the online journal of jordan e.

Back to the Future
Oh sadness, the good times are over, as Dad and Jake flew back home today after a week of lots o' fun. Between the last blog and today, we traveled further into southern Germany, the Austrian Alps, across Switzerland, had a jaunt in France and went into the Rhineland country.
Some highlights included...
1) ...the fantastic natural scenery of the Alps. While driving through I almost felt like collecting rain water from the mountain streams and attempting to live in a cave for a bit just to soak in the beauty. Dad already had his canteen out.
2) ...the Wieskirche. This overly ornate church in the middle of a field houses a Jesus statue that supposedly miraculously wept in 1738. It was interesting to see, but the best part was Jake's reaction to the whole thing. He was really crabby when we pulled into the lot and at first told us that he wouldn't go in unless the cheeks of the statue were still wet. After being persuaded to step inside and stand before the statue, he decided that some midget with eyedroppers had climbed inside the thing years ago to pull off the stunt. All-knowing Sir Jacob was at work again.
3) ...cowbell land. The northeast corner of Switzerland is pure Riccola country. This is where those beautiful brown heifers with the gigantic bells roam, the men still yodel between mountains and they make cheese...lots and lots of cheese. In the grassy fields of a small town called Stein we found a cheese-making factory to tour. After seeing all of the historical and educational exhibits, we went to the actual factory to watch men behind glass windows cook up vats of Appenzeller dairy.
While watching the man in white golashes oversee the curd-holder, we sort of merged with a tour group there, thinking the join was completely legitimate because (#1) we saw no ticket booths or tour prices posted anywhere and (#2) we couldn't imagine anyone would actually pay to stand around in that dairy stench. So after hanging out with the crowd for awhile and watching a video with them we got in line to sample some cheese. However, one slice of Appenzeller Classico later, we were publically chastised for barging in on a group that apparently had reserved and paid for the tour. How embarrassing. Jacob, at least, had these kind words to say, "Does stolen cheese taste better?"
4) ..."The Shining," experienced firsthand. Imagine dark hallways with empty rooms, a husband and wife wearing traditional lederhosen clothing and many, many dolls. Dolls perched on dressers. Dolls hanging from the ceilings. Dolls ready to pinch your jugular vein shut. This was the fine establishment we ended up at after burning the benzine down to a liter or two while cruising through the dark hills of the Black Forest. While the outside looked like a pleasant oasis in the otherwise deserted streets, the inside seemed like death via continental breakfast.
Dad thought the place was charming. I was creeped out. Jacob, who also discovered a three-foot braid of actual hair hanging in the hallway, had begun to draw up a will.
5) ...the mysteries of my dad's palette. We somehow got on the topic of three new Jelly Belly jelly bean flavors: ear wax, dirt and booger. After asking Dad if he'd ever give the booger flavored ones a whirl, he very quickly (and might I add quite defensively) said, "No! I don't like boogers!" Me thinks that thou doth protest too much, Papa...mwha-ha-ha-ha.
6) ...the city of Worms. We spent but fifteen minutes in this place, but the wonder of its title made the small trip well worth it. Jacob even made up this excellent cheer, which is now available for the use of the cheer squad of Worms High, "We are the worms, we have some perms! We Are The Worms!" I can see that chant totally pumping up a crowd.

That's all I can think of now, though Dad and Jake should remind me of any other splendid moments. Hmm...still thinking...

posted by Jordan @ 9:51 fm

Grüss Gott!
Just a quick update here, soldiers. We explored more of Munich today. After watching the Glockenspiel do its jousting scene on the city hall tower we went to the Neue Pinakothek where we saw some amazing artwork. Dad leaned in a little too close to Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" triggering the alarm, but no handcuffs were involved. We also went to Munich's city museum, ate some apple struedel and a liverwurst sandwich. While eating the sandwich a tourist group from Italy strolled up, led by a women with a microphone. She was explaining the specialties of Bavaria and used us as props since we were eating the speciality.

Jacob leaves you with this...
"It's pretty hard not to be a know it all when you do actually know it all."

posted by Jordan @ 12:07 em

My peeps made it to Deutschland, thank goodness. We spent yesterday trucking it across Germany to Jena where we had Döner, a mini tour and then a night's sleep in my little dorm room (Jacob actually slept in the drawer under my bed making us dangerously similar to Waltons). Jacob, however, has better wisecracks than John-Boy. Some goodies that have come from his mouth included...
1) "If people could just see the humanity this war will bring..."
2) (In response to,"What do you think of Germany so far?") "I thought it would be more like Detroit."
3) (In response to, "Jacob, you need to wake up now.") "I don't care." (Proceeds to smack his lips and roll over.)

At the present time he is begging me to go to the Nickelodeon website so he can hear everyone's favorite sea sponge (Sponge Bob Squarepants) laugh. I understand now why I have missed him so.

posted by Jordan @ 8:02 fm

Hobo #7
My camping stint at the Frankfurt airport is just about over, as in just one hour and thirty-two minutes my dad and brother should be trotting through the doors to meet me. I can expect they won't be the perkiest of creatures after that long flight, but then again, they have been receiving regularly served beverages for the past seven hours, sitting in a reclinable chair and watching three-year-old episodes of Friends. That sure beats being slumped over your backpack on a bench. But, so is the life of an airport bum.
Seriously, there is some strategy when it comes overnighting it in an airport. First off, you need to claim some seating or you will be stuck crouching on the concrete. Seat vultures usually make their rounds at about 1am, so as to avoid having pity for the seatless and thereby donating your space to the charity of their bums, occupy yourself by reading a book, eating a snack or even examining a gum wrapper - anything to keep yourself from making eye contact with those terminal wanderers. After you have a secure location, the naps can commence. These are often interrupted by the cleaning zamboni or the ocassional loud traveler, but nonetheless necessary.
I really should have done some sleeping earlier today, but there was just too much to reflect upon during the train ride. It was also really, really nice out, too, which I think makes it harder to sleep. In fact, the weather was so nice that I decided take a later train once arrving in Amsterdam from Delft and got to spend a couple of hours outside. While there, I attempted to buy a falafel from nearby vendor though there was a bit of a mix up when I happened to grab the wrong pita from the rack. Falafel Vendor #1 totally understood the innocent mistake, but his buddy, the Falafel Demon, got really angry. In an evil attempt at revenge, he didn't tell me which sauces where what so I unknowingly doused my falafel in some fiery habanero dressing. I think I left my lips in Amsterdam.
Well, I've already given up my sweet seating, so I think I shall be off to their terminal gate now. And if Jacob has any leftover bags of peanuts I am going to pry them from his kung-fu grip.

posted by Jordan @ 10:50 em

Back in my hometown of Thunder Bay, Canada...
On Friday I made it to Den Haag, visited the Mauritshuis (art museum with some Rembrandts and Vermeers) and then met Martin at his super duper totally tubular job there (Martin, a graphic designer, does package designing for a company here). We then went to "The Hours," the film with Nicole Kidman, Meryl Streep and Julianne Moore. It's one of those movies where you could use a few capsules of Prozac to go with your popcorn, but definitely, definitely good. And if you can get past Kidman's fake schnozz, the movie leaves you with so much to think about.
Afterwards, we went to a place called Wox for a great Japaneseish dinner. It was there that my struggles with silences in conversations became clear to Martin, as he had observed me whipping out some freak questions. That discovery, however, turned him into a spawn of Satan, as he began revelling in the silent moments, mouth sinisterly zipped. I don't care - after all, he's the one with the serious gastrointestinal problems (see comments under the 3/18 entry).
As for today, though, we took a little field trip to Amsterdam. Our main intent for going was to visit the Rijksmuseum there. However, we managed to land in the middle of a pretty big demonstration. Being a Canadian, which is what my mom has forced me to claim since this war has broken out, made me feel pretty safe. Martin certainly could have also hoisted the old maple leaf and spoken tenderly of his roots in Winnipeg, but he preferred to be a rebel and stick with being British.
Nonetheless, we sort of tip-toed our way through the crowd to the museum, which was totally worth the trip. Among interesting articles from Dutch history, including the Battle of Waterloo, and rooms of antique Delft pottery, were more paintings from Vermeer, Rembrandt and a couple from Van Gogh. We decided that getting up close and personal with these works is a bittersweet thing; it's absolutely amazing to see them in reality, but at the same time these famous, idolized pieces end up just being another modest frame on the wall leaving you almost saying, "Is that it?"
On our way back we made it through the crowd again, heard a dirty little chant (1-2-3-4! We don't need no freaking war!) and got on the train where we sat next to some protesters who had decided to call it a day. After the woman, who was sipping a diet Coke, confessed to the man that she really struggles with Coca-Cola because, shame, shame, she shouldn't be consuming a product from America, Martin asked me about the weather in good old Thunder Bay.

posted by Jordan @ 4:10 em

Yesterday
I checked out Delft's outdoor market yesterday, dodged the trillions of people on bicycles, ate some kibbling and watched a lot of BBC news. My reactions? The market was okay - just a lot of stands with sort of cheapy stuff; the people on bicycles need to remember they aren't driving hotwheels and for the love of everything good, please don't manage to wedge that front wheel in my face while you are speeding down the streets; the kibbling, or little pieces of battered fish, was nummers eventhough I didn't eat it with gobs of mayonaise like the Dutch do; and as for the BBC, all I can say is "yikes."
Martin and I also went to Bart's parent's home for cake and coffee last night. They were great. I got to see more sweet photos of my relatives from way back when and enjoy them interacting. Couples who have been married for a long time (and I think Jan and Jeanne have been married for over 50 years) do and say some of the funniest things together.
Today I am off to the Haag to visit an art museum and meet up with Martin. So, I'll end it at there. I don't want to get what Martin calls "verbal diarrhea."

posted by Jordan @ 3:03 fm

Scaling Delft
Martin equipped me with a little orange book to guide one heck of a walking tour. I therefore spent the day consulting the pages of this fine publication, which directed me to sites all around Delft. Among some winner stops where Jan Vermeer's (the great painter) former residency, the Oude Kerke ("old church" built in the 13th century with flooring made out of graves and inlain tombstones), and stops regarding Prince William of Orange's long ago life.
In between all of the historical and educational stuff I took a break at a cafe for a Dutch panekoeken. It was very good, but what the crap?! At the pancake etablishments in the States they yell things like, "Pane-kooooeken!" when they bring it out. No such thing here; just a tasty crepe sort of thing with thinly sliced apples hidden between the crusts.
I did get one reminder of the States while in a grocery store, though. While roaming the aisles, the Red Hot Chili Peppers song, "Californication" came on. To really hear the sweet melody, though, you had to situate yourself underneath a ceiling speaker. I then navigated my way to the nearest one planning to gaze with purchasing intent at at the produce there for the duration of the tune. However, it just so happened that I ended up between the cat food and the baby diapers. Dang. I wasn't sure what would look worse: examining a can of Friskie's seafood flavored kitty meal or Pampers extra absorbant big kid panties - I settled with pacing in a five foot perimeter.
By the way, green bean baby food is one sale.

posted by Jordan @ 2:12 em

I'm leaving on a bus, train and jet plane
I left Sweden and Ingrid waving from the train track stinking early on Monday morning. As we cruised through woods and fields we would occasionally come across a swampy area. I remembered my dad's Marty Stouffer tips and was checking these areas for grazing moose. Just as I was about to give up and fall asleep, we passed a field with one bull standing there about 50 yards from the tracks. Ariba, I saw a moose. The excitement eventually died down, though and I feel asleep until Västeras where the train guy had to wake me up and tell me to get the heck off.
Through more trains, buses, flights, a few hours in downtown London I made it to Amsterdam where Martin picked me up and brought me to his and Bart's home in Delft (yes, the place that makes those loverly blue and white china). Holland is very nice so far, but I haven't gotten too far in. Once I have those wooden shoes and begin clod-hopping down the cobble stone streets with them I think I will get a real taste for the culture...yes, wooden shoes...

posted by Jordan @ 10:14 fm

A Belated Word About Stockholm...
I quite enjoyed this scandinavian capital - it definitely helped to receive some tours from some genuine svenska flickes. In fact, as soon as I arrived, Anna brought me to a avery in depth, three-hour university lecture on global economics. It was a shame I hadn't taken along my calculator and adding machine because I could have been the Super Number Muncher of the hour. Oh well. It was still interesting to see a glimpse into university life in Sverige, which seemed to be a lot like Germany's version.
Afterwards, we had a meal back at her place with her friend Marie. They shared political thoughts, updates on shopping finds and semla with me. (Semla are basic sandwich rolls with an almond filling and whipped cream in the middle. They are only served during Lent.) The semla didn't last for long, though, so Anna and I took of for a walking tour of Stockholm's old town district. We saw various old buildings, the castle, pieces of the harbor and of course her favorite shopping places, as she is one heck of a serious shopper.
That night we met up with some of her freinds and went to the Alcazar for a bit of mingling and fancy footwork on the dance floor. Well, the fanciful dancing can only be credited to the insane Swedes who were busting quite the unique moves. Among those were Anna's friends, Nina, a nurse clad in Svea brand clothing and Lynn, who is styding to be a clothing designer. As a joke I showed them how to do the "lawn mower," but I think they mistook it for a serious jive and "started the lawn mower" for quite a while.
Throughout the time with Anna and her friends I was so amazed at their English skills. I think the non-dubbed American television has something to do with their ability to correctly use phrases like, "holy cow" and "gosh," but I was still impressed. I also found the Swedish people my age to be much more friendly and talkative compared to the Europeans elsewhere (especially Germany). In fact, in terms of personality, the Swedish people seem to be the closest, in my opinion, to Americans (or Minnesotans). Me likey.
The next morning I met Ingrid, Victor and Jimmy at the Central Station. Victor and Jimmy took off right away so that left Ingrid and me with time to explore the museum scene. First stop was the Vasa Museum where the Vasa warship of the 1600s is. It was built under the order of one of those King Gustafs and was to be one heck of a fighting machine against the Poles they were at war with. However, during its maiden voyage out of Stockholm, it sank just one mile out - she was just too top heavy. The Vasa sat on the sea floor for nearly 300 years until they pulled it out in the 1960s and put it indoors. Ninety-five percent of it is still the original, Vikingesque thing and very cool to see.
Next stop was Skansen, a park filled with original farmhouses and other buildings from various eras and regions of Sweden. Among the quaint red homesteads of Mora and Linköping was a farm from Skane, where some of my roots came from. I felt so at home there that I was about to jumb on the bed, but the old lady dressed in period clothing didn't look like one to mess with. I realized that the wrestling move, the "Half Nelson" had a Swedish ring to it and she had the wickedly strong farm arms to carry it out. So instead I settled with enjoying the similarities between the Swedish and central Minnesotan farm scene. And in case you were wondering, Swedish cow manure smells just like that of our American heifers.
Our last museumy place was old Prince Eugene's art gallery, which is in his old estate. It held the surprisingly fine works of the prince himself, as well as pieces done by artists he supported. There was a lot of very beautiful art there - some very Swedish using pale greens and whites, birch tree scenes and red cottages to color the canvases.
By then Ingrid was itching to go shopping so we strolled the downtown area for the rest of the day, cruising in and out of NK, Ahlen's and H&M. While on our way somewhere, we ran into a huge protest. All of the participants I could see where either of middle-eastern descent or actually Muslim and were, I think, demonstrating against Hussein. That was the first sort of pro-war demonstration I had come across and was kind of encouraging to see. Though we don't really know the true motives Bush has for pursuing this war, we at least may know that an effect of such a conflict would improve the lives of thousands of oppressed people. After all, if those citizens are encouraging an attack - come bloodshed, violence and whatever else war brings - then you know they have it bad.
Victor is still convinced that this war is a total mistake, though, as does one of his favorite policticians, Gudrun Schyman who he and Jimmy tracked down that night in the Central Station. She was the previous leader of Sweden's left wing (communist) party until she was convicted of some sort of tax evasion. I guess the boys chatted it up with her about the government for a bit and then had her sign the toes of their Converse sneakers. I think Victor almost had a hemorhage from the excitement.

The rest of my time in Sweden was pretty much spent at home with the family. Ingrid cooked us some great meals and I heard a couple more of Johan's musical performances. I really loved that country and especially that family.

posted by Jordan @ 9:26 fm

This thing stinks. I have tried posting my Stockholm adventures twice and after completely typing out the long entry twice it has been totally erased twice. I cannot try again because I need to go find a happy place on the Gatwick Express now. (I'm in London, on my way to Amsterdam.) Will be updated soon.
Hejdo!

posted by Jordan @ 8:50 fm

Gimme All of Your Love
I just got back from a couple of days in loverly Stockholm, half of which I spent with Ingrid's second cousin, Anna, a university student there. She gave me quite the tour, as did Ingrid today. I promise to add all of the details later when I have more time...
We're all a bit spent since we just finished watching the big Schlager (sp?) Festival - that's right, 10 singing groups with 10 grooving tunes, all competing to win a spot in the European song competition. Göran was all about #3, "Maria," while Ingrid was a fan of these four singing Laplanders. Unfortunately, the first gig blew the competition away with "Gimme All of Your Love" (woof). We'll have to see how this crooning pair hold up in Latvia.
And a side note - oh no you di-n't, Kenny. I just got an email from my uncle Kenny suggesting a little karaoke jam session ala Ozzy. I clearly remember the last and only time I ventured into the karaoke realm at your house...I don't think I'll ever be able to listen to "Sweet Dreams" again without getting the dry heaves.

posted by Jordan @ 4:02 em

Västkustskt, Hår och Små Danska Olysckor
I had a great time hanging out with Victor and his friends, Marcos and Jimi yesterday. They brought me to the Museum of Work, out for pizza and on a little walking tour through Norrköping. They also tried to teach me some Swedish in between...it has taken all night to master this word, but I think I can finally spit out the "stskt" in Västkustskt (meaning, "on the west coast"). I have found that Swedish is a strange blend of German, English and Viking gibberish, which I am quite enjoying (especially the sing-song accent they speak with).
When we arrived home I finally got to meet the other son, Johan who is 12. He's a cute little guy and very musially talented - currently he is in a band called "Exodus" (previously known as "Sent from Hell") with other kids his age. In fact, this morning a friend of his, Hampus, came over and they had a little jam session in the living room, rocking out to Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train." Just as I was about to join with some head banging and a little Ozzy vocals, Göran came home for a little snack. I don't think he knows Victor overslept for his school internship thing and was already well on his way to Marcos'...maybe I'll get to observe a little Swedish family tiff tonight...
Ingrid also pulled out the old Cambridge High yearbook and a scrapbook from her days in Minnesota. The prom photo of Uncle Terry and her in front of Grandma's red Cadillac was definitely the winner in that bunch. I think we should resurrect that four-wheeled wonder from the dump and recreate that "Night in Black Satin" (or so called by the 1978 prom committee at Braham's Westview High).
As for now, though, I am off to Norrköping's art museum, a little shopping and then home for supper with the family. Afterwards I am going to Victor's play rehearsal - he's playing Hamlet himself in Hamlet. I won't know how to say bravo or magnifico at the end of an especially riveting soliloquy, so I will have to stick with the Swedish word for "good" ("bra") and hope they won't think I'm still speaking English and talking about my underwear.

posted by Jordan @ 7:27 fm

Could you please direct me to Paul Bunyan?
It could be the wintry weather; it could be the familiar natural scene, but I feel like I am in Minnesota here. Take away those blue and yellow flags and the husker du and you could almost be in Mora, my beloved birthplace. Then again, Mora's a modern town and the fastest growing one, too. Stores of every kind, here you're sure to find - there's more in Mora for you...or at least that's what the commercials used to say. Meanwhile, I'm waiting in Norrköping's public library to meet Victor and his buddies.

Did I just hear an uffda? I think I just heard an uffda. Oh Minnesota, you're closer than I thought.

posted by Jordan @ 7:52 fm

Vällkommen till Sverige!
Narrowly making trains and buses, I made it to Stockholm where Ingrid and her husband Göran picked me up and toted me to their lovely home in Norrköping. I wasn't alive to meet Ingrid back in the day when she was an AFS student in Cambridge, MN, but somehow I feel like I know her. Maybe Uncle Terry has just made her into a Johnson over the past many years. Either way, the Lindbom family is incredibly welcoming and I'm looking forward to all that will be happening this week.

posted by Jordan @ 2:44 fm

Ciao...
Simone is going. He's leaving this place of umlauts and sauerkrauts for his home in Genova, Italy; home to the place that invented blue jeans, birthed Christopher Columbus and wrote the recipe for pesto sauce. And the fact that he's going? I'm telling you what; that's a mighty sad thing.

Have you ever had a friend who could cook you risotto? Who seems to unceasingly smile? Who is just good, good, good? Maybe you haven't met Simone.

posted by Jordan @ 9:28 fm

I want to go deeper.
When I arrived in Germany I received an email from a friend with wishes that this opportunity would allow me to learn more about God, this culture and myself. When I read the "myself" part I have to confess I imagined that would go about a far as discovering whether I fancied pig knuckles or German tv; I hadn't expected much deeper from a little studying abroad stint. Yet now, over five months in, I am finding myself in almost a constant state of deep thought, stumbling upon realizations and revelations about myself and people in general. At times it's so overwhelming that I worry my body might implode.
Do you know that we only have 80-odd years on this planet? Just 80 years to make your mark on this world. It goes too quickly to spend even a minute obsessing about trends and worrying whether he likes me or if she wants to be my friend. Yet generation upon generation of mankind have puttered away their lives on these grounds, caught in the here and now and actually believing they are the center of the spin. In the end, when their tickers pumped the final roundtrip, all they could leave for the archaeologists were copper pans and some beads. They - the Vikings, the Aztecs, the nuclear family from 1952 - willed kitchenware and necklaces to mankind.
How do I escape these worldly desires for material and self-gratification when I already have so much of the world in me? The way I see it, I have three options:
1) Become a child of the corn and adopt the mindset that "people are the devil." Live in seclusion so as to avoid any contact with "Satan's helpers," but in the process manage to do nothing worthwhile, as the hills of Mongolia are not the most productive location for affecting mankind.
2) Get angry and get weird. Start wearing burlap sacks, living in shopping carts and hissing at people. While successfully separating myself from society's conformity, I would unfortunately confirm what many people believe: "Don't be different." Plus these days it's hard to find loose shopping carts - those keepers of the carts do a pretty good job of coraling them on in.
3) Instead of making the same mistakes as overwhelmed eccentrics of the past, set my eyes on Christ, the one perfect piece around here. He was the only guy who lived a perfectly selfless, holy, loving and amazingly effective life on this earth. Don't forget that he suffered for it...big time.

Jon Foreman of Switchfoot has it down even better in their latest cd, Beautiful Letdown. He's not lying when he says, "...It was a beautiful letdown the day I knew that all the riches this world had to offer me would never do...I don't belong here...I'm gonna set sight and set sail for the kingdom come. Your kingdom come..."
Between all of the hatred, greed and insincerity, this world is one heck of a letdown, but I must not forget that that realization is one of the sweetest things. I feel better knowing that just like Jon, "...I don't belong here. I will carry a cross and a song where I don't belong..."

posted by Jordan @ 7:50 fm

When you know Pump and Munch like you know Grandma's house
I spent a good piece of last night marveling over CW McCall's "Convoy." After about seventeen times or so through, I could totally picture myself in my very own eighteen-wheeler, proudly tootin' my horn at the request of those middle-schoolers sitting in the back of a big yellow bus. A life of Big Gulps, fuzzy dice and vinyl interior...
At that point I had also totally transcribed the sweet, sweet cb talk between the verses. I've typed it up below for your reading pleasure. Enjoy.

Yeah, breaker 1-9, this here is Rubber Duck. You got a copy on me, Pigpen, c'mon? Ah yeah, 10-4 Pigpen, fer sure, fer sure. By golly, it's clean clear to Flagtown, c'mon? Yeah it's a big 10-4 there, Pigpen. Yeah we've definitely got the front tour, good buddy. Mercy's sakes alive it looks like we got us a convoy.

Yeah breaker Pigpen this here's the Duck. Now you wanna back off them hogs? 10-4 about five mile or so. 10-4 roger. Them hogs is getting in-tense up here.

Ah you wanna give me a 10-9 on that Pigpen? Negatory Pigpen. You're still too close. Yeah them hog is starting to close up my sinuses. Mercy's sake you better back off another ten.

Yeah Rubber Duck to Sodbuster. C'mon here. Yeah 10-4, Sodbuster. Listen you wanna put that microbus in behind that suicide jockey? Yeah he's hauling dynamite and he needs all the help he can get.

Ah 10-4 Pigpen. What's your 20? Omaha?!? Well they outta know what to do with them hogs out there fer sure. Well mercy's sake, good buddy. Well we gonna back on out of here so keep the bugs of your glass and the bears off your tail. Catch you on the flip flop. This here's Rubber Duck on the side. We gone bye-bye.

posted by Jordan @ 9:26 fm

Observations from March 6, 2003
1) It's my papa's birthday today. Happy birthday Dad! His birthday surprise was driving to work in his 1971 used-to-be-red-but-now-is-orange Chevy truck...surprise, it started! Being that it is 20 below in old Minnesota right now and there are wide open holes in the floorboards of that sweet ride, the ten-inch icicle hanging from the glove compartment didn't melt a bit during his half hour trip downtown. That made for quite the nippy birthday ride.

2) The finest word in the German language is "Dudelsack." What does it mean, you ask? Why, a Dudelsack would be the bagpipe, the instrument of my choice to supply tunes for those Friday nights out with the friends. "It's Raining Men" is simply breathtaking when played with a tuned, Scottish bagpipe.

3) I received a top-notch package from Kara today. It contained a magazine, fun pictures with captions, Barbie chocolates with a Barbie bracelet (which I am wearing and making people shiver with envy) and a cd including an array of musical and comical masterpieces. It's even got the audio for the great stretching and kicking Sally O'Malley and Nick Burns, the computer guy from SNL. The compilation on the cd also introduced me to the legendary trucking song, "Convoy." Tell you what, if that song doesn't compel you to buy a cb radio, mud flaps and a White Casserole burger, I don't know what will.

4) Switching jackets is sure to bring pleasant surprises. I can always expect to find one or more of the following treasures, left from a couple seasons before, in the pockets:
a) money (score!)
b) used, gnarled kleenex (crusty, yet still useful)
c) reminders of the past including movie ticket stubs and Target receipts (oh that blessed store...Kaufland will never match up to your quality or convenience)
d) phone numbers from various guys (once again when I say "various" I really mean "none")
e) that thing that you thought would be forever lost, i.e. my Döner-Kebap stamp card (kind of like the one the sandwich artists at Subway give you, except this one is for those meaty, Turkish, pita sandwiches)
f) a rock (no comment)

5) Certainly the most sorry article of clothing from this age is earmuffs. Please quit manufactoring those things so that people can quit looking like Judith Light when she was on "Who's the Boss."

posted by Jordan @ 12:44 em

A Word About Biffing It
I just fell on the steps - that would be my very first, complete wipeout here. Of course when I say "here" I mean Jena. And when I say "Jena," I mean the computer lab building. So that was my very first, complete wipeout in the Multimedia Zentrum (not the one next to the Mensa, but the one by the Goethe Galerie). Score.
Okay, so I'm not that clumsy; I just have a tendency to snag my limbs on things. Here's my Top five all-time wipeouts:
5) Back in high school my friends and I had a knack for pushing the five minute passing time between classes. There was one particular time that the extra loitering by our lockers put dangerously close to seriously getting a tardy, so we started booking it down the hallway. As Megan Blix turned one of the corners, the soles of her shoes lost all traction and she wiped out. Being a good ten feet behind, I should have still been good to go and may have made the bell for Mrs. Gulbranson's class, but for some reason I trodded onward right over Megan consequently catching my foot on one of her limbs. The doors on the nearby elevator opened and Mr. Pothast got a chance to watch me trip over a girl laying on the floor, toss my textbooks and fully wipeout.
4) During spring break last year, Terry and Dan brought my cousin Kara and I whale watching in Monterrey Bay. The waves turned out being kind of big, though and as we got further out, the ship, she was a-rockin'. At one point, the rocking got so violent that I started to lose my balance. After stumbling back and forth a couple of times, I went to grab for the safety of the railing, but somehow kept missing it by inches. As I went for my last attempt at a grab, the wet deck added quite the hefty influence on the unsteadiness factor - I pulled a Fred Flinstone, running in place like a madman for a moment and then went down. Luckily, in the process of falling, I caught Kara's sleeve and brought her down too. We did receive an applause from the fellow whale watchers.
3) Middle school was a time for Teen magazine and having your own lockers for the first time. At Hermantown Middle School it was also a time when we got to have winter activity day. My friends and I all decided to spend it a Spirit Mountain for a little time on the slopes. Just when I was getting comfortable with snowplowing down the path in front of the chalet, my friend Jennifer Zawislak, who was like an expert skier, convinced me to go on one of the hills with a diamond symbol (diamond symbol = very difficult aka no amount of snowplowing will save you on this one). Despite the level of difficulty, I somehow made it down once safely (no doubt whizzing by everyone else like a firecracker because I didn't know how to do the whole weaving back and forth trick) and was ready for a second go. When we reached the top of the chair lift, however, my poles got tangled in the structure of the chair and I couldn't get off. I remember watching Jennifer and the rest of the group get off and ski to the side while I unwillingly stayed firmly planted on the chair that was now on its way back down the hill. I had visions of getting my pass taken away for riding the wrong way on a chair lift or even worse, getting eaten up by the mechanisms at the bottom of the lift. So in a last minute attempt at saving my back, I threw myself off the lift and landed on the orange, mesh fence. The man operating the machine didn't bother to turn it off for me, so I had to continually duck from passing chairs as I untangled myself and reclaimed my left ski. Once again, there was a resounding applause.
2) The first summer I worked at Park Hill Cemetery I wasn't used to the power behind those lawnmowers. After mowing Section G and the Garden of Acacia, I knew that those bad-boys could spin on a dime, but I had never attempted to turn under any high speeds. While up in Section E one day, though, just that happened as I somehow left the acceleration pedal on top speed and tried to do a little mow job around a maple. The centripetal force was amazing. The results were highly comparable to the scene where PeeWee Herman flies off of his bike in PeeWee's Big Adventure. The stinky part was that the folks at PHC had deemed me master of the crappy lawn mower (the one without any safety features) so the engine remained engaged and the pedal remained stuck in super-quick-speed mode meaning I had to make a quick recovery and run after the beast.
1) One night after dinner during freshman year, my friends and I were leaving the cafeteria to head back to our dorm. I was wearing my full camo ROTC uniform, complete with freshly shined boots and a nice, little "Cadet Nerd Alert" hat. Apparently my extra shiny boots had given me a little confidence and a bounce in my step, so I offered to give my friend, Maureen, a piggyback ride back to Fjelstad. We made it about ten feet down the sidewalk when I started losing my balance. In an attempt to gain it back I started to run, totally defying all common sense and everything that I had learned in physics. Ten feet later, I had literally run straight into the ground, scuffing my precious boots and crunching the brim of my cap...all in front of the cafeteria windows.

So, those were just a few of the goodies. Please inform me if I passed up some better ones and kindly pass on any extra wrist guards if you should have them.

posted by Jordan @ 2:59 em

Begging to be on Prime Time
In retrospect, the crowd at our hostel was too good not to go into detail about. Please don't mistake my writing for making fun of these jewels, but understand that I am merely amazed that I had the luck to witness the convening of such a bunch. Besides, someday these characters will be grounds for a made-for-tv special and the whole world will know their stories...

******

When we arrived at Home Guest House, Sarah and I decided that a short nap was in order, as sleep deprivation had caused me to have more eyelid on the bottom than the top. However, Room 6, where we were staying, was quite awake at this time and while I was making my bed, my radar ears picked up on a cat fight a few beds down. I peered over the flat sheet and saw lots of black leather and blue hair - I immediately turned up the Belltone; I knew this was going to be good. The actual dialogue was a little R-rated, but the gist went a little like this:
Goth/Biker#1: "Are you going to wear that?"
Goth/Biker#2: "Excuse me, do you have a problem with this particular muscle shirt?"
Goth/Biker#1: "Well, do you want people staring at you all day? You can see right through it."
Goth/Biker#2: "Why should I care? People stare at me anyhow."
Goth/Biker#1: "If you wear that they'll be staring at a lot more than they usually do!"
Goth/Biker#2: "You know what? I am not having this discussion with you!"
Just as I was about to throw my chair across the room and chant, "Jerry! Jerry!" Goth/Biker#2 settled with putting on two muscle shirts and they exited the room. Minutes later, I heard a guy outside our door asking for some health advice from a guy whose wife is a practicing witch. After their conversation ended, I stuck my head out and asked the guy if we could pick up anything for him at the store, thinking that a bottle of water and some chicken broth would do him much better than some Wiccan remedies. He came in and explained just exactly what that can of bad oysters had done to his bowels and went into detail about his "Five Minute Window of Opportunity" that he has after eating something (aka he only has 300 seconds to find a toilet). He also shared that he was from Winnipeg and then started losing focus and staggering, which he claimed were side-effects from the Codine he was taking. Sarah and I took that moment as a window of opportunity of our own and decided to get the heck out of there before he blew chunks all over us.
We came back to the hostel later that night to a hopping lounge. There we met Debra from London and her stuffed bear backpack, creatively named "Bearsac." I was enjoying her company when suddenly the tone of her voice changed and she said, "I'm 2 and 1/2 years old today!" Her voice switched back to normal and she said, "Yes you are Mr. Bearsac!" It switched again, "I talked to lots of new people in the metro today." Back again, "You sure did, Bearsac." She went on to tell us the story of how they met and how he (Bearsac) has his own website, rainsuit and dreams of having a television show. Mr. Bearsac (via Debra) gave us his two bits every now and then, too. I was expecting him to say, "Redrum! Redrum!" but he only talked about his day in Barcelona and the time he met Gary Numan.
I left the Bearsac scene for a moment to go upstairs for a map and a squirt of perfume. After I had joined them again, Goth/Biker#1 came downstairs. She sat admist the crowd and suddenly turned to one of the girls and asked if she had sprayed some perfume. The girl said no, but stinking Bearsac said he had smelled some. Then the Goth/Biker#1 looked straight at me and said, "I will get to the bottom of this." I felt the angst come over me and decided that I would either get knifed that night or beaten bloody with the chain hanging off of her wallet. At least I would smell good for the ambulance driver.
As I was imagining being gagged with a muscle shirt, Winnipeg had returned and was back on the "Five Minute Window of Opportunity" topic. As he described how a sandwich is transformed into instant liquid inside his gut, Goth/Biker#2 loudly set down her spoon and asked for a change of subject. It seemed there would be two knifings that night.
A change of location seemed an even better idea at this time, so Sarah, Huntley, Winnipeg and I left to get some tapas. From the minute we left Home Guest House, however, Winnipeg spoke only in accents. He started out with the Bangladesh accent, getting a few laughs from us, but he went on incessantly talking as an English banker, an Australian hunter and a German tourist long after the idea was funny. In fact, the dialectic talk didn't end until we were having Moroccan teas (a glass with sweet mint tea, filled with fresh mint leaves) and his Irish ranting suddenly came to a complete halt. He started wafting the air toward his face and said, "I think I smell some very fine hash."
We should have guessed that a Ziploc bag and a little black pipe would appear after leaving the cafe then. Apparently Winnipeg had purchased this little brown ball of hash(?) from the cave people in Granada. (It was probably a good thing Sarah and I hadn't rustled out the cave dwellers after all.) Whilst describing his purchase, he managed to drop the pea-size clump of whatever it was and had to spend a while searching the cobblestone street in the dim light. He finally came back up with something that was definitely brown and clumpy, but wasn't sure whether if was his hash or one of the many dog turds that lined the street. He smelled it once, smell it again, lit it and smelled it once more. It was decided that there was no way a product of Fluffy or Marmaduke would smell like that, so he proceeded to stuff it into his pipe and call us Mormons for not partaking in the smoking.
Not long after, we found what Huntley deemed a good tapas bar and ordered a plate of the appetizer things with octopus, liver, ham, cheese and more on them. Meanwhile, Winnipeg's neck suddenly had gone stiff, so he ran to the nearest drugstore for some extra-strength Tylenol. He came back, ordered a juice and pretty much confessed his general dislike for Americans, America and fast food. One particular rant went a little like this:
"Lips and arseholes! Lips and arseholes! That's all chicken nuggets are! In fact, they're not even real lips and arseholes - they're from these freak chickens with huge bodies and miniature heads with no beaks because the farmer had to clip them off so the chickens won't peck each other to death. I take one bite of those things and I can feel it destroy my body. Revolting stuff! Lips and arseholes! Lips and arseholes!" I was about to suggest we make a trip to KFC, but shortly after Winnipeg declared that his back had also gone stiff so he took the metro back to the hostel.
The three of us continued on our way to the Catalunyan metro line. Walking to our connection, a businessman passing by dropped a video from a load in his arms. I bent over to pick it up for him and saw that the cover was a picture of naked women. I didn't need a Spanish dictionary to figure out the genre of the film was your basic porn. I gave it back to the man whose face had turned a nice shade of red and was stuttering, "g-gracias."
The night finally ended at an internet cafe where we checked out Mr. Bearsac's website. The whole thing was generally quite frightening, but the kicker was the recipe section. There you can find a recipe for "Bear Ignorers Stew," calling for the flesh of people who ignore Mr. Bearsac. Sweet mother.
That money I spent for that night at Home Guest House was some well invested cash. I don't know if I will ever again stumble upon the sweet characters I found there, but here's hoping that I will.

posted by Jordan @ 5:31 em