the online journal of jordan e.

Zu Hause
Here I am, a senior in college. There's a year abroad under my belt, a luggageless month in Siberia, and countless days at summer camp, all spent with almost no trace of homesickness. Yet now, when I'm 21 and there aren't even any catty Camp Vermilioners around, I find myself hurting for home. Since when do I like being there so much?
I went home last weekend for a big family get-together - one that included the return of a '70s exchange student from the Netherlands and nearly all Minnesota aunty and uncle. I loved Uncle Terry's karaoke performance of "Karma Chameleon." I adored Jonah's attempts to perfect the moonwalk. I cherished my grandma's typical orders to feed the table scraps to the mangy herd of cats outside.
And while I basked in the happiness of home and all it entails, I spent the entire weekend on the verge of sobs. Coming back to Concordia was about as enjoyable as stepping on rusty nails.

posted by Jordan @ 2:55 em

The Essence of It All
It really was a shame that I didn't have a long, black trenchcoat on hand. Or black lipstick. Or black hair. I decided that the Evanescence crowd would just have to do with my black, turtleneck sweater.
And that they did - thanks to Amber Vandenberghe, the apparent master essayist who entered a contest and wrote a winner on the lyrics of Evanescence's song "Bring Me to Life." She reflected; she made her thesis bold; and she snagged two free tickets along with two free backstage passes to last Friday's concert. Not long after the discovery of her good fortune, she pulled her black vest out and asked me to accompany her to the show.
Within minutes of arriving at NDSU's Newman Outdoor Field, we were introduced to the impressive power of a huge, red, triangular sticker. "Evanescence Meet & Greet," it said. But it felt more like, "Yeah, that's right, Evanescence is my sister-in-law so yes, I will take that soda at half price and yes, you will bend over and tie my shoes." Like an opposite day at Auschwitz, that big red patch spoke "entree vous" to roadies and personnel alike. And while I should have been quite pleased with its powers, I was instead freaking out, not knowing what in the heck I was going to say to this band who I did not know at all. You see, I wasn't a fan. Outside of that one radio hit, I'd never heard any of their music and I wasn't really a follower of the whole dark, hard rock genre.
Yet, I didn't want to seem a mute upon meeting them. Perhaps they'd want to talk sports. Maybe we could yak about the weather. Perhaps they'd like my recipe for Tator Tot Hotdish. It didn't matter anyhow. After all, by the time the group of us twenty backstagers were lined up by their tour buses and they were making rounds with Sharpie markers, my mind went blank. Well, not totally. At one point a very substantial and intriguing question arose. It went a little like this: "Umm, did you have to, like, practice your signature?"
The band didn't seem especially impressed with my bold attempt nor did the drunken lady, who was hanging over the balcony above yipping, "ai-ai-ai-ai-ai!" They were still kind, though, and willing to pose for a few Kodak moments.
The rest of the night was a piece of cake. One of the opening groups, Revis, signed a free sample package of German face moisturizer that happened to be in my pocket; we watched our professor seriously rock out from afar; and simply watched the show. As squealing guitar solos and shrill singing segments started blurring as one, I realized I couldn't rave about the performance. I did perk up twice during the set, though: #1, when they sang the song I knew and #2, when the lead singer, Amy Lee, wiped out on stage (hurrah!). But you know, the weak show was no biggie - all I cared about was the glowing, red triangle stamped beneath the left shoulder of my black, turtleneck sweater, anyway (oh, the power!).
And with that, Amber, please feel free to write more well-organized, thought-provoking essays on songs. Enter them into contests. Call up your old buddy, Jordan, when you win.

posted by Jordan @ 11:43 em

P.O. Treasures
My little brother Jake sent me another gem in the mail today. Here's his letter - I know, you don't understand what he's talking about and NO, I'm not going to elaborate on the first topic of the agenda.
Dear JoJo,
I have some new info about the poop incident. (Some good some bad). The good, is Dad said to Jeff that Jonah wanted Jeff to know that it wasn't him but Jeff said "sure." And then Jonah whined some more. The bad news, Jeff had to get a new toilet.
Oh! and Jonah brought up the leaf subject to Andreas and Mom made sure he was well informed.
So I heard that your job is great. How old is Genivieve? We saw Brett today and mom told him about your new job and he said, "With Jordan serving there will be nachos flying."
I'm sorry the picture didn't come earlier, we've been busy with Andreas.
[boy heart] Jake [boy heart]
Included is a drawing of all the Spongebob Squarepants characters with a note that says: Hello! From: All your friends from under the sea.
Oh Jakie I ruv you.

posted by Jordan @ 10:10 em

Fresh as a Daisy
A guy named Juano (not to be confused with guano) hires you, you buy yourself a pair of khakis and a button-up shirt and suddenly you're shmoozing with 87 year-old Geneva four nights a week. And beside those fifteen hours spent restocking tables with pico de gallo sauce, your schedule is jam-packed.
I'm tutoring Sudanese refugees (has a nice rhymie ring to it), going to Campus Crusade for Christ over at MSUM, leading a Bible study, going to church, working with the German Club, living in the German House (which ties you to more than just having to watch the Deutsche Welle satellite channel) and finding myself in more meetings and get-togethers than I think I can handle.
Kara tells me she has so much free time. I want to go over to her room in lovely Snarr Hall and beat her over the head with Jane Eyre from my Masterpieces of the English Novel class. Stop the insanity.

posted by Jordan @ 9:08 fm

News Update
As of yesterday, I made a substantial upgrade in the working world. I am now an official waitress at Juano's, everyone's favorite Fargoan-Mexican restaurant. Good food? Muey good. Pleasing ambiance? Mucho pleasing, mucho. Very old lady who wears weird hats and serves as hostess? Si. I'll admit, she's so old that it gives me the willies, but like everything else at Juano's, she's probably excellente, ole, ariba - ariba.
First plan of attack: "Ma'am, how spicy would you like your burrrrrrito?"

posted by Jordan @ 5:06 em

Rolling in the Dough, etc, etc
As brought to attention by "Uncle Ranny" in a recent comment, the job market in Margo's Forehead area is not so swell. I have applied at at least ten locations (including for the position of "parking patrol," as named by the fine folks in the Campus Information office).
So far I have snagged one. I was recently welcomed to the crew at the Concordia Television Department as a gopher girl who will be setting up projectors and other audio/visual equipment on campus. This job is so intense that I have to be on call and prepared for any audio/visual task that may come my way. Video camera? Check. Microphone? Check. Assisted hearing device for the hearing impaired? Oh, you can double check that one.
Of course I can't imagine that I'll be getting in any good hours with this job. After all, it can't take more than ten minutes to plug in a VCR and tell Professor Rauschnabel that it is safe to insert her "Sweet Sounds of Handbells" video. But despite the real lack of time that will be on my time card, I will have the satisfaction of telling a teacher to step back from that tricky pull-down projector screen and let a professional handle that beast.

posted by Jordan @ 5:44 em

Backstreet's Back
I am back at school (have been for over a week now) and I feel like Harry in Dumb and Dumber - at the point where they come back to their apartment, finding the place a little more trashed (compliments of the "Gas Man") and their bird, Petey, decapitated. In his distress, Harry stomps around in his sweatpants and moans a bit.
Just like Har, I don't like this situation. I don't want to be here. But, despite my own depressed, sweatpant-wearing dances of sorrow, I know that I should be here and will (and am) slowly finding out why. Maybe I should treat myself to a Big Gulp and pore over Philipians, reciting 3:8 with a cherry-stained tongue.

posted by Jordan @ 12:23 em