I'm so glad this month is almost over. It's been a rough one, Enduring Readers. I had this funny idea that this semester couldn't possibly be as hectic or as time consuming as Fall 2009. In April alone, I created an 8-page section of the Drake Relays Edition Times-Delphic (Features A, you better check it out!), studied for and took a quantum physics test (I can summarize that awful experience in one Northern Minnesotan word: Uffda), developed what I hope is just a mild caffeine addiction and pretty much decided on the course of the rest of my life.

I'll begin with the latter. I am now enrolled in Drake University's School of Education program, going for an education degree plus endorsements in physics, journalism, general science and, believe it or not, possibly math. Also, I'm getting my BA in Physics — that elusive physics major, and, if it doesn't mean too many more classes, possibly a math minor.

Yes, this will mean a solid platform (I think) I can sell myself to employers on. No, it won't mean I can graduate in four years. That's okay. I've accepted that, for the most part. I wish I'd planned a little better earlier on, but hey, what can you do at this point? I'll sneak in a few summer classes wherever I can, but I'm not holding my breath.

I imagine that in the near future I'll feel the same way about my physics degree as I do about the Relays Edition of the Times-Delphic: intensely proud, but I still want to take it outside and burn it in a trash barrel.

Don't get me wrong. I've pushed myself to places I didn't know I could go to with physics and the Times-Delphic (like pulling two all-nighters in a row, for instance). But when I think about tearing up the Relays Edition, even jokingly, I feel this strange sort of catharthis, like I'm telling this thing that had so much of a monopoly over my time that it doesn't own me anymore. That I won. I beat it.

It's a pretty strange juxtaposition of ideas, I admit, but don't get worried; I'm not about to go Office Space any time soon. I haven't torn up the Relays Edition, and I'm definitely not going to torch my future physics degree. It's just my thought of the night, I guess.

Does anyone else have any idea what I'm talking about? Do you ever just want to tear up that paper you spent hours writing, because you suddenly have the power to? Or am I nuts?
 
 
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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.