more than the sea, which nestles itself into the womb of the earth. I love you more than I love myself.

Every day that I awake only to find that you aren't by my side, I curse the malevolent fate that would deem such a thing to happen. Life simply is not worth living without you. You are a part of me just as my largest toe is to my beautiful foot. If I had to choose what part of my body you'd be, I'd choose you to be my upper lip, after long and arduous deliberation. Then, when you are my upper lip, I may always kiss you with my bottom lip (which is still mine) as I pronounce nouns and verbs in my daily speech. There would be no moment where I would not be kissing you, my love. But alas! I curse that horrible fate that would not make you my upper lip! Thus, we must make do with what God hath given us.

Yea, I would fight for you. I'd lie for you. I'd walk the world for you. Yea, I'd die for you. You know it's true. Everything I do--I do it for you.

With Infinite Love,
Your dearest Willoughbunny

Everyone come to my rainbow party (7 p.m.)!

Normally I wouldn't engage in the otherwise pointless endeavor of defending my generation, but if I didn't I would be relegated to simply talking about the weather (today: typhoon).

There's currently an electric buzz circulating around would-be well-intentioned parents and socially conservative indivduals about the supposed phenomenon known as the "rainbow party." For those of you who aren't lucky enough to have encountered the news: 12-13 year old girls around the country, like an epidemic, are organizing parties where each girl wears a different colored lipstick, engaging in a competition where the "divining rods" of a clutch of invited boys are "attended to," leaving rainbow-esque rings of color on each boy's member when all is said and done. Of course, not a lick of this is true--no pun intended--but that doesn't stop this un-truth from spreading faster than a cupcake through Rush Limbaugh's digestive tract.

Honestly, the scorn served upon a generation by its predecessors is nothing new. After all, not long ago it was considered to be a grevious taboo for a woman to bathe in anthing less than a dress. The generation of the toke'in 60's was undoubtedly bemoaned as the end of civilization by our grand- and greatgrand- parents, and yet it is these people who are driving our high-powered society. Normally anothing more than an apathetic yawn in response to such castigation by the "higher-ups" would be affording the topic much more attention than it deserves. However, there is a certain sickness in suggesting that 12-13 year olds, suddenly and in droves, are replacing after-school Power Rangers (or the modern equivalent) with after-school suck-fests.

"But Spaceman Axdahl, sir, I humbly submit the observation that girls are showing their clevage, a decidedly slutty display," says the nut who doesn't know an urban legend from a fact.

I respond, "No one calls your wife a slut when she goes to a fancy party in a tight dress, so no one should call that girl over there a whore for showing 1'' of her boob crack. Don't belittle your and my intelligence by bringing up that red herring again."

Granted, there probably are 12-13 year old girls who have had sex. I'm sure there are 12-13 year olds who have had group sex. Surprise, surprise. Such activity has occured in every generation back to the Greeks of millenia-past. The only difference with the kids of today is that they get the honor of being painted by yellow journalism. Pre-adolescent sex is only widespread in the sense that there's probably enough sexually-active youngins where you could hold a small convention if you put them all in the same room.

Guess what? I've also never been asked to play snap during my entire school career. Neither has anyone else, save for maybe one or two in the world. There's another urban legend that has faded from public memory, but has still done the deed in chinking the rusty armor of today's youth.

The Pledge of Allegiance will not be replaced by the Pledge of Auparishtaka any time soon--or ever.

"But Oprah..."

"...is an idiot."

There's much more to say, but I'm done.

Tales From the Homeroom, Part I

Yesterday on my way to work I saw a car driving the wrong way down a one-way street...backwards. I was confused at first, but then I embarrassedly realized it was opposite day and proceeded to follow suit. Also, I'm in jail right now.

Today I present Part One in a multi-part series where I dredge up old high school school essays and present them to you raw and unedited. Today's "origin" story is entitled The Highland, The Ditch, and The War Zone, written for Honors English 10. Enjoy.

Erik Axdahl
Period Ten
Honors English

Once Upon a Time, during the Ham Dynasty, there was a small girl named Bowler that lived in the Highland province of Konichiwa. Konichiwa was a war-torn country at the time, and many people were getting killed, hurt, and their precious wells of water were being drained of their watery goodness. What will they drink?

Bowler was sad and angry, so she went to her special place. This special place was a giant red lake known as The Lake of Kheul Ade. Bowler began to cry into the lake, and the ground began to shake. Suddenly, from the middle of the lake, a giant pitcher with a smiling face on it emerged and he spoke to the girl.

“I am the mighty guardian of Kheul Ade!” boomed the voice of the mighty elemental, “I was awakened from my slumber by your sobbing. Girl, why you cryin’?”

“Oh mighty spirit, I don’t know how to go on! My small village has been destroyed by a civil war; we’ve lost everything! We don’t even have a refreshing beverage to drink on a hot day. Please help us!”

The sassy spirit pondered her panoramic presentation of the problems in Bowler’s bad, bogus life, and said, “Hmm, you are in quite a quaint, quagmire of a quandary, aren’t you? This is what I’m gonna do for you: I will pay your village a lil’ visit, and pour my Kheul Ade splendor into their cups and mugs. They will drink of the Kheul Ade, and will be energized with life and vitality with its sugary and artificial flavors. You will show the rest of the world the Kheul Ade, and have them partake in the splendor that is Kheul Ade. Behold! The drink of the Gods! The One—The ONLY… Kheul Ade!”

A small party cup appeared in her hand with a red fluid in it, and she took a sip. It was so delicious that she began to weep with joy. She showed the rest of the world the Kheul Ade, and they loved it! They loved the Kheul Ade so much, they created other variations of the divine drink, such as Banana n’ Berry, Apple Twist, and the coveted and sacred Fruity Punch.

So as you drink that delicious beverage known as Kheul Ade, remember it’s story. With every sip, the spirit of the Lake of Kheul Ade and Bowler smile down upon you from their seats in the heavens. Savor its delicious energizing qualities forever and ever, Amen.

This is a hyperbolic paraboloid. It's perhaps the best paraboloid you've ever seen. In fact, it's so great that you will soon say, "Hey, what just kicked me in the side of the head?" It was the hyperbolic paraboloid. 

Meowz

I've been trying to find a copy of A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams.

I've been spending all of my days at the bright, white, sterilized lab writing lines of code while wearing the standard issue lab coat with gloves. In addition, 'Bleep Bloop' noises can often be heard in the background at SAFL.

Oooh, I wish.

It's true I've been doing nothing but coding, but St. Anthony Falls Laboratory, being a hydraulic laboratory, is very humid, hardly new, and darker and dirtier the farther you go down into its recesses. There's also worn asbestos floor tile in my office, and my life will only be saved once the University decides that they have time to re-finish the floor.

It's still a great job. However, I still haven't had a summer vacation, so I have no choice but to retreat into the scapes and adventures held in those things which I cleverly call books. Luckily, I live next to two used books stores. Unluckily, I am plagued by three book compulsions:

1. I am frightened of used books. While I will read a used book if a gun is put to my head (even if that gun is poverty [I make the best metaphors in the world]), I prefer to be the first one to read any book that I read. I cannot possibly justify this phenomenon.
2. I must own any book I read. Whether I want to own many books because I like to use them as some sort of intellectual trophy, or that I just want to look deceptively well-read, I must own anything my eyes grace.
3. I despise when books take on graphics of the movies that are based on them. If I'm going to read Harry Potter, I'd rather not see the face of Daniel Radcliffe looking far too serious for the spirit of the series. If I'm gonna read A Series of Unfortunate Events, please let it be so that I don't have Jim Carrey's gawk forced upon me. If I'm diving in the Lord of the Rings, spare me Viggo Mortensen with that look of his that makes women lactate for some reason.

I was at Target last night with Marie and saw Hitchhiker, but its cover featured characters from the movie. One of my roommates owns the book, but my roommates are dirty, so cancel that. I live next to a library, but I would rather probe the used book stores (cringe).

Barnes and Noble, here I come?

Do you want to touch my comb-over?

In the next installment of Erik's Book Club is The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, by Mark Haddon. It is a novel written from the first-person perspective of an adolescent afflicted with autism. It is written in the form of a mystery, and provides what I hope are accurate insights into the autistic mind.

It really isn't as thought-provoking as it is interesting. Very interesting. No seriously, I've had this book for one day and I'm already 150 pages into it. I highly suggest it.

Also, I was watching MTV's Made today, and was reminded of my own middle-schoolery. A comb-over, braces, and sweater-vests made up my daily appearance. I also hung out with the Magic the Gathering crowd and carried around programming books every once in awhile. Alas, I was, in mentality and acutality, a nerd. Now I'm only one mentally. Behold the modern Erik Axdahl:



Rawr. Muy loco en mis pantalones.

The Tortilla Curtain

As I was driving on my way to the Nexus of Commerce, that store which we call Target, I saw a common sight: a homeless man, in this case a hispanic fellow, on the side of the road with a sign pleading for help.

I don't know what makes me stop short of being helpful each time. I always feel the urge to roll down my window and extend a pittance of cash to anyone who is stranded in life, but something always stops me. Is it mistrust? Is it fear? Maybe it's because I need that dollar for the laundromat when I get home, even though the person on the other side of the window probably hasn't worn clean clothes for weeks.

I just finished a novel entitled The Tortilla Curtain, which details the chain of bad luck encountered by a Mexican "illegal" and his wife, and a "libral-minded" resident of a wealthy cookie-cutter neighborhood who turns out to be as racist as the rest of society. I always think it's important to read these "perspective" novels in order to gain an empathy for the lot dealt to different people.

Then why didn't I extend even a dollar to that man tonight? Worse yet, why did I spend that dollar on a keychain in the shape of a shark that doubles as a bottle opener...when I don't even drink beer.

Is there hope for me? I can't help but to feel remorse after denying that man basic humanity. I can't help but feel ashamed at the comfort with which I sit on my chair, my belly sufficiently full and my body sufficiently cooled by a fan.

I know my mindset has much company, which makes me feel worse.

How can I part the curtain and share my blessings?

Breaking wind...tunnels

This weekend I went to the Science Museum of Minnesota, which was like throwing a kid in a giant bucket of candy. I was drowning in science...but drowning happily.

The experiments ranged from the innoculous (read: cute stuffed baby polar bear), to the gag-reflexing (read: squeezing a scent bottle in such a way that the scent goes up your nose and down your throat. The scent? Skunk urine), to the scientific blood-lusting (read: the aerodynamics and fluid mechanics exhibit).

When I saw that they had a exhibit featuring different, adjustable shapes in a tank with seed-doped fluid running over them and a fully-functional wind tunnel with graphing software, my mental state was that of an engorged baboon hyped up on pheremones. Already slightly irritated that kids kept cutting in line for the remote-controlled Mars Rover mockup, I tried my best to wait patiently for the wind tunnel as some kid fumbled with the controls. However, when Marie came by, I meant to say that "I [was] waiting for this exhibit," but it came out as "I [was] waiting for this exhibit." I also accidentally said this louder than I meant to, prompting the prospective scientist to turn around and, frightened by my half-crazed pose and drooling countenence, scurry away. I felt slightly bad, but was quickly distracted by doing lift and drag comparisons on all sorts of fun shapes and airfoils. On a Saturday afternoon.

Bad Erik.

Axdahl for Mayor

Begin blog business...

So hosting this blog on my University account mysteriously means that no one can comment on my posts for some reason (as if anyone one would...you know...with the new location and everything *diluted thinking*). Therefore, I have moved this blog to the Blogger server, which subsequently changes its URL to http://spacemanaxdahl.blogspot.com/. However, if you've bookmarked, http://www.tc.umn.edu/~axda0002/blog/, you might as well keep it that way as I have it on an automatic redirect until I can solve this problem-o.

Also, check out some of the quality blogs that I'm liking to on the navigation to your right. No, not your physical right--to the right of the screen! More to come...

...end blog business.

Begin writer's block...

It's 11:08...oh damn--so close!

Hmm...what else can I talk about?

So...I'm growing chives in a little pot in the exposed window that gets the most light. However, by the time I get home from work, they're all bent to one side after trying to get the sunlight as the day progressed...

...yeah, it's too bad, isn't it? Not the chives...my lack of writing ideas tonight!

Welp, better luck next time! :-D

Oh what the darn

So after much hounding on my part over the school year, Cirrus Design, located in my hometown Duluth, called my home today to offer me an internship...

...

...which, in the engineering world, is what we like to call bad timing.

You know, I'm flattered, and sort of sick about it at the same time. I mean, the opportunities that I have at St. Anthony Falls Laboratory are quite excellent--opportunities for advanced research up the road, and such. I'm paid well and treated well by those whom I work with.

However, at this point it's only indirectly tied to my major. It's work in fluid dynamics, working with cavitating hydrofoils.

Cirrus on the other hand...Cirrus is an actual aerospace engineering internship for a burgeoning aerospace engineer.

There's no use dwelling on this fact, though. I will remain loyal to the lab where I'm happy and have opportunity for advancement. I'll call Pam at Cirrus and turn down the position, and count my blessings for the life I currently live here in Minneapolis. I'm living on my own, and it's going to stay that way.

But do you ever think about how it could have been?