Spammen zie Deutsch

Since Saturday night, the college has been bombarded almost continuously with German spam. When I came in Monday, I had about 200 spams in German--mostly the same ones, sent over and over. My favorite one has a subject line in English, which states "The whore lived like a German." Since I don't know German, I don't know what the others say. It's highly annoying.

Shifting to another topic, gentle friends, I have to say addiction is an ugly thing. Our on-campus coffee shop has closed for the summer because the students aren't around to support it. What about me and my daily dependence on an afternoon latte? I'll tell you what--I am doomed to cranky, sleepy afternoon hell.

Had a great weekend, though. MC visited me Friday and Saturday, and we learned that my bedroom requires heavy curtains to block out the unearthly light from no less than four (and probably more) motion-sensitive floodlights pointed directly at my house from the neighbor's wall. It doesn't help that his son (who I knew in junior high) likes to beat a path at all hours of night between his car and the tiny guest house in the backyard where he lives.

I spied him the other day (like my father, I spy on people; unlike my father, I don't get caught) trudging along to his tiny old Civic. MC accurately described his look as "grunge gone to seed." The thing that hit me was that he moved like an old man, and since he's in his early 30s he must have been (1) stoned or (2) heavily medicated. I like to think he was on his way to buy Cheetos.

But back to the weekend. MC helped me pack and move china and other fragile items, and then she was off, away to husband and child. I went out to dinner with my friend-man. We went to this funky place that tries to do South Florida seafood shack. It's kind of bizarre, but I do like their bar a lot, and also the fact that the private booths have wooden screen doors on them, like Florida cracker tatami rooms.

We sat at the bar and had a lovely time, and my friend-man, who has lived two and a half years so difficult that you couldn't even imagine them unless you were of a cruel bent, this gentle friend who has been sad for too long, declared that he is pretty happy with life right now.

Those moments when we actually realize hey, life is good, seem rare and precious even for a run-of-the-mill existence. To hear that life is good from someone who's bungee-jumped the gorge of despair--that's almost a religious experience. I don't mean that sarcastically, either. It was a divine moment.

Moving to a lighter topic, my couch is fabulous. About five people can sit on it, and two can lie on it. Enough said.