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As I took my second swig of Red Bull, my roommate looked over at me.

"Oh, it's going to be one of those nights," he said.

"Yep," I replied, as wings suddenly sprouted from my back and I zipped back into my side of the shoebox, I mean, University Suite. The fact is that my life, like many students at the University, is currently a living hell of papers, presentations and tests known collectively as Midterms. This week, I've got my first test (out of two) on Quantum Physics (my journalism friends will be unhappy to see that I have unnecessarily capitalized the Q and P, but I feel it is unwise to disrespect the subject. I'm a superstitious physicist, what can I say?), a 6 - 8 page paper about the films "Singin' in the Rain" and "Pride and Prejudice," (neither of which I have watched), a massive lab report due tomorrow (which I haven't started) and a physics presentation on "Dark Matter in Minnesota."

(Gulp) More Red Bull.

Actually, I completed the last entry, my physics presentation, earlier today. It went... alright. It got off to a rocky start. First off all, I had cut myself shaving, and whenever I craned my neck in a certain way, blood would start trickling out of my neck in a vampiric way. Second, I had drank two 24 fl. oz. bottles of Diet Mountain Dew, which had me wired and belching like the dog from "Christmas Vacation." Third, I was nervous. Ridiculously nervous. My professor, a relic from the stone age, scares the living crap out of me. It wasn't the actual presentation itself that worried me, but rather the 4-minute Q and A that followed.

Finally, it was my turn to talk. I bravely stood, carefully informed the class that they shouldn't worry if I burped, bled or barfed, and launched into my topic.

I hit the ground running. My overview, which normally took me about a minute and a half, lasted 30 seconds. If I didn't slow down, I was screwed. I began discussing the Virial Theorem, originally used by Fritz Zwicky to deduce that something was amiss in the Coma cluster of galaxies; using mathematics, I showed how he determined that some INVISIBLE AND MYSTERIOUS MASS was at work, bending light: DARK MATTER.

I was feeling better now. I gained confidence, describing some of the experiments going on in my home state of Minnesota, and finally, concluded my discussion.

I handled the Q&A relatively well. It helps to present on theoretical particles, because, well, most of the answers aren't known yet. So I can just shrug and look cute when I'm stressed, something another northerner has perfected.

Afterwards came the real terror: criticism from Mr. Professor.

Silently chiding myself for not attending church last weekend, I entered his office. He was smiling.

"Sit down so I can wipe the blood off the chair," he snickered, indicating the bloody pulp of the first presenter lying in a criticized heap on the floor. Sweet Jesus.

And then came the amazing... shocking revelation... He thought I'd done WELL.

Got an A, end of story. And I'm pretty psyched about it. Not so psyched about the fact I've wasted 25 minutes writing this. Back to beating my head against the shoebox wall-- doing homework.

(Gulp)
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Some presidents fly helicopters. Others control them via remote control.
SHOCKING REVELATION: Tuition at Drake is going up! Gasp! I could NEVER have expected that! Outraged, I decided to utilize my investigative journalism skills and have a look into this offense, and get to the heart of the matter by interviewing David Maxwell, President of Drake.

Actually, Maxwell is a pretty cool guy. I entered his office, pad and pencil in hand, ready to demand he lower tuition and give the starving students at Drake a break.

I was instead distracted by his electric helicopters which sat on his desk. They were SO FREAKING COOL — er, kind of neat. 

Every journalist knows that before you can slice, dice and extract those glorious answers to the tough questions out of your subject, you have to butter him up a little bit. Establish a rapport. Make them trust you, so they are willing to apologize to an entire country. I quickly realized that if I wanted to lower tuition and save the students around me, I would have to do one thing: talk about the helicopters.

It turns out that Maxwell originally owned the small one, but the larger one unexpectedly arrived on his desk one afternoon from a major credit card company, minus the remote control.

Maxwell was intrigued. Apparently, the package contained a sort of note. While I did not actually see the note, I imagine the gist of it went like this:

Dear RICH el presidente,

Enclosed is a electronic, equipped remote-control helicopter, a top of the line toy that every little boy and el presidente in America wants. These gadgets are so hot Santa's elves burned their fingers making them. And now it can be yours... for a price.

If you ever want to see her fly again, you must switch your corporate credit card accounts to ours. Otherwise, she'll be grounded... GROUNDED! (insert evil laugh)

I've never heard a story about a remote helicopter controller being held for a ransom of what probably amounted to several million dollars. TPFR. (That's pretty f**** random.)

Like Harrison Ford in Air Force One, Maxwell had to save this aircraft. Maxwell quickly phoned his VP, trying to find out if they could comply with the crazed captor's demands. She refused, citing some ridiculous reasons of contracts and legal liability or something. Whatever. 

Maxwell wasn't finished. He took to the Internet, scouring high and low for a replacement controller, anything that might give his plastic baby the gift of flight. But after weeks of searching, even the World Wide Web failed him.

Finally, he arranged a meeting between him and the peddler of plastic.

From what I gather, he basically pulled a Bill Clinton. Maxwell liberated that controller without a single punch or roundhouse kick. And the VP was happy, because Drake never changed accounts. Way to go, Maxwell. Way. to. go.

Oh, wait, tuition (yes, I DID do the interview). It really isn't that bad. It's only going up about 5 percent, and mostly is going to salary increases of faculty. The best part is that students actually have a partial say in which professor gets a raise because of course evaluations taken at the end of each semester. Besides, it's nothing compared to what California students are going through. 

I have to say, I'm not sure I've ever established such a random rapport. Sleep well, Fair Reader, and know that one helicopter is still out there, parading the skies, flying 65-80 feet into the sunset.
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