the online journal of jordan e.

Pepto Bismal Praises
Last Thursday night's Bible study was replaced by a goodbye/bon voyage/toodles party for Miss Christine McClelland of Northern Ireland. My job was to make carrot cake and ginger snaps; lead a short, little, teeny study; supply some grilling food and then tote the entire grill across town to Alexa's in a gigantic blue trash bag. I was aok with playing the role of pack-mule-bag-lady for the half-hour trip to her apartment, but for some reason I was shaking in my boots about the message I was supposed to prepare. The toot-sweet eagerness I usually have to lead the group was replaced by a fearsome case of nerves, as I worried about the reactions of my roommate and her friend, who decided they wanted to come. How could I make God clear to these two people who have never been in a church? What if they took my words as preachy, frightening or just plain crazy? What if my words made them decide that they'd rather have faith in the Teen Magazine horoscope?
I arrived at Alexa's, toting all of my party contributions and ready to chat it up with Alexa, Santiago and the rest of our study group before my roommate and her friend arrived. But there was no time for chit chat - introductions would be in order, as our group of six grew to that including a Russian guy, a Vietnamese guy, four from China and my roomie and her friend - my little message would soon be for eight people that didn't know Christ and would account for the eight ulcers in my tummy. But then, as God brought all of these people together to hear about him, he also brought four Germans from our church to join us.
I gave my talk, which was definitely unpolished and probably very unclear, but it opened up discussion between the mixed crowd. They were interested in God. My roommate, for instance, wants to come back and some of the others simply wanted to know more. I realized at that point that my nerves were a waste of time as I had nothing to do with that message's effect on the group. It was in God's hand, like everything else and his timing and love would be the components behind their understanding.

posted by Jordan @ 6:28 fm

Remember the Sabbath Day and Keep it Holy
Don't mess with German Sundays, they've got a serious contract with the Third Commandment. It's quite clear that the culture that seems to be lacking God in every other way has somehow not forgotten the third set of scratches on that stone tablet in Exodus. After all, outside the occassional Shell station and Turkish sandwich stand, Germany leaves nothing open on Sundays (holidays, too, for that matter). No chance to "roll back the prices" at a Sam Walton establishment; no Pigley Wigley cashiers waiting to scan your Campbell soup and absolutely no use for the Sunday coupons in the Manney Shopper.
In a way, you have to hand it to the Germans. Sundays like these mean...
a) you have no choice but to take a break.
b) if you're the church-going type, there is the undistracted opportunity to worship God.
c) there is a sense of peace on the totally abandoned, seems-as-though-everybody-is-hiding-in-fallout-shelters streets.
However, days like these can be the stinker if...
a) you didn't do enough grocery shopping to carry you through the weekend.
b) your roomie didn't do enough grocery shopping to carry you through the weekend.
c) by not doing "enough grocery shopping" means all you have to eat is a jar of fancy mustard.
Tomorrow will be one of those days here as it is the holiday, "Himmelfahrt," which is German for "Ascension Day" and pronounced Him-mel-fart (having to say that suffix/verb in high school was an instant route to the loss of bladder control for me). Take heart, though. I did some mad shopping earlier today and now have some powdered sugar and canned peas to eat with my mustard. Bring it on Himmel Fart!

posted by Jordan @ 3:19 em

7 Ways to Combat Your Neighbors' Loud Music
1. Between songs shout things like, "Big shots!" and "I bet you think you're something else, don't you!" Intermingle the shouting with various grunts such as, "Pffft!", "Kkka!" and "Ssshhddg!"
2. Battle the noise by cranking up your Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory soundtrack. Turn it up another notch when the Oompa Loompas sing.
3. Throw yourself over your balcony in a dramatic attempt to protest the racket. Once you come to, shake your fist in their general direction and nurse your sprained ankle.
4. Knock on their door and say, "A little birdie told me that Dance Party 2003 is going on in there - mind if I debut my new move, the 'Lawn Mower'?"
5. Drop a note in their mailbox which says, "Rock and roll is the devil! Repent you spawns of Beelzebub, you!"
6. Scale the balconies until you reach theirs. Point at their radio and then to your bloody ears. Explain to them that ruptured eardrums just don't equal paradise.
7. Hire the Dudelsack (bagpipe) player from the 8th floor. Let her go nuts with a Serenades of Disney songbook.

posted by Jordan @ 7:56 fm

When I am Gone
Fifteen years from now little Lars will find himself flipping through old photo albums. Turning through pages of Christmases past, grill parties and vacations to the North Sea, he'll eventually come to his 7th birthday. And after remarking on his mom's old hairdo and the sling his dad was wearing, he'll pause, squint his eyes and hold the photo up to his nose for a close examination. Then he'll ask, "Who in the heck is that girl sitting next to Oma Maria?" Maybe his mom, Ute, will remember and tell him, "Ah, that was Chordan - Nadine's friend from America." Or maybe it will click with him, "Hey, that's the girl who wiped ketchup off my face, played Pokemon with me and 1 1/2 rounds of 'Ich sehe was, was du nicht siehst.'"
It's stinks to be that stranger in the photo album - being known for the ability to sing "happy birthday" instead of "happy bersday" and expected not to be seen again.

posted by Jordan @ 7:12 fm

Check One, Check, Check, Sibilance
On Saturday "Rocktual" came to Neuhaus, the other Nadine's hometown and where I spent last weekend. The event was held in the Kulturhouse and consisted of two cover bands, a hoard of chain smoking Germans and one big competition between the two musical groups.
Around 10:30 I saw a flash of neon lights through the Marlboro exhaust and then the arrival of the first band. They let loose with "Walking on Sunshine" during which they were interrupted by a call from 1987 who wanted its mint style back. It was clear, however, that they weren't going to give up the big, permed hair, the piano you wear like a guitar, their Eggo waffle breakfasts or the Huxtable family. In fact, I could see from my spot in the crowd that Koala Yummies had provided that special sort of energy behind "If You'll be my Bodyguard (Call me Al)" and with every kick of his frosted denimed leg, the lead singer seemed to be saying, "In your face you 2003 GMC Envoy XL! As for me and Phil Colins, we'll take my Toyota Sutra...with the spoiler."
After a short break, the other band turned up the heat a bit with a little Lynyrd Skynyrd and Red Hot Chili Peppers, but managed to lower their approval ratings when, during their intro, they went from German into English to say, "Please shake your arses." Cheesy comments like that (and the fact that there was a drunk man behind us who kept giving my ponytail a yank) sent us to the exit doors a little early. I'm guessing that the first band won, though, and that Tina Turner's "Private Dancer" was the clincher that got them the gold.

posted by Jordan @ 11:35 fm

Skinny Saunaing
Her pointer finger tapped on the sign which read "Nacktbereich" - she was telling me that the sauna was of the bare naked sorts.
We had been bathing in the spa's salt water and current pools thus far with coverage so I figured the sauna wouldn't be any different. But, as I soon found out, Gerda's index finger meant business, as first her black and gold number came off and then the Speedo of her 275 pound boyfriend hit the floor. I prayed for a red hot poker to gauge my eyes out and then managed to inch off my high coverage swimsuit while supressing urges to scream "Sweet Mother! Nooo!" I then followed into one of the sweat closets.
Once situated on the wooden benches, I fixed my eyes on a knot in the wall and tried to avoid the men, women and children who were settling themselves between us. I heard Nadine and her mom, Gerda, talking about the a past trip to France and decided that escargot and parles vous francais might mentally transport me from this 10'x6' room of nakedness. I joined the conversation, but the other sauna-ers detected my unlocal accent like a deputy can detect a 16 year old with a new set of wheels. All heads turned at my imperfectively rolled Rs and misuse of the word "doch." I sent up another prayer for a snowmobile suit.
God didn't send any Arctic Cat get-up, but he did bring the 15 minutes to an end. Outside the door, my feet automatically began padding toward my swimsuit, but the others waved me over to a swimming hole of ice cold water we were supposed to jump in. And then to the ice cold pool to swim a lap in. I jumped, I swam and I avoided the man doing the backfloat.
And then, my friends, the entire process was repeated.

posted by Jordan @ 9:29 fm

A Few Recent Discoveries

1. I can speak Russian! Actually all I did was whip out the old, trusty "What's your name?" to an old Russian man last weekend and then let him do the rest of the talking. I understood bits and pieces - like the fact that, way back when, he was in the army in Stalingrad and that he loves women (made clear by the catologue underwear models he had stashed in his cigarette case). Two thumbs up for "Kak bac zobyt!"

2. Confirmation in Germany isn't the typical carnation-pinned robe and the memorization of the Nicene Creed. Here it is considered a rite of passage into the adult life - a.k.a. a rite of passage into the world of beer. Most confirmants end up getting drunk on their confirmation, which is well-known and generally excepted by all. In fact, the Monday after is a freebie for them since teachers expect they will be too hung over to participate in the math exercises and English lessons. Score one for hypocrisy!

3. A razor plus a German girl equals hysteria. My roommate, Hairy Nadine, decided that she would do something rash and shave her legs for the first time earlier this week. Always one to encourage the removal of hair, I equipped her with the shaving goods and let her go crazy on her right leg (she waited another 24 hours to do the left one). The results were highly amusing. She claimed to notice drafts that she had never picked up on before and said that the unshaven leg was much warmer on her walk to class. She also paraded around our apartment for a good while, making like a cricket and rubbing her ankles together. Three cheers for Gillette shaving products!

posted by Jordan @ 10:54 fm

Lobeda Twilight Zone
What a strange night in the greater area of Lobeda. The Bible study had somehow given Amber and I a little hyperactive energy so we decided that a midnight jog around the 'hood was due. The jog, however, melted into the 1am walk through the ancient roads of Lobeda where we continually encountered winding cobblestone streets, stucco homes and a stray, scurrying weasel. Stepping out of the way of the occasional automobile, we wandered through the community (which is much nicer than the soviet block housing that we live in) to discover the 13th century castle nestled between the volunteer fire department and the store that sells everything you need for your pet pony. And like our walk, the conversation veered into all directions, interrupted only by the noises of creatures behind fences and a stop to pick some lilacs.

Now that the lilacs are resting in an old applesauce jar now, I need to pack my bags to go back to Rottenback with my roomie, Nadine. Her little sister, Romy, is getting confirmed this weekend and it is my duty to feed the confirmant with some apple pie and chocolate chip cookies.

posted by Jordan @ 3:18 fm

Springy Ding Ding Time
There is big fat satisfaction to be found in a May 5th that is 92 degrees.
On these days you don't mind the heat and humidity induced curls that won't straighten, the sweaty glow your face takes on or the wait for the Strassenbahn - it's during that time that you realize the scent of the air is even pretty. With every flowering tree and bush in bloom it smells like the essence of honey and lilac is being sprayed instead of Elizabeth Arden and you decide that for the next two weeks you will only breath through your nose.
For once, the Teufel grillers of the "höllisch gut" bratwursts have been abandoned by the masses for a cooler treat. The ice cream cafes, the ones run by Italians who are eager to scoop you a waffle of stracciatella, are buzzing with buyers after those sixty cent cones. They stand in the line outside the door, patiently gripping bouquets of fresh flowers and fruit from the Frühlingsfest market because the Kirschsahne tastes even better after a good wait in line.
It feels good to be here right now; it's a fit. Kind of like the fit you find in the footshaped groove of last summer's flip flops.

posted by Jordan @ 2:02 em