Last night was bad movie night at Mathias' house. As I disgustedly took "Firewall" out of my Xbox DVD player, my darling wife told me it was time for an evening snack, which usually means I need to get up and serve her.

The next bad movie of the night would be "The Next Karate Kid," so I thought a leftover fortune cookie would do the trick. We split it.

My wife did not read the fortune aloud. When I forced her to read it, I learned why she had not read it aloud in the first place.

"Everything I do, I do to make my heart sing" was the fortune.

I spent the better part of Monday night in fear. Collapsed on my friend Chelsea’s couch, I alternated between feelings of exhilaration and sheer terror. After my navigational ordeal in Jordan, I was comforted by my friend Chelsea. We spent the entire night sinking into her basement furniture, talking about life, too weak to open our eyes. I was then struck with the realization that while I had triumphed over Highway 169 and made it to Jordan for a great interview; I had magically forgotten to take pictures. I took this as a sign of my inevitable termination.

I had an excellent first interview in the lovely town of Jordan, which boasts a population of almost four thousand. Mary Schenck and Cecilia Hanle could not have been any more kind and understanding, especially considering the circumstances of the events before the interview.

No one ever said that the life of a journalism intern was glamorous. While I have been on every ride at Valleyfair at least five times, apparently that does not qualify me as an expert on all things Shakopee.