So I'm done with the first week of "IES" (or as I now like to call them: "fake") classes here in Freiburg. University ("real") classes start next week.

I've got a Modern German Lit class taught by an enthusiastic prof obviously fresh out of grad school, a Domestic Politics class taught by a leftist with only one color in her wardrobe, a pre-WWI German History class taught by an old man (who I swear they wind up every day before class), and a three-hour Postwar German Film class taught by an accomplished librarian.

There's some sort of Economics class too, but that starts next week.

This, then, is the first of many three-day weekends. Hurrah!

I talked to Flo earlier this week (for the first time in years). He's considered unfit for military/volunteer service so he's starting college a year early.

(I'd always thought that Arno, for all his Sportlichkeit, was in worse shape than my gothic-nerd former exchange student. I guess I was wrong.)

So it looks like I'm going to Leipzig at some point to "have a beer." Flo's knack for brushing off logistically complicated events as casual meetings is truly breathtaking.

Another surprise was Flo's accent: sure of my apparently much-improved German abilities, he dropped the high-german and lapsed into his native baddish while we were on the phone. Naturally, I couldn't understand a word.

I suppose something should be said for the Americans I'm hanging out with here, since (with rare exceptions) they're the only people I talk to.

I've never been among so many different types of American. Almost everyone at Lawrence is from the midwest and (with the always-notable exception of Graham) all my high school friends were born and raised in Minnesota.

Most of the people here are of course from Minnesota. I'm sure it's quite a shock for the Californians and New Yorkers to have to acknowledge the part of America between the coasts.

The first person I met here, someone I still hang out with, is The Suburbanite, a St. Thomas student (she doesn't know my brother's girlfriend, sadly) from one of those aloof and parochial bedroom communities on the outskirts of the Twin Cities.

She's a social butterfly and a modest maker of plans, but like all suburbanites, she has no idea how cheap things can be. She loves Minnesota more than I love taffy (she talks about our state almost constantly) and plans to live there for the rest of her life.

There are, besides The Suburbanite, other Minnesotans I see regularly. But they don't live in Vauban (my housing complex; it's pronounced with the heaviest French accent you can summon) and don't get called for every outing. Plus, I want to get through the major arcana before I run out of steam.

The Pancake Man, obliviously typing away at the computer next to mine, is one of the afore-mentioned coast people.

Vermont. Let's not get technical.

He doesn't drink, a readily apparent idiosyncrasy in this country among these people, and he's got an American girlfriend in Spain. He cooks a mean (in the good modern sense of the word, not the bad 18-century sense) omelet and delicious cookies.

He's a would-be filmmaker ala Dawson and 70% of my conversations with him are movie-related. We're secretly hoping to expose him to independent/foreign films and, in-so-doing, cure him of his current Shawkshank Redemption-loving Hollywood mentality.

The Pancake Man was raised by volunteers, liberal issues-people who spend large chunks of time at non-profit organizations. He likes Michael Moore, which I've decided not to hold against him.

The Urbanite, a sophistimacated New Yorker majoring in Political Science, is the third person I see and talk to every single day. She brought a Canadian flag to Germany ("just in case") and tells Germans she's majoring in English Literature in order to avoid heated political discussions. She's a veteran club-goer and an impulsive drunk.

That strategerically altered "sophistimacated" notwithstanding, The Urbanite is actually sophisticated. Exactly what you'd (meaning "I'd") expect from a New Yorker. The Urbanite is a completely different creature, with quite a few layers to her personality (whereas I can admit, with no offense intended, that I've met The Suburbanite or her equivalent before).

I can't quite understand The Urbanite yet (it's pretty conceited of me to claim to "understand" anyone, really, but I honestly think I usually do.)

I adverb verb I adverb verb… cool.

Anyways, I'm slightly fascinated with The Urbanite (which undoubtedly has something to do with my romanticised notion of big city life), and just glad in general to have met some chill people. Those three are the most important, the ones (as I already said) who I see every day. More as time and necessity permits.

Later.