1. Once more, i’ve been too faux-busy to blog. Lots of 12 + hour days, leaving my flat at 0700 and getting home at 2200, often with gaps where i just sit listlessly about in McLingua, or at best go to one of the empty rooms to read or gaze thoughtfully down at the Münchnerinnen cleavage on offer down below.

i suppose i should explore Munich more but lack the volition between classes, drained by the constant need to entertain & appease the villainous Bosche. i haven’t done any writing for a while, just occasional posts on The Michael Report. To write one good hour i need three, one for girding my writerly loins and one for writing preparatory garbage. i don’t like writing on computers and hand takes too long so i mainly use my typewriter – which, however, i can only use at home, and i’m rarely at home, and so, etc. etc., damnable whore & monstrous wounding, etc. i feel so exhausted after teaching that i have nothing left for writing at the weekend, and so just watch Sopranos episodes and drink.

2. Michael (of the Michael  Report fame) has now alienated everyone in Munich through his American behaviour, getting violently drunk & aggressive, stealing, lying, writing ungrammatical threats, and so on. i seem to be his only friend in Munich, such as i am. i discovered he wasted the money i gave him for food and a train/bus pass – he spent it all on beer, techno, and baseball caps.  Now he’s being thrown out of the house where he’s been living as a very sporadic au pair. Perhaps the family realised he’s the last person in the world to whom you would entrust your children; perhaps they noticed that, during their 2 week holiday, he drank half their wine cellar; perhaps it was the 3 speeding tickets they received, after foolishly letting him use their car; or perhaps it was his spending almost no time in their house, as he wanted to avoid being given any childsitting assignments.

i have realised his Michael Mann identity is Waingro from Heat.

3. Waingro has however had some good luck. He read a book all the way through, for the first time in his life – the Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas i gave him a couple of months back. He stole some wine from his host family and drank it over hours in the English Gardens with Hunter S Thompson. i immediately gave him Catch 22; he looked suitably horrified at the bulk and girth but i assured him it has good horrid violence & evil humour. Later, he said, disgusted: “My boy Craig asked what I’d never do and I said bitch, I will never read no book.”

And Thompson has saved Michael’s fat New York ass. After his host family told him to get out, he was reading Thompson on the u-bahn when – according to him – a girl came over and said it was her favourite book etc etc., and when he explained his predicament she got him in touch with a family who are letting out a room for free, in return for English conversation. It’s only for a month but it means Waingro has another few weeks before he hits the street once more.

Never in my life has anybody started a conversation about literature. And yet, the first time Waingro reads a book a girl saves his life. Predictably, he tried to fuck her but nothing came of it, perhaps because of his ill-trate txt mssgz. i should have conducted his correspondence for him and let his awesome physical charisma do the rest.