I want to marry Torres. Just so you know.

Football is over. There will be no more soccer, no more constant media attention, funny hats, drunken bellowing of „Deutschland, Deutschland!!!“ or Autokorsa at 3 AM; I must once again actually plan my evening entertainment instead of simply deciding where and with whom one would watch the daily game. In short, reality has descended and imposed Ordnung on an otherwise reality-free soccer-maddened Europe. Spain won, which is not surprising considering how well they played and how poorly Germany played, and I am positive that every female under 50 who watched the game(s) now wants to marry Fernando Torres. I certainly do. I’ll take Castillas if Torres is taken ;). Ach, reality.

Tomorrow is my last move before I „leave“ for the „summer“. Monday is my last day in this corner of Germany for awhile, after the past six odd weeks I have spent here. It didn’t take me long to figure out things were different from the last time, but also not so long to build up a new life here, with new friends and with old. I will miss it, for sure, but Geneva isn’t nearly as far as the US from good ol Baden. I can’t say I’ll miss the accent, though—the natives have a slurring, musical lilt to their language which infuriatingly induces them to swallow the endings of all verbs and lay their emphasis on all the wrong syllables. Sucks to be a foreigner.

I haven’t been able to write much, and I may not for the forseeable future.--- I am of to Spain, Belgium, and most everywhere else for the next six weeks (!)