Dave!"

"Phil!"

I was walking home from a class Tuesday when I bumped into Phil, a good friend whom I hadn't seen since before spring break. He was headed to lunch and invited me to join him; I accepted gratefully, my other meal option being a leftover spaghetti and chocolate-chip sandwich at my apartment. (I'm a little low on groceries.)

So we were walking toward the dining hall when Phil stopped abruptly and raised his arms into the air. "Isn't the sky beautiful today?" he gushed.

"Uh . . . sure, Phil." I looked skyward and saw nothing unusual, except for a few clouds that looked vaguely like David Letterman's hair. Phil is an upbeat guy, but he'd always seemed levelheaded before (except for being a Lion Ambassador). I asked him if he had a temperature.

"No," he answered dreamily. "It's just so blue up there. And look at the snow. It's all so . . . wow." He kept walking, swaying absently back and forth and occasionally bonking into other pedestrians. I grabbed him to keep him from wandering into traffic.

"Phil," I asked, shaking him by the shoulders, "have you been drinking cough syrup again?"

He hugged me warmly. "I love you, Dave. You're a great guy."

Suddenly it hit me. "What's her name, Phil?"

"Amy," he sighed. If I looked closely, I could see little cartoon hearts emanating from his pores and floating into the air. "Her name's Amy, and we're in love."

You don't say.

That's the goofy thing about your friends falling in love -- you never get any advance notice about it. Take Phil (please!): He left for spring break a regular guy, the kind who'd hang out with the rest of us and complain that the really good women are all married to Lyle Lovett, and he came back a major dip.

He smiles all the time now. He doesn't get bummed if he has a lot of homework, or if he bombs a test, or if his dorm has a false fire alarm at 3:30 a.m. I doubt he'd get upset if an OPP truck ran him over. (I'm not sure he'd notice.) Whatever happens, he just floats around in ecstatic oblivion, dreaming about Amy and walking into the occasional wall. Our conversation at lunch on Tuesday went something like this:

Me: Gosh, it's been a while since I've eaten in Simmons. Ever notice how many napkins everyone --

Phil (staring into space): Did I tell you about her eyes? She has beautiful eyes.

Me: Yeah, on the way over. Could you pass the . . .

Phil: They're so big and blue! They're like, I don't know, racquetballs or something.

Me: They're like what?

Phil: And she's great with kids. (Swoons.)

Me: Phil, your eyes are glazing over. Phil? PHIL?!

Phil: (Falls onto floor, doesn't seem to mind.) I love her.

As Phil told me during his few moments of coherence, the two of them met while volunteering at a center for underprivileged kids over break. (There goes the theory about this stuff never happening to nice people.) They fell for each other harder than a clumsy sumo wrestler down a long flight of stairs, and in a few days were an item.

The only negative experience they had all week, Phil said, occurred that Thursday morning as he and Amy were returning from the center. They were strolling down the sidewalk, holding hands and acting like goofy kids in love, when an elderly man approached them in the opposite direction. As they drew near, Phil noticed the man was staring at him. He nodded and said hello, then waited for the man to reply.

"Fool!" he muttered at Phil, shaking his head bitterly as he walked past. (Many of you are probably nodding ruefully as you read this.)

In spite of such an admonition, Phil and Amy continued to have a blissful week together, and since returning to Happy Valley they have been as inseparable as Vince Coleman and firecrackers (or, for those of you who aren't sports fans, Bob Packwood and sex scandals).

In truth, I can't think of anyone who deserves to be happy more than Phil, and Amy sounds like an amazing person, though my knowledge of her comes from a slightly biased source. I wish them wonderful times together, and I would ask this of anyone else with friends who have just fallen in love: Be happy for them. You were probably like this once, and you may be again; remember that when their exuberance makes you want to tear out their pancreas. They may be fools, but they're having the time of their lives. Don't begrudge them their joy if you're single, or their excitement if you're settled down.

And if you see a Lion Ambassador on campus, leading tour groups into the path of oncoming buses and rambling senselessly ("If you look to your left, you'll see a bunch of buildings and stuff. But enough about Penn State. Let's talk about true love . . ."), stop and ask him how Amy's doing.

He'll be glad to tell you.