the online journal of jordan e.

Friday's Child Gets A Piercing
She claims she is not the least bit nervous. No racing heart. No sweaty palms. No shortness of breath. In fact, seemingly no angst has overcome Amber Vandenberghe as the train bumps along toward the Erfurt piercing studio, the exact location where a metallic stud awaits its relocation into her left nostril. And that little curve of skin is in prime condition for the operation.
Amber credits the idea to me, "Jordan said, 'You'd look good with a pierced nose,' and I was like, 'OK.' Let's just say Jordan has a lot of persuasive powers."
Taking advantage of the subject at hand, I tell her that I would look good with a BMW - one purchase by her. But I see my powers are not that mighty. I make another offer, this time a Happy Meal. The request for a golden-arched carrying case of deep-fried goodness is followed by much hesitation and I know she is right; I can get anything I want - the cheeseburger is mine! I consider trying further and suggesting she also get a lifesize tattoo of Delta Burke's head. But even I know that these sort of things take baby steps and today's step would simply be a nose piercing.
"It's going to be a little, neutral black stone," she says, "and after much deliberation and research I chose the left side; mostly because I part my hair on the other side."
The laws of symmetry seem too logical a reason behind these decisions - the piercing is probably an initation step into one of Jena's gangs. I ask her what she thinks of the Bloods and Crypts, to which I receive no response. Today they have you piercing your nose, tomorrow they'll have you peddling crack. Tha thug life is a hard one, I tell her. Yet, like always, she is at ease with her decision.
I want to ask her what she thinks of large, sharp needles, but I don't want to ruffle her feathers. So instead I ask her what she would do if the piercing causes her nostril to eat itself away with gangrene, forcing an emergency nostril amputation. I give her three choices: a) Sue the piercing place for all the hair extensions; b) go simply nostril-less or c) have a prosthetic nostril crafted to fit her nose. With amazing confidence, she answers with a 'b' and decides that in case of such an emergency nostril amputation, she will simply claim to be the unfortunate victim of a mongoose attack.
Smooth, I say. It's clear that she has the whole hypothetical nostril-rot story covered, but how crafty will she have to be when her parents, Sheryl and Al find out?
"They won't care," she insists. Though she's betting that, even from his perch on the living room recliner, her dad will instantly notice. He might even turn down M*A*S*H to say, "Kid, what'd you do?" Yet she's sure that her new facial ornament will be a Vandenberghe family hit.
Besides, even if her dad begins ripping out the chair's stuffing and beating his chest at the sight of the little jewel, she'll at least have other friends in the area to provide support. Robin, for instance, is a fellow Brainerd resident and was visiting Amber when they spotted, "Vonic Piercingstudio" on one of Erfurt's main streets. Considering the reputations of tattoo/piercing parlours, I feel sure that Amber performed a complete background check on the said establishment before confidently choosing it.
"I walked by it once with Robin," she remarks on the extent of her background research, "It looked like a nice place and prices weren't too shabby." The studio had one more seemingly positive attribute: "It was well lit."
Upon arriving at "Vonic Piercingstudio" I immediately begin testing Amber's apparent sixth sense for excellent piercing parlours. The racks of hair clips and bracelets are all in order, I decide, so we proceed past the tag-board sign to the front desk. Amber signs some contract, forks over 25Euro and is presented with a few sets of studs to choose from, none of which are her beloved black.
"I wasn't happy with the choices," Amber remembers, "I picked the little stars because Jordan told me to." (*Note the return of persausive powers on my behalf.)
We retreat into the back room with "Katja," who Amber decides is a "pretty nice person - not a child molester." Ignoring us, Katja prepares the surgical intruments and scolds me for getting photo happy and snapping a shot of her preperation methods. She marks the nostril with her magic marker, takes a pair of scissors out of her oven, requests one of the other girls turn on some music, slips on a pair of latex gloves and then listens to the lyrics, "...and we will live for evermore because of Christmas day..." Then, without any warning, she spears the snort-sprayed nostril with a monstrous needle attached to a plastic tube, which she pulls through the fresh hole. I see just a mere flinch on Amber's part and for a minute she looks like she skipped the gang initiation all together and went straight for an African tribe look. But then Katja clips the plastic down, followed by the inserting of the stud through the tube. The clip on the back won't work, so she settles with wiping up the excess red juice that has begun dripping out and applies a fashionable flesh-toned bandage to her schnozz. Exit, stage left, we retreat out of the place, content with the job.
Though the bandage is still intact upon our return to Jena, Amber is already confident. The star fits what's she insists are "penguin shaped" nostrils and is healing well. With all of the success from the operation, however, she begs that people continue to know her for her - not the the nose stud. Call her "Stud Muffin" call her "Blueberry Muffin," but don't call her "Nose-studded Muffinhead."

posted by Jordan @ 12:21 em

The Goods Are Mine
Smashed in my mailbox flapper today was one of those lovely beige envelopes; a package, if you will. After doing a brief dance in the foyer, I ripped it open to discover a package full of jelly beans, M&Ms, Hello Kitty, stickers and Peeps - five rows of pink bunny Peeps.

Kara, my cousin, my friend, you are the coolest. And I am not just saying that because you used to be in love with Joey Lawrence. Thank you.

Anyhow, now that I am thoroughly stocked up on Peeps, I, along with a few other curious souls, are going to perform some Peep research of our own. The folks at www.peepresearch.org may have made some important scientific advances with their Peep experiments, but we believe the German flavor here (aka Vita Cola, sauerkraut juice and the unending supply of mineral water) will deem some more interesting results.

posted by Jordan @ 1:52 em

One More Thing That Can Make Me Pee My Pants
I have recently discovered that Amber can make her voice sound exactly like she is speaking through a mechanical voice box. She goes through this spiel about how she smoked Marlboros for 26 years and then warns all of the kids out there to quit smoking. And yesterday, the retired chain-smoker within her got a job at Subway. I was-a-battling my bladder when she asked if I would like mayo with my turkey in that Pall Mall sort of way.
In addition to the highly amusing voice, she told me about this guy she knew who once suffered whiplash after a particularly violent sneeze. Don't I know the pain of such freak accidents. Just last year, my left foot was a tumorous blob for nearly 8 months, as it incubated an inch-long piece of toothpick. Freak accidents can be so precious, can't they?

posted by Jordan @ 6:02 fm

It's the basic love story of a boy and his pet mealworms.
Ned, Ed and Fred, meet Jonah, your caretaker; your guardian; your surrogate mother. He'll find you just the right yoghurt container with just the right amount of Quaker's oats and he'll love you, you three, crusty musketeers. Daily, he will take you down from his dresser, feel around in the oaty goodness for your squirming bodies and make you race each other on a piece of notebook paper - it's going to be Ed, no, it's Fred, why, it looks like Ned's got this one licked. And if he remembers, he will put a couple of holes into the cover of that Land O' Lakes plastic so you can breath in there.

If he remembers.

Ned, Ed and Fred Mealworm-Shermer
Beginning of June, 1995 - Middle of June, 1995

posted by Jordan @ 12:08 em

Or so I thought...
I was planning on a celebratory letdown this past weekend. While dumb me was too worried about chocolate treats and bunny feets, Germany surprised me and brought me to my roomie's home in Rottenbach for Easter, which was absolutely smashing. I got my family fix from all directions, as her family lives with Oma and Opa Bahdahn, there were aunt and uncle visits and we trekked it into Hessen on Easter for a day with Tante Marion and her husband.
In fact, I spent about three hours talking with her grandparents after a lunch of potato salad and wurst one afternoon. After the Oma had pulled out old photographs, shared her potato salad recipe and told me all about her osteoperosis, Grandpa Willy read the newspaper outloud with regular interruptions by the grandma who wanted to know if I was thirsty or if I'd rather sit in the armchair. While I thought we had bonded a bit during our chats about the olden days, I discovered later, during afternoon tea, that he still didn't know my name, to which the rest of the family responded with a phonetics lesson.
"Elizabet?"
"Tschordan."
"Slordan?"
"Nay! Tschordan!"
"Schodan?"
"Nein, Opa! Tschordan!"
"Can you pour me another cup of coffee, Elizabet?"
They finally passed him a scrap of paper with my name scrawled on it. After studying the word for a few seconds he let out a hesitant "Tshooordan," which was followed by applause.
Opa came upstairs later, too. He first gave Nadine and her sister, Romy, 15€ and then handed the same amount to me despite my protests. "Take it and spend it!" he said, "You can't hide from the Easter Bunny in this house! Now have a happy Easter, Elizabet...I can't remember your name, I lost the piece of paper."
Between meeting the Russian family and other relatives, I managed also to receive a hanging clown doll, a cutting board with a horse image burned into it, two wooden spoons, a basket filled with candy, two hard boiled eggs, a carton of chocolates, another doll and a utensil used for smacking meat. Not to mention, there are two gigantic chocolate bunnies sitting on my desk next to their cousin, the gigantic bunny muffin.
So, shame on me for lamenting. The company of the Bagdahn family and friends made for a wonderful weekend.

posted by Jordan @ 8:47 fm

Frohe Ostern
All that usually signifies the familiar Easter festivities are missing this year. I'm in a place where those pink and yellow sugary-whipped Peeps have not found their niche and Easter eggs are purchased already colored in the dairy aisle. That means there won't be those three ugly eggs - the ones that managed to be dipped in every color, making for brown oblongs with butterfly stickers and white-crayon-hash-marks; no Easter grass in the carpet; no cold ham sandwiches; and their won't be that collection of black jelly beans, maybe to be eaten by the odd aunt who enjoys those wicked black licorice capsules. This year I won't be enjoying the first nibbles of a chocolate bunny's ear, the same confectionary hare that will sit in a crinkled tinfoil pile on my dresser until next August; no pastel M&Ms; no Whoppers eggs and no Robin's eggs to make blue lipstick from. Here parents aren't snatching up sidewalk chalk, kites and other basket goodies - for that matter, they're not snatching up baskets either. And there is sure to be some form of cabbage involved in the Easter feast.
Take away all of the plastic eggs, jump ropes and pastel dresses and you're left with the roots of the celebration. I might not be eating any Cadbury goodness this weekend, but Christ's glory story will be on my mind, sweeter than that rich caramely center.

P.S. I seriously almost got hit by a Strassenbahn 35 minutes ago. That would've meant Easter without legs, which also would have been a new experience. Do they make Skip-its for paraplegics?

posted by Jordan @ 12:07 em

Operation: Curbside Hoedown
Deciding to join the ranks of the accordian player in the Holzmarkt passage way, Amber and I situated ourselves with her flute and my roomie's guitar at the city center tram stop today. A record of the great street musician experiment follows:
11:31am Set up camp admist the Löbdegraben crowd, which is busying themselves with boarding and unboarding trams and eating gargantuan bratwursts. Four rocks are located to hold down music.
11:34am Amber contributes 2.60€ to her flute case which already contains my 0.40€, luxurious blue velvet lining and a crusty rag used in the wiping down process of her silver tooter. Cash Total: 3.00€
11:42am Jam session well underway thanks to a couple of Vineyard classics. We have hopes that "My Everything" will inspire people to chuck "everything" from their pockets into her flute case. Alas, cash total remains at: 3.00€
11:51am Small elderly lady either a) takes pity on us and our 3.00€ purse; b) thinks we sound a lot like her heart-throbs Van Halen and Jethro Tull or c) hopes that money will shut us up for awhile as we take a break to bite the coin, testing its authenticity. Either way, she throws 1€ into the pot. Total Amount of Monét: 4.00€
11:56am The "One Euro High" we receive from the contribution invokes a scared look from a passing child who fears our sudden, mad strumming and shrill flute improvisation. I want to tell him "everything is music!" and encourage him to knock two rocks together to the beat, but he shuffles away too quickly.
11:59am Stray, greasy bratwurst napkin lands on music forcing a short break.
12:00pm Adolescent hoping to bag a date with one of us chips in 0.10€, a sure way to any woman's heart. Pot Total: 4.10€
12:01pm Through the crowd we spot Sarah and her so-called "friends" whom we beg for a measley copper coin. They clutch their money bags and claim all to be late for an "underwater basket-weaving course." Sarah says she needs to run home and "check on her Jell-o salad." Likely stories. Steady as she goes at: 4.10€
12:02pm Man doing The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" dance redeems our spirits. His jig is finished off with the thumbs-up sign in our direction. Score one loyal fan for us.
12:09pm Amber decides to lay down her magical, musical flute for a bit to add some vocal backups to the acoustics. Rewarded with 1€ from a stranger in the masses. Bling Bling, Baby: 5.10€
12:15pm Little boy with money to burn tosses in a fifty-center. Movin' on up to: 5.60€
12:17pm Fortune strolls around the block again as another unexpected 0.50€ coin lands in our lap while taking a break. I wonder if this is a hint, but proceed to play John Denver's "Perhaps Love," which roughly translates into "Perhaps no money for you!" Still, feeling well-to-do at: 6.10€
12:33pm A very MTV Unplugged session of "Leaving on a Jet Plane" is attempted, much to the general glee and merriment of people passing by. Man in van loves it. Man in van wants to leave on jet plane with Amber. Bratwurst men snicker as they exchange disgustingly big snausages for what should be our well-deserved coinage.
12:37pm One of Jena's well known crazies strolls by while wheeling his cart and wearing his duct-taped construction hat, which is to him as a glove is to Michael. Almost gratefully, no contribution is received - he's the one who takes big swallows of beer and then spits on his hands. Keeping constant without Rosenpils saliva at: 6.10€
12:44pm After finding out that we weren't collecting money for any specific cause, lady with a walker tells us that with so many starving children out there we should be ashamed of ourselves. Surprised she didn't nab the money herself and mail it to Tanzania, we peak at: 6.10€
12:53pm Combination of sudden extreme guilt and hunger, the experiment ends with 3.10€ in profit to split between us and some near bloody fingers on my behalf. Thank you Jena and good night!

posted by Jordan @ 1:46 em

I'm tired of being alone. So hurry up and get here.
I wanted to write something really meaningful today. I wanted to go deeper than rockstars and children's programming. But I swear my mind is absolutely void of deep, notable thoughts right now. I keep pausing and rolling about my eyes (I heard that as different areas of the brain become active we move our eyes accordingly to reflect the location of firing neurons ::thus ending the nerd report::) hoping to come across something in those gray folds worth writing about.
Alas, there is nothing.
Nothing except that John Mayer song, "Love Song for No One" which is currently on repeat somewhere in my frontal lobe. He sings, "Staying home alone on a Friday. Flat on the floor looking back on old love or lack thereof. After all the crushes are faded and all my wishful thinking was wrong, I'm jaded. I hate it." You and everyone's next-door-neighbor, Johnny.

posted by Jordan @ 12:59 em

If I Were a Rockstar...
If I were a rockstar people wouldn't call me "Jordan;" they'd call me "L.A.Gear." Bob Saget would have me over for Yahtzee night and Kenny Rogers would be on my speed dial.
If I were a rockstar I would coin words and phrases that millions of people would use. Bosses everywhere would be known as "dudelsacks" and everyone would be envious of your new shoes because they are totally "cellophane," man.
I'd outlaw the apostrophe; "Chunk" from The Goonies would have a prime time slot called "Remember that Time Chunk Escaped the Fratellis and Teamed Up with Sloth?" and I would shop Cub Foods in a motorized cart. I would fill my motorized cart basket with DiGiorno frozen pizzas and make the stock boy tell me, "It's not delivery - it's DiGiorno."
If I were a rockstar Madonna would change her name to "Bev"; I'd demand the re-release of the film Teen Wolf; and instead of "goodbye," people would always say "toodles."
And of course there would be autographs.

Dear Leon,
Thanks for coming to my concert. Get that mole checked out.
L.A.

Debra,
It was nice you made it to the show...no hard feelings about that electrical burn, k?
L to the A

To Russell:
My drummer wants his underwear back. ASAP.
L.A.Gear

If only I were a rockstar...

posted by Jordan @ 7:09 fm

Full, full, full
The weekend was absolutely packed with things to do. We had a little bowling get together; one of my roomies, Nadine, and I took crash course salsa dancing lessons; had a lunch at Tilman's; had coffee and cake at the Wenger's; discussed the first chapter of Bad Girls of the Bible with Christine, Alexa and Rikki and then had a movie night with both of the Nadines.
After all of the fun I hate waking up Monday morning to an unscheduled aftermath. Yet thankfully the activities don't downsize to me sitting alone in my room with a ball of yarn and a can of Pringles. I still have my first session of Swedish to look forward to tonight, followed by a "hat party" at Martha's.
What is everyone else up to? Preparing for the end of the semester and all that it entails? Putting daffodils in vases? Jumping puddles instead of snow drifts? I'm starting to forget how the world outside of my timezone carried on. I miss the details.

posted by Jordan @ 9:35 fm

Horrid Stuff
Chocolate Tootsie Pops
Pulling someone else's hair out of the shower drain
Star Trek
Oscar Mayer Bologna
Trekkies
Zoobilee Zoo
The word "Supple"
Weasels

posted by Jordan @ 7:57 fm

Back in the Mix
Things are pretty much back to normal here in Jena. I've already made my weekly grocery run to Kaufland, dodged countless ten-speeds and gotten clipped in the Strassenbahn doors. What is new, though, is that we have a brand new roomie in our apartment named Berit Petersson, who is (ta-da!) from Denmark. She has filled Thomas' place and seems to be very nice so far, but you know what they say about the Danish...(actually, I don't really know what they say, so someone will have to fill me in on that one).
That great trip to Sweden and this new scandinavian influence also compelled me to sign up for Swedish class today. So after 20:00 next Monday feel free to ask me about my dreams and aspirations auf Schwedisch. However, chances are my most complete responses will come from yes/no questions or ones that require the answer, "Yes, my name is Ingeborg Carlsson."
Despite getting back to the same old schedule here, I am still thinking about some of the things that cracked me up while with Dad and Jake. One reminiscent goodie that emerged was about my bro Jonah who wanted to change his name when he was younger. When asked what he would rather be called he said, "Donuts." We still have no idea how the selection process behind that winner of a title worked, but I have a feeling that next time he tires of "Jonah August" he'll start signing his checks "Egg Salad" or "Cheeze Whiz." I personally would pay to see "Egg Salad Shermer" on any official document or even better, hear Mrs. Backscheider announce "Egg Salad Shermer's" achievements at the graduation ceremony.
I also got a play-by-play earful of one of Jake and Jonah's recent wrestling matches. Somewhere between kicking shins and armhair plucking, Jacob decided to bare his fangs and bite into his brother. However, in the tangled mess of flailing limbs, he managed to mistake his own arm for his Jonah's and let his chompers sink in. As the pain increased he bit harder thinking that "Donuts" was behind the wicked bite. So it was quite the vicious circle until Jonah stepped away from the scene to watch Jacob on the ground gnawing on his own arm. Jacob claims that the "pain and irony" of nearly eating a chunk of his own flesh often makes it difficult for him to recount this story.

posted by Jordan @ 4:15 fm