Mostly spooky. That is ultimately how I would describe the scene. The house we moved into is nestled in a tiny cul-de-sac amidst a blossom of open fields. The sky is always stretched wide and broad above us without a multitude of tall buildings and city lights cluttering up the skies. I pulled in late after work, Thursday evening. For some unexplainable reason, there are about thirty cars piled along the edges of our little cul-de-sac, clogging the road with indigestible traffic. All the cars were off, all the house lights were off, there wasn’t a soul in sight, and apart from me cautiously pulling through the space between the vehicles on the verge of a cold sweat there wasn’t a single sound. The sky above was storming in the distance, at random it would spark a bright flash of lightning, illuminating the heavens but somehow just far enough away to make absolutely zero noise. It was… mostly spooky. A bit of the typical garden-variety oddness, but mostly spooky. I parked the car in the only place left on the block and stepped out. The air was completely still. With this number of cars you’d figure there might be a human being around. But there were none. I listened for the sounds of some sort of party at the neighbors. Dead silence. The clouds flashed in a muted brilliance.
(Checks out window) Yep their still there. Still no sign of life. Come morning , if they aren’t gone, I’m going to investigate for the sheer heck of it. If there was some sort of Bible study and everyone got raptured- well first of all I’m going to by supremely bummed out, but at least I’ll have a load of free cars!

Yesterday was the most pleasing expulsion of chaos I could have ever imagined (why is my face all tingly? It feels like my skin is… well… carbonated. Eesh… that’s odd) Anyway. Its graduation time… I know I know, you’ve been through all this. Well- you’ve never experienced a true Webb City style graduation celebration. Enter a tradition that is just as old as the town, and eternally shrouded in perpetual mystery. The secrecy of this operation has been well maintained from those uninvolved for decades. And now- this year, It’s my turn.
We call it Project: Graduation. The essential set of ideals behind Project: Grad are as follows-
1. You’ve been in school for a good solid twelve years now.
2. We know we know… you hated every second of it.
3. We the administration of your school did our very best to suppress your persistent desires to destroy yourselves with your own ignorant adolescent behaviors on the grounds that should you succeed in your ignorance that we the administration would be held responsible.
4. We see that you are grown adults now, and will very soon be outside our jurisdiction.
5. We know that the same ignorant adolescent tendencies are still present and when you enter the real world will most likely be your undoing.
6. In all honesty, we never really cared what you did you yourselves, we just didn’t want your parents to sue us.
7. We have gone through hell keeping your parents from suing us.
8. Noting the fact that you probably don’t want to exit such a major and influential portion of your lives without one or two ignorant adolescent memories
9. And the fact that we have always been fascinated by your total stupidity
10. We have this here video camera, if we let you go- can we at least film it while we still have the option?

That embodies the true and inalterable spirit of Project: Graduation. The staff brings out a video camera, and the entire graduating class fulfills all the dreams they’ve been cooking up for the past four years while sitting in class in complete and utter boredom.
Take yesterday for example. Yesterday was the second day of Project: Grad. The first day, Tuesday, was spent planning and explaining all the wonderful stupid things we were going to do on all the other days. On the first day after much deliberation, we were told to bring a legitimate weapon the next day. Normally in a high school- WEAPON=EXPELLED. Not today… Everyone had to bring their own, but if you brought more than one and your weapons were superior- then there were no rules against sharing. So we arrived at school yesterday (actually its looking like that by the time I post this it will be the day before yesterday… oh well, it was a Wednesday in any case.). I surveyed the rest of my peers in my graduating class. Well, all the males anyway, the females were exempt from this event, and with good reason. I saw guys toting swords, maces, small daggers, axes, small firearms (mostly airsoft) a great number of baseball bats, even a crowbar! I smiled haughtily to myself, my weapon far outdid them all.
This particular event was known as the “guy fight.” And it is just light it sounds. The school staff sets up a video camera, pans around to see all the students and their arms, and then for a period of about ten minutes- every graduating male in the entire school runs forward, converges in the center like a massive flood, and begins to playfully lay waste to all their peers. I know, I know, it sounds barbaric. But we got it all on video! And its all in good fun and no one’s supposed to get hurt (though I did have an amazing time ducking that four foot sword…. Whew. That provided quite a few close ones.) It was chaos. Pure blissful chaos in battle form.
I did my part in contributing to the comical aspect of the film (still in the editing phase naturally) by brandishing my tool with the utmost pride and honor! While others brought swords, axes, and arrows, while others brought bats and bombs (paint-filled of course) I, the defiant one, took it upon myself to secure the ultimate, the most gruesome, the most terrifying weapon any of them had ever seen!
Okay so when I walked onto the field wielding a big green piñata crafted in the exact likeness of Monsters Inc.’s Mike Wzowski there was an appreciative roar of laughter. Or maybe it was because I was holding a two foot spongebob squarepants plush toy in the other hand… Let them laugh. I was about to destroy them all… >INSERT MANIACLE LAUGH HERE<
It began and bolted into the center, raising the piñata high into the air.
A bit of history concerning the piñata. Four years ago in Spanish class me and a group of others made this piñata and got a super good grade on it because it was so freaking amazing. Since then its been rotting away in my closet. Such a glorious creation certainly could not merely be thrown out. Such an anticlimactic end would be an insult to the hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours of slowly piecing the thing together bit by little bit. The thing just sat there for four years and my mother had grown tired of it. She told me to get rid of it. I told her that Wzowski would not go unless we went valiantly, bravely struggling against impossible odds in the battle of his life. (I figured I would be safe with that)
I was wrong.
I took a mad swing at the nearest kid.
THUNK! The hollow innards of the bulbous piñata echoed as it ricocheted off the students dazed expression. He hit the ground, oddly… laughing. I can only guess that the immense impact of such a powerful object (a perfectly crafted Wzowski piñata) was enough to jar his mind from his sanity and drove him into a fit of mad laughter. Either that or he was thinking- Woah! Was that a piñata? Ha! I’ve just been toppled by a freaking piñata!
I redirected my weapon, swerving out of the way of the kid with his giant gleaming sword, turning sharply, and bashing him through the head. The leg and arm I was using as handles were quickly beginning to tear. (Note: A piñata, though often found to be utterly impenetrable when full of loads of lovely candies, are ultimately extremely fragile items when in the center of a full-scale war. As are most things…) Sword-boy went down as well. Also laughing. I began to wonder if my wield possessed magical delirium-inducing powers. Filled with confidence, I again spun to face a new foe!
Oh crap! I dodged and an immense warhammer bounced against the grass where I had just been standing. It was held by Kevin Gideon, a beast of a man. He stood nearly seven-heads tall and is a hefty three times my weight (and has been since the third grade). He takes one look at my weapon and a brilliant shock takes over his face. For split instant, he just stared in a broken stupor. In three-quarters worth of a split instant, I swung with full force.
POW! Gideon’s immense head lurched sideways and his hammer his the ground. The left leg of Mike Wzowski cleanly severed in the impact. I raised it again, before he could recover! Too late! He caught the thing by the head, and tore it completely free! The right leg and the right arm shredded away in my hands. I cursed to myself. For I had been disarmed. But wait. No! I still had both legs and one of the arms. I tore into him with a flurry of whacking! Left and right! Left and right! The beast popped my in the head with my own piñata! I stumbled back in time to see him raise the beach-ball sized head into the air with a mighty yell.
For a moment I thought I was slipping into unconsciousness. I was utterly blind. I had some kind of headache… and I heard the sounds of raging battle around me only in spattered, muffled tones. I reached up to feel my head. Oh… that’s not normal.
For the next eight minutes I rain in circles like a madman wearing the head of one Mike Wzowski as my own, one of his arms still dangling from its side. I couldn’t see a blasted thing. But I found my Spongebob toy, and I went ahead and swung it blindly. Whenever I felt it hit something, I learned that it was typically a safe idea to dodge immediately after. You don’t want to get an opponent’s attention and then continue to attack blindly, especially since the guy with the sword was apparently back up and fighting (his blade is what eventually got the piñata head off of mine, which was an amazingly close call.) After the head came off, they crowd tore it to shreds. The only part left is about half of one of his feet, and the center eyeball.
The video looks great though. It was only till later that I realized I was probably the luckier of some of my peers. Everyone had apparently been aiming for the head. I spent most of the time with head armor. The only damage my face sustained was the initial implanting of the head onto mine, and then following that- the occasional muffled thud against the exterior. ^_^ An accident sure, but still- you take what you can get.
That was one day of Project: Graduation. It just gets more and more insane. It’s amazing. No one got seriously hurt, no one died. But we did get an awesome video segment out of it. When we’re entirely finished, they sell the completed product to the students as souvenirs. I’m buying two. And I’m sending you a copy. It’s too funny to miss.

Oh my… where were we? We last left off on Friday night wasn’t it? After a long trip home and a getting entirely screwed out of a first round victory? Yeah… Saturday morning… no wait… Jess- please understand, it been a very long day and I haven’t been home, we’re nearing summer and the days are getting warmer and warmer and we did amazing things again today out in the weather during project grad. I haven’t had a shower all afternoon and its no exaggeration to say that at the moment- I smell absolutely phenomenal. So we’re going to go take care of that before we delve into another… (whew) eight page explanation concerning a weekend I’d rather forget.
…
(Why am I telling you this? You wouldn’t notice if I just went and showered and came back… you’re reading. By the time you started reading the very beginning of the article I’ve been long out of the shower and am probably asleep… Wow. I’m stupid. Though not as stupid as that Irwin guy… Krikey!) Jess, I’m forming a biohazard with my stench (may be a slight exaggeration) if any of us are to survive, I’ve got to go clean myself right now. So… I’ll be back in a short bit.

Hey! I’m back! Did you miss me?
Just kidding! I didn’t even leave yet! I’ll bet you thought I did! Haha! Silly Jess! You’re so gullible! :P Oh great… now you can’t trust me. Okay okay. I’m going now. Really I am! I’ll be right back!

Whew… that was certainly refreshing. I’m all wet now. Well, sort of wet. Do not fear Jess, I made good use of the towel.  In other news: today at lunch they were serving… BLANGILS! Among other things of course. I have saved one of them, I put it in my bag and carried it around like a crazy person all day. Now I have it here at home, and now… I shall eat it! HahA! I swear Jess, I am a midnight snack zombie. I’ve casually sampled just about everything in the entire house except perhaps this tube of vegemite in the past half an hour. Now I’ve even sampled that! Wow… wash that down… (Begins inhaling milk. You know believe it or not, the stuff actually seems to be growing on me. Given an extremely small amount at the moment, I’m actually able to find the flavor a bit enjoyable. Though we’re not nearly ready for anything more than a sliver. I honestly don’t know where I get the gall. Going through all the effort of taking a good respectable shower and then slopping my face up being eating a blangil with my bare hands. Pity.

It was Saturday morning. It was also four am. So to call it morning was really a bit of an exaggeration. But not for some folk. In fact, there are many businesses and occupations with shifts that begin far earlier than four am, in fact, morning to them is a non-existent concept. A skewed tangent reality where night and day are merely side-effects of an ever-advancing cycle. The majority of those people are either cops, medical professionals, or high school students. At four am on Saturday morning where we return to our sad tale of the National Qualifying speech and debate tournament, I, Caleb Roy, should have been asleep. This is fortunate because that’s exactly what I was doing. An hour and a half following four AM, my alarm clock does me the favor of exploding into my ears. Granted this is what it’s supposed to do, but never turns out as pleasantly as we would all prefer.
After I dug my car key out of the little machine, I stumbled out of bed, into a wall that I’d forgotten would be there (new houses… wow.) and into the bathroom to splash water in my face. There’s a certain amount of time that passes before I realize why I am getting up in the morning. In fact before that realization ever occurs, there is still the time that it takes for my brain to deduce what day it is. I’ve become used to trusting myself enough that I don’t bother immediately deducing what happened the previous day to prompt such an early awakening. I know that when the alarm goes off its my past self telling my groggy, stupefied self to wake up because something important is going to happen, and happen soon. I begin the wake up and get ready procedure dazed but confident that in about twenty minutes I’ll remember that there is a good reason for doing it.
At five fifty-three AM, I regained awareness and found myself standing in my room with a toothbrush still hanging out of my mouth and one shoe on. Good. We’re on schedule.
I get everything together, scrape some breakfast, and review everything before bounding out to the frigid car and firing it up. It’s about six forty and my car leaves the cul-de-sac. I’m watching my breath wisp away in front of me as I shiver in my seat waiting for the car to generate enough heat to activate the air conditioner. I get to the school at about six fifty three. I’m fairly early… We’re supposed to meet there at seven AM, and I see no one. Okay… cutting it a bit close, but I suppose they were all tired as well. I wait in the only available source of warmth within two hundred meters: my car. I sit there with the heat blowing for about five minutes. Aware that I was burning gasoline and confident that at any minute I’ll see a caravan of cars rumble over the horizon filled with dreary drowsy debaters just like myself, I turn the car off and rest in the heat that lingered for the most miniscule of moments.
Seven AM comes, and still, there is no one but me sitting alone in the parking lot.
Okay…
Seven five passes and I’m getting increasingly uneasy.
Seven ten comes and goes and I rapidly recount what I remembered of the previous day. I check my watch… yes its Saturday. I check my calendar. Yes, the dates match as well… I look around in a quiet futility.
I am supposed to be here. I assure myself. Three more minutes pass and nothing happens.
I am supposed to be here…Where are they?
I ask the last question aloud and I see my breath huff in front of me again. It’s gotten particularly cold in here again. And getting colder. I shivered and reached forward to turn my key and restart my heater as I desperately tried to remember…
Click.
…
“Oh… shit.”
Click.
“No. You will start.” I told the car.
Click. Click click…
CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK.
“NOOO!!!” I pulled the key from the ignition and… well you know there’s not a lot you can do to retaliate against a car key. So I just kinda sat there rubbing it with intense disapproval for a few seconds while my mind collected itself.
Okay… so the team was supposed to arrive seventeen minutes ago… They aren’t here. You either missed them and they left without you- which makes sense because your new house doesn’t have a phone line yet and they can’t exactly call like they did last time… and no one knows where you live… And now the car won’t start… And it’s a beautiful twenty degrees (farenheight) outside. It’s a blasted Saturday, so no one else will be at the school for another forty-eight to fifty hours give or take…
It was always in times like this that I understood the absolute value of cellular phone technology. That is to say:

(Caleb) + (Busted Car*Freezing Cold) - |cellular technology| = (Freaking Screwed)

I didn’t want to stay there… that much was certain. But considering the temperature I wasn’t exactly keen on getting out and walking the eight miles back home just to find the house empty like it always is and still no way to call and communicate my rather unfortunate situation and the death of my car. So I did the only thing I could do…
I just sat there.
I wondered how long I would be sitting there, watching my breath shimmer and breeze in front of me till it pasted itself across the windshield of my car. Then I drew a face in it. Then I squashed the face and replenished my canvas by exhaling again. It was a pretty miserable few minutes. Thank God I didn’t get out of the car. For at seven twenty four: a single suburban rolled over the lightening horizon. I recognized it instantly… my coach… Mrs. Athena Melnicki.
Joy abounds…
Turns out we were actually supposed to meet at the school at seven THIRTY. I merely missed the memo and went at the standard time. Fortunately- MY CAR BROKE DOWN! YAY! And I was forced to sit and wait till they eventually entered the high school parking lot and got one of the busses. I joined them in a considerably colder state of misery and once again- off we went.
The busses at my school implement a truly ingenious internal heating system. The students themselves invented it after they got tired of freezing to death in the pasty winter while on their way to school. It’s called biological quantification. The theory behind the principle behind the system is that if you stack enough students on top of each other in a confined space for an extended period of time that eventually their collective body heats will become self-sufficient and autonomous thereby heating the entire vehicle. And while this theory is a valid one and the principle is legitimate and the system is workable… it gets pretty darn uncomfortable after a while. All that is mentioned only to say that by the time we got to the school: my legs and left shoulder were brilliantly cramped, but I WAS warm.
Fifth round begins almost immediately. I reawaken myself and prepare the senses for the by now familiar mental battleground. (By the way, if anyone ever asks you if you know a single person who can uselessly expend three pages of text describing a single morning headed to school, do give them my name, I need a better job…)
I get into the room making absolutely certain I have all my things. Good.
His name is Omar Quereshi. I’ve debated him before. Just once… four years ago. He was a novice then, same as I. I distinctly remembered beating him, which made me fell better about the morning. The kid himself was a giant, and from what I understood, a native of Egypt though remembered very little of it and had no trouble at all speaking a quick and efficient English (essential for spouting off a gazillion contentions every thirty seconds).
As the first four rounds had been held yesterday- fifth round began today picking right up where we had left off. I had come far… The major majority of debaters had been eliminated already. Fifth round was the rite of passage. For in this tournament, if you made it to Sixth Round- you broke through, and it means you’re going to Nationals. Which is huge.
Omar began and I instantly knew it was going to be an unpredictable round. Omar was a hard-core statistics generator. He had an opinion poll and a calculated survey for every three words he spoke. And he spoke at lightning speed but with a superb clarity. It was going to be difficult to meet or match. And I smiled, because… I love it. He tacked the finality of his points together in fewer than four hundred words and I rose to deliver cross-examination.
Jess, Omar had gotten good. He’d hit the ropes enough times to know how to throw another into them. And the guy wouldn’t shut up to save his life. I’d ask a simple question, what was the title of this or that point and he’s launch full-scale into the point explaining everything and eternity to me and I’d have to stop him and say- “Pardon, that’s wonderful, you’ve used thirty seconds of my three minute questioning time and have not answered the question. Please answer the question now please.”
“I’m sorry could you please restate the question?”
I oblige him.
“Oh yes, this point basically explains-”
Basically? Nonsense. There was nothing remotely basic about it. He droned for another forty-five seconds and I’m piping in peaceably with “excuse me, uh, pardon please answer the- hey, excuse me-” And he’s still going. He’s rattling on and on and on, delivering an entirely new speech in the middle of my precious CX time. CX time is what wins me debate rounds and he wouldn’t shut up! Over and over he prattled about this and that and on and on and on and-
“STOP.” I barked.
He stopped.
“I respect you and I’d ask that you respect me in this round, especially in this round- if nowhere else. You understand that I ask questions and that you deliver answers. Please stop wasting my time.”
“Oh absolutely.” He replied in a perfect professional expulsion.
“I need to know the source of your second stated statistic concerning incarcerations of juveniles between 1978 and 2004.”
“Oh of course- those statistics are extremely important in today’s debate because what they show is that the vast majority of juveniles-”
“Stop.”
“filtered of course through the adult court system which is also technically known as the Criminal Justice System are subjected to harsher penalties not because of set sentences but because of the after effects of the-”
“Stop now.”
“mental strain upon the juvenile has been proven to surpass acceptable range for that age group and therefore cannot be considered-”
“Time.” The timekeeper croaks from the front of the room, signaling that the allotted time had elapsed. The moment he opened his mouth I knew that we had just burned three solid minutes of absolutely necessary CX time and I winced and I said- “Thank y-”
“Technically according to the NFL handbook and the official rules I am allowed to finish answering my opponent’s last question even after time has elapsed.”
I blinked and my mouth staggered open.
He continued speaking for another thirty-eight seconds, never answered a single thing I’d asked for, and then sat down. I continued standing out of mere disbelief. A split second passed.
“If I’m not mistaken it is time for the opponent’s first rebuttal.” Omar announced to no one in particular.
Okay… this was already a bad morning. In fact, yesterday didn’t go so swell either. I don’t anger easily Jess. I honestly don’t. I’ve always understood the difference between having a temper and losing your temper. And it takes a heck of a lot to make me even slightly angry.
By the grace of God in heaven- I was not angry.
I was bothered of course… but not angry. During the split second between the time Omar’s butt hit his chair and the moment that he informed everyone that it was my turn to speak- my mind had engaged dynamically and rapidly generated several very plausible solutions to what was apparently going to become a growing dilemma. Each option was evaluated and weighed according to likelihood of success and what I knew I was and was not capable of, and the golden solution remained. I took that option and loaded it into my mind like a bullet into a gun and spun the chamber.
Click.
“If I’m not mistaken-” I heard Omar on my left.
Okay… “He’s right. It sure is.” I smiled. “Thank you, sir.” I gathered my scattered notes and stacked them neatly together. Then I lightly slid them aside. And though I couldn’t see him- I quietly envisioned Omar raising an eyebrow. With a calm and genial laugh- I began my speech.
The points in his case- where I had been able to note them- were familiar enough. I’d already debated this exact topic over fifteen times in various tournaments and though there’s much to be said for the individuality of each debater, there comes a point when you’ve heard just about everything that can be said about one particular subject.
Not using prep time was essential. It was a mind-game now. If I didn’t use prep time- it proved that I was ready to rock and roll even after such a horrendous CX. If I asked for time it would prove I was rattled by it. Especially after Omar’s squatted comment. There was little chance that the three judges in the room had not noticed that butchery of a cross-examination round and the blatant inconsiderate rudeness of my opponent. Knowing that- I made sure to say absolutely nothing about it. Instead I complimented my opponent on a well written case and the cleverness of his case. “But unfortunately, there’s a problem. Just a small one here. An inconsistency.” And I called attention to it with the gentlest care. “Now the inconsistency isn’t actually the problem at all. Were it just this point alone and nothing else, then surely my opponent should win. But look at the spreading result of the one inconsistency. It grows.” I painted pictures standing calm and composed at the front of the room. I spoke a tender praise of each of my opponent’s points before pointing out the little hole I had found in it. It was like watching someone slowly unwind a ball of yarn. Speaking softly the entire time I unwound the case. And then, all the holes, I began to suggest “What if all of these little holes happened to cluster?” I added them to each other one by one and began to tie that string of yarn together. I began to tie knots. I made it clear that each and every one of these inconsistencies were not the actual problem; it was the ultimate effect of that inconsistency. And even then, though a problem, each one was manageable if only occurring alone. After I had gently gotten them to accept those arguments, by speaking softly, and eventually providing their minds the space to make an allowance for my side, I said- “Fortunately for us, all of these little things will never actually happen naturally. Because they are as I said- inconsistencies. They cancel, they counter. They are opposite, and they are inverses of each other. They cannot coexist naturally. The only way in fact that all of these little problems could ever exist at once and create the great injustice is if someone were to force their existence, by compiling them all in a single plan where they must all be present. And then-” I took a slow step back. “To make his case, and bring all of them together believing that he is actually doing a service when actually mistaken.” I had backed three steps away from the judges. Leaving at the forefront of the stage, right in front of me, sitting in his chair- Omar, my opponent.
I then explained my side of the story, as I was always there to do. I knew that if they had taken notice of his behavior, that they may have disapproved of it. And I knew that if they disapproved of it, there was a chance for me. Omar had created a void of respect, of consideration. A vacuum of decency and sportsmanship. The great thing was, that there has to be a balance for things to return to normal. If I could be as nice to Omar as any human could possibly be to Omar following such a display- then I could (I hoped) score major character preference points in the minds of my judges. It all depended on whether or not they were offended by his manner and if so- how much. The golden solution- was to create a natural bias both against Omar, and in my favor. From what I could tell- the attentiveness of the judges was up and they seemed intent on listening to a softer, quieter voice, one that would provide a serene contrast in the middle of Omar’s breakneck vein-popping rhetoric. Other than that… it was about the only thing I had.
Omar stood and straightened his tie.
His first question exploded out of his mouth.
“Yes.” I said and settled into silence. Omar scribbled on his notepad.
Another question, longer this time.
I kept everything short sweet, friendly and helpful. I felt like a store salesperson assisting a grumpy old man looking for a particular… nonexistent product. 90% of the stuff he asked me, about my case, about my attacks on his, made zero sense at all. No mostly when he asked me a question I responded-
“No.”
He began to ask actual questions after a while. Ones that required more than one word answers. I answered each one the best that my ability allowed. “That’s only due to the increased counts of juvenile violence, that statistic came out of Oregon, not the rest of the-”
“Are you saying that this resolution should only be applied to Oregon or is this not in fact a nationwide resolution?”
“Granted. Or course it is. Specific reading of the resolution actually implies a global-”
“I will ask you not to exit the scope of the question please. This is my cross-examination period.”
“Of course.”
“Did you cite evidence for your claims that juveniles are mentally incompetent?”
“I never claimed that Juveniles are-”
“Did you or did you not cite evidence concerning the mental condition of juveniles?”
“Of course I did but I never claimed that juveniles are-”
“What reason do we have to believe that juveniles incarcerated in federal prisons will recidivate that is, recommit their former crimes?”
“They are in prison, they are unable to recommit their crimes.”
“Do you have evidence or a quote to proving this?”
“Federal prison maintains constant secure surveillance of inmates they have no access to society they there cannot commit-”
“I’ll ask you again to answer the question, do you or do you not have evidence proving this?”
“I apologize, and very deeply, but I don’t make a habit of researching proof of the obvious.”
“I take it then you do not have valid evidence.”
“I have no statistics or quotes for you, no.”
“Time.”
I sat down. He remained standing for his speech. I held my pencil and sat waiting to take notes.
There was a small explosion at the front of the room. I nearly rocked sideways. The man argued fiercely, pounding point after point. I wrote everything I could until I saw his hand hovering inches away from my head.
He was pointing at me. Which is something you don’t do. You speak to the judge. You may make reference you’re your opponents case, but you do not point. Each side’s goal is to attack the other’s case. Omar had abandoned the case. He was attacking me. He ranted on and on about my abuse towards him, how I had not provided evidence thus he could not attack my source and prove it invalid. He began to speak of things… amazing things. Claims that I had said this and that and I can’t even write linearly he’s so far off. Nothing lines up. He was making brilliant attacks, phenomenal attacks, on points that I had never presented. Whereas I was unwinding a ball of yarn, he was shooting game with a bow and arrow, running up to its carcass and beating the life out of it with the backside of an already dull axe. It was a mess. The last thing I heard him say was.
“My opponent is trying to deceive you judges, he is twisting my case and he is doing it abusively. Do not believe his lies. Do not allow him twist the truth any longer.”
Boom. And that was it. The explosion subsided. I stared at the Rorschach Inkblot that was supposed to be my notes lying open in front of me. It looked shockingly like a large man mercilessly beating a defenseless woodland creature with the backside of an already dull axe.
Wearily, I stood to my feet. The time for tactics had ended. I was going to pull one of the oldest powers in the book. One that rarely worked, I knew… but it was the only thing I had left. I saw the judges and they had been taken by the stream in inaccuracy that had flooded from his mouth. I closed my eyes and realized how badly I wished that this round I had been facing another girl. Girls are always more civil than guys. I was now going to do something that was most likely going to get me torched. I was going to tell the truth. Deep breath…
“Wow.” I whispered just loud enough that everyone could hear me. “Judges, there’s been a grave mistake. Or maybe it’s not a mistake, maybe all of that happened on purpose. Maybe that was the intention. My opponent… has made a mockery of someone else’s case.” I went on and on. I went over everything. I hit everything I could. There wasn’t a lot I could cover in such little time. But I did what I was able. I expressed my regrets at the misunderstanding my opponent had made. I re-attacked his key points and statistics. I began back on my case, reiterating everything I said, clarifying the mistakes point by point. I was only able to pass through half of it before my short speech time ran out and I had to sit down. The speech meant to provide reason, compared to the great jazz and boom of my Egyptian friend, came out somehow weak at best… I prayed to God for sanity and clarity in the minds of my judges… mostly sanity.
Omar rose like a monument, straightened his tie, emphatically, and glanced at my chest and raised his eyebrows.
Yeah, I’m not wearing a tie, Omar. You going to attack that as well? I didn’t think even he would do that… But he did… He began slowly.
The last half of my case, the great misinterpretation, he set upon it immediately. Speaking as I had, slowly, calm, and gently. Reinforcing the original inconsistency making it grow, shaping it and shifting it with a friendly voice and a serene, understanding demeanor. I hadn’t been able to cover that last half because of time… And he followed up on the creation of his own opponent, one close to me, just close enough that the judges may have missed it… close enough that he might get through with it. Clever, so clever. Tying knots together in his hands. Tying his own story into the rebuilt first half of my case. Slipping the broken puzzle pieces together and forcing them to fit.
He stood for the allotted three minutes. And he ended with a quote. No idea where he got it, I’m willing to bet money he made it up. It even rhymed. I don’t even remember the stupid thing. Something clever and witty about dressing up to undress the deception buried within and something somewhere about a tie… He made sure to glance at me curtly and then back to the judges on the tie part. You’d think that would have any effect at all. But he knew as I well I as I do that the first thing a novice inexperienced judge looks for is who is dressed more nicely for the sake of professional courtesy. Often just because they know that clothing is a big ordeal in the real political field and they honestly didn’t understand the half of what was just said and want to base their decision on something.
We thanked the judges, thanked the timekeeper, who glowered at my opponent which made me feel a bit better. And thanked each other for an excellent debate. Then we walked out of the room. He went one way, I went the other.
I went over to my table and took an exhausted seat. My old headache returning to me once again, suddenly aware that I lacked sleep more than I had allowed myself to first consider… I gazed over my Rorschach Inkblot. It was then that Sarah appeared out of nowhere.
“You made it!” She called out. “You made it to the second day. You won the rest of your rounds yesterday?”
“Yeah…”
“Awesome. Hey are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m just… tired.”
“How did last round go?”
I thought about it. And I bit my lip and just like my last speech, I told her the truth. “I don’t know… I do not even know.”

To be continued…

NEXT TIME on “NATIONAL QUALIFIERS!”

“I’m really sorry about what happened yesterday.”
“I know.”
“But hey if you make it to sixth round you go to national competition!”
“Yeah… Yeah that would rock.”
“Sucks that its double elimination though.”
“Yeah… wait- that means that fifth round-”

“Have you always played the piano?”
“Not always.”
“… you play beautifully…”
“… thank you.”

“Look! Its huge! Its almost taller than he is!”
“I’ve never seen one so big!”
“It doesn’t seem possible! No! It can’t be!”

“If it’s a double elimination, and sixth round qualifies… so help me God…”
“That’s only if you lost to Omar though.”
“Oh why can’t they post those scores!? If I lost to Omar… Everything hangs on that round I didn’t even realize… I could have still made it, if in first round I hadn’t been…”
“I know.”
“Don’t tell Sarah. Pleas don’t tell Sarah.”

“The scores! Look they’re posting the scores!”
“What where?”
“On the north wall! Look!”
“Round six starts in four minutes, if you made it you’ve got to go and go fast!”
“Can you see them yet?”
“Not yet! There’s too many people in the way!”
“Oh God please… please be a win… please.”
“There they are! Caleb I can nearly see them! Cross your fingers!”
“It all comes down to this…”

STAY TUNED! Don’t go away! I’ll post a commercial soon enough! :P

Ahem*
(Positions Self Marginally near the edge of the stage, stands straight and directly.)
"Steve Irwin has a flowerpot for brains. Thank you."

So I just watched this amazingly retarded movie called Crocodile Hunter, Collision Course. Halfway through the film I felt my brain break into a cold sweat of panic and try to escape out my left ear. I had to stuff it back in and force it to endure the remainder of the flick. Fortunately, the damage was minimal, and one can rest assured that my brain is still in proper order and condition. In fact the only aftereffect seems to be the intense desire to uselessly spout out the word "Krikey!" for no justifiable reason. That has been mostly supressed being that I've made a habit of not speaking. HAHA!

The remainder has been a simple effort to try and repair my car. Apparently the starter went out and had to be replaced. 220 dollars, I'll tell you about it sometime, when I find the time. Till then, the bell is about to ring which means I've only got a limited time left to type. (Chicken Little is a hilarious movie.) I'll type up the rest at home and upload it when I get the chance or the connection. There are plenty of developements on the home net connection as well. But I haven't time! Thanks for the comment though. And enduring that hopelessly massive blog note. I didn't realize how long I had been typing till I scrolled down to the bottom to read your comment and I was like "wow! This is really freaking long!" I mean I knew it was long but not... THIS long. Anyway, I've got to go. We're in an intense testing period of the schoolyear. TESTING FOR TWO STRAIGHT WEEKS! Then we test some more on some other stuff and OH! Yesterday I beat a kid over the head with a Mike Wzowski Pinata! YEAH! I'll have to tell you about that too. Utterly HILARIOUS.

Until I am able- your good yet circumstancially distant friend-

Caleb

Well Jess, it seems we may just have to wait on that Internet Access a little longer than expected. It seems there is a problem with the landline. None of the phone outlets in the entire house actually work… Well, none of them except the one in the folks’ room… I suspect foul play… This curiosity troubles me. And I wonder if the problem isn’t one intended…
A couple of weeks ago we got our last phone bill from the old house. And there was something terrible wrong with it. There was listed some very peculiar calls that no one could explain. Two of them, the numbers very close to each other, were two minutes apiece and totaled about $40 each. Some sort of 900 calls. The third was a one-minute dial to some place in Austria. The two higher powers conversed and determined that neither of them had done it. So the buck fell to me. I knew nothing about them, and I told them when I was asked. I suggested that they call up the phone company and find out about them. They did, turns out the two forty-dollar calls were actually (get this-) downloads. From some server off in the middle of nowhere. The gal on the other end was very understanding and kindly took the charges off the phone bill. The call to Austria? Anyone’s guess. But it was only three dollars and forty some cents worth of talk time so we didn’t bother about it… much.
I’m the only existent being in this household that has any use for the internet. And I do use it, quite frequently, when I can. And often enough- I’m using it late at night when everyone else is asleep… So they really don’t have any idea what I’m doing at all hours while jacked into cyberspace. But I think now they suspect something… And as a result- my Internet is unhooked. I never downloaded anything. But I don’t have a firewall either- so I think that someone might have pinged my IP, and used it to download the two files. I’m just the random sucker who got caught by the IP scanner and gypped… again. I don’t really know a great deal about the whole… whatever the malicious thing is. But I know one thing. If this ultimately ends up being the cause of me being permanently ‘out-of-communication’ with my favorite Aussie, someone is going to get words about it the injustice.
Well… to say the very… very least: It has been one heck of a spring break. Actually, strike that (reverse it!) it has been a pretty dull spring break, and one heck of a weekend! Thursday I went to get the car a safety inspection so I can renew the title, drove it to the place, parked it. Gave the guy the key, guy gets in- click.
… um…
click click click click.
“Uh hey kid, how do you start your car?”
“You put the key in the ignition and turn it… clockwise.”
“Um…” The guy looking rather embarrassed being a mechanic who can’t even start a little Nissan Sentra crawls out of the driver’s seat blushing and rubbing the back of his neck. I kindly crawl in, grab my trusty key, stick it deep within the ignition, and give her a turn. Click.
“Hm…”
So there’s something incurably wrong with my car, nice for that to happen just out of the blue at an automotive machine shop. So the guy goes ahead and screws around with my engine. After a few seconds of poking and prodding he tries again. The car wheezes to life, regretfully though, as if it didn’t appreciate the gesture. So now my car grumbles at me… I asked him what he’d done and he said he just fiddled a bit with the starter. Told me that it may be going out, and said he could replace it for a hundred and fifty dollars. After picking my jaw up off the floor of his parking lot I told him that it was quite alright, thanked him generously for the fiddling and said we should probably just proceed with the twelve dollar safety inspection.
Turns out my car is about the safest vehicle on the road… yay… At least I won’t die while not driving around in my ignitionless Nissan.
The car burps to life and I manage to pull it out of the driveway and get it home. Its late, and after some random stuff like reading, writing, and blowing stuff up with my computer, I go to sleep.
I wake up early the next morning, and it is the BIG day. National Qualifier tournament. I get all my stuff together, double check to make sure I have my scripts and cases and arguments all compiled. And bubble out the door and into my star. Starts right up. I, now fully confident it was just a coincidental spurt of un-cooperation on the part of my little friend putter happily to the high school. Pile myself onto the bus, and off we go on our merry way!
This…my good friend, is where it all gets very interesting.
The first round of the entire day takes place at midnight, your time, and about eight am mine. Which I considered to be lucky in my own whimsical opportunistic way. First round is debate, oratory and the like to come later. So we bustle in and set up shop and park our stuff on a table inside and off we go!
Okay okay- Important facts to note before this story begins:
1. I’ve been in this program a productive four years
2. I’ve gotten to the point I can hold my own in some of the most insane debate rounds one can ever experience.
3. I felt fine today, nothing at all wrong with me.
4. I had everything I needed with me at the time of arrival.
5. I know how to spell and pronounce about 99% of the English vocabulary properly.

First round I’m debating a girl named Sarah. Nice gal. The judge is there, pleasant woman, I think her name was Cindy. The timekeeper is all set up. I’ve got a bored Novice from my school in the room watching and taking notes. There is a well-experienced varsity debater from Sarah’s school there to watch as well, I didn’t find out why until later.
Ding. Round begins. I’m up first- and there we go! I read off the case, I hit every point, I roll up my arguments like a great big newspaper and whack my poor opponent on the head with it. Then I’m done, my first speech is beautiful and now its time for cross examination, where she asks me questions and blows as many holes as possible in my arguments.
“Um… so like basically you said that kids need to be tried in a court, like… based upon the crime? Not the age… right?”
“Yes.”
“Um okay.” She sits down.
I’m not sure if she meant to do that… but she stays there so I take my seat also.
She stands to deliver her end of the arguments. Pulls out a stack of papers and inside I panic. Oh no, she’s one of those GODLIKE debaters who can write faster than a human being can speak, she’s got every single point nailed, that’s why she didn’t need to ask me anything else about my cases… Look at that stack of papers! She’s going to drown me in a heap of evidence and there’s going to be so many I won’t be able to combat them all fast enough! Just like the finals round three weeks ago at Joplin (I won that round by the way, close though.) She’s going to kill me!
My pencil begins to tap absentmindedly against my notepaper. Over time, doing this long enough, you develop the ability to look absolutely serene no matter what you’re thinking inside. (As an irrelevant note, a great many debaters are also excellent poker players.) She opens her mouth and the pencil in my hand twirls dynamically, arcing down so that the lead smacks against the paper, hand tight, brow furrowed, ready to write with all the ferocity that it takes to record every word she says.
“Um…”
My hand twitches. I look down and I see the word ‘Um’ nearly carved clean through my flow paper.
She begins her speech. For the next three minutes she reads from that cosmic stack of paper, point after point. Argument after argument, it was brilliant! Building one point onto another and the logic and reasoning rising higher and higher! And she spoke with such passion and emotion! It was like watching a sin being committed and wanting to cry out in pain! She put down the stack of papers and my hand bolted down to my own case, bracing for the inevitable, ready to scribble the no doubt incredible attacks she was about to inflict upon it!
“Um…”
My hand twitched.
“I guess that’s it. So, yeah… I’m up for uh, questions or whatever.”
I blink. What? Did she just say what I think she said? I glance down at my notes. Yeah… there it is, verbatim… It didn’t make any sense… Cautiously, I stood.
Cross-Examination is a three-minute question and answer period where the two competitors are speaking to each other, directly, rather than to the judge in speech form. It was my turn to cross-examine, so I was the one asking all the questions. I began with something simple, just basic clarification upon that mountain of literature she had just read. A few seconds after I asked, it became abundantly clear- she had never read that thing before in her entire life. I delved deeper, I scurried around her mind this way and that, asked her slippery questions that any basic novice would recognize and refute easily. Three minutes later, her case lay shredded and the fact had dawned on me- she has no idea what’s she’s doing…
I took one minute prep time (you get three total per competitor) I drew up the best arguments I could formulate as quickly as possible, I pieced the questions together and knitted main components of my own case in as well, I bound the arguments up together and ordered them in a sequential logic. Then I stood up.
I delivered the most polite and casual verbal massacre you’ve ever seen. I killed her. I was very civil about it because knowing now what I did I kinda felt sorry for her.
The average debate is forty-five minutes long. For the next half-hour, I delivered everything I needed and every time it was her turn to speak she shakily stood to her feet and uttered the word ‘um’ about four times, then told the judge that I was wrong, that it wasn’t right, that the judge should vote for her side, and then sat down in the same rattled state as she had when standing.
When it was over, we both formally thanked the judge as we always should, turned, shook hands, thanked our opponents for a good debate, thanked the timekeeper for keeping time, and everyone except the judge (competitors, timekeeper, observers) stepped into the hall.
“So like if you couldn’t tell that was like my first time ever doing that in my entire life.”
“I could tell.”
“Oh…” She groaned. “I wasn’t supposed to be here, I just read this thing,” She shook her mound of paper. “Five minutes ago and don’t understand any of it… at least thanks for not making me look stupid.”
“No problem.”

We talked for a bit more, both observers, from my team and her own concluded that it had been a very courteous slaughter, and went off to perform their own events.
One hour and twenty-three minutes later- Round two began… sort of.
Its just me and this judge named Mike sitting alone in the room for a while, staring kindly at the walls, my competitor hurries in all flustered and sates her place. “Sorry.” She gasps rather out of breath. “There was some confusion over the school codes and what room I was supposed to be in.”
The round begins. And we go at it for a good long while, back and forth back and forth, its good too. A real steady solid fiery debate round (which I’m sure sounds really weird if you’ve never seen one, bear with me.) We go at it for forty-two minutes. I deliver a powerhouse closing, and she stands for her final three-minute speech.
The door flies open. A coach bounces into the room and also rather flustered declares- “You are in the wrong room!”
A judge, one timekeeper, my opponent, and I unanimously utter the word- “What?”
Coach points to my opponent standing ready to give her speech. “There’s a mix-up, you’re in the wrong room debating the wrong person.”
I fall into my seat. I know what this means, it’s happened before. But at least before they caught it early. Like… after the first or second speech. My opponent was forced then to pack up her stuff and haul it out while I breath deep and tear a new sheet of note paper. My real opponent steps cautiously into the room. “Hi, I’m sorry.” She says.
“No problem.”

The judge has to be replaced, the timekeeper even has to go and they must find a new one. For this is National Qualifiers. If everything isn’t exactly protocol, then nothing is legitimate. Fifteen minutes following the unexpected interruption, a new judge enters, and the round begins… again.
Forty-five exhausting minutes later, I stumble into the hall, mentally soured. You it was debate that taught me how to use my mind to reason properly, taught me how to find all the little holes in an idea and make them big ones, find all the little holes in your own ideas, and seal them off. It was debate that taught me that knowledge is power… but in the same step taught me that ignorance- is bliss. It was the end of second round. So I went to check my first round scores. As if there were any doubt. They were posted by now. In a tourney where the winnings are as fragile and important as this, and your existence depends on double elimination- they crank the scores out pretty fast. And considering I was in round for twice the normal length, I figured they’d probably be marked up by now.
I walked over to the wall where the sheets were marked and scanned them for my first round room. My eyes hit the spot and surveyed the result.
I stood there for a solid seven minutes. My eyes locked right on top of that very spot. I was either waiting for it to change, refusing to believe what I saw was real, or trying to make it go away. According to the unforgiving sheet of white in front of me, I lost first round. And I lost it badly. Words began to form in my mind… words like- “What the f-”
“Hey!” A voice on my right, a bit behind me. I recognized it. “How did you do second round?” It was Sarah. My round one opponent. She bounded up to see me and briefly glanced over the score sheet. “What the f-”
“I know.” I said blankly. I heard a small crash behind me. Sarah had dropped all of her stuff. I turned to look and she was bright pink.
“How did that happen!?” She gasped.
“Honestly, normally in this situation I would go ahead and congratulate you because freaky stuff like this happens sometimes but this…”
“But you murdered me!”
“Yeah you butt-raped her.” Another voice behind me. It was her teammate, the guy who had watched the round. “I’d like to support the team and all but that really was a butt-raping.”
Why would you ever call it something like that?
“There’s something wrong.” Sarah’s mouth had not closed in astonishment. “There’s… that’s not right. Someone got it wrong or something. I’d go ask about it.”
“What?”
“Go ask about it. That’s not right. Seriously go ask, cause I don’t want to have to do that again.”
I actually considered it for a moment. “No… it’s a double elimination. I’ve still got another shot. Its just, I don’t know, a screwball round or something.”
She took a deep breath and looked me right in the eye. “I am so, so sorry. That judge is-”
“A moron.” Said the guy behind me sipping a coke.
“Exactly.” She concurred.
“Wow…” I said.
“No seriously I am so sorry I can’t believe that happened I’m… I’m so sorry.”
I forced a weak smile. “No problem.”

Third round. Wow I’ve got a headache. This had better be good. Its another female. I’m beginning to wonder about the system here. It’s incredibly rare to get the same gender three times in a row. Now I’ve hit a girl four times in a row, though technically the second one was a mistake. For the most part, round three goes smoothly, which is a blessing because I’ve got one of the most amazing headaches I’ve ever had. We both debate well, I catch her contradicting herself twice, it was tricky and the points were subtle, but I managed to exploit them both, flipped them over to my end of the argument, and overall made her case look a bit foolish. The round ended. “Thank you for judging. Thank you for timekeeping.” Turn, turn. Shake hands. “Good debate.” She says. “Good debate.” I say.
“Thanks.” She says.
“No problem.”

I dash outside to check my round two scores. I know I’ve already won because its double elimination. If I had lost second they never would have scheduled me a third round. I just like to check it anyway, partly hoping that they’d changed the first round score. Nope… still the same.
There’s a small break between the third and fourth rounds. About 30 minutes. I take that time to find some aspirin, swallow them dry, and pray that they do something for my headache. Then I pour back over my flows (notes from previous rounds) I’ve got four of them now and I look them over finding what worked and what didn’t and adding and taking from my arguments. Scribbling notes over my cases, making them better, maybe worse. I don’t know… we’ll find out. Sarah walks up and sees me scribbling. Asks me what I’m doing and has a seat. I tell her and ask her how her rounds are going.
“Oh!” She groans. “I’m horrible I don’t want to do this anymore!”
“I’m sorry…” I felt a bit awkward saying it. “Maybe if you’re lucky you lost the last two rounds… I guess.”
“Oh I hope so…” She bit her lip. “Look I’m really sorry.”
“Hey its okay.”
“See I’m into IE’s (individual events), I’m not a debater at all. Someone on our team dropped and we needed someone to fill the spot.”
We talked a bit more, random stuff. She does a fine humorous interpretation (comedy script) and dramatic interp as well. Which is I guess why she read her little packet with such passion. I continue scribbling and she quietly watches me work.
“Well I’m rooting for you anyway. I can’t even tell you how bad I want you to win now. I don’t even know you.”
It was then that our formal introductions took place. We learned each other’s names and thanked each other for the others company… then she apologized again, like twenty times.
It’s nearly fourth round and after another good luck and thumbs up from Sarah I stuff everything into my bag and head towards the room. There’s about fifteen minutes left. I pass my round one judge in the hallway. I really didn’t intend a big scene out of it, I just… a curiosity came over me. And I tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hi, um, first round, you remember me?”
“Yeah, hey, I think I may have done something wrong with the ballots.”
I stopped. “You what?”
“Well see I meant to vote for you, but I think I wrote it down wrong.”
“Ma’am please come with me.”
She follows me back to the table where we pick up Sarah who instantly gets very excited and we head down to the score room. We get there, snag the first important-looking soul scurrying out of the place, and explain ourselves. The judge explained that there had been a mistake and that the wrong person had been voted. There came forth a flurry of confusion that I have never before seen. They quickly pulled her into the room and following that… I don’t know what happened. It turned out that the judge actually came from the same school as Sarah, which is never allowed to happen. The judge is for obvious reasons, not allowed to be connected to either competitor in any way. After she got pulled into that amazingly mysterious room, Sarah and I sat down and just kinda talked. She was thrilled to pieces. “They’re gonna fix it! They’re gonna fix your score.”
“Its going to be a rescheduling nightmare. If they fix my score it means that technically you weren’t supposed to have a third round which means your opponent had an invalid debate and… oh gosh I don’t know. But it’s bound to be a nightmare.”
“Its okay. It’ll work out.”
“I kinda feel bad doing that to them.”
“Well I hope you get it. I really am rooting for you. You wouldn’t believe how bad I feel.”
“Not your fault. Just a mistake.”
Fifteen minutes go by and my debate coach steps out of the score room. “Caleb, we’re going to take a walk.”
Alright… here we go, she’s going to explain what I need to do to work all of this out. Goodness this is crazy. We start off down an empty hallway just walking. Once we’re out of hearing distance…
Jess I got shelled. I got one of the most major verbal reprimands I have ever received in my life. I was instructed, concerning the unacceptability of questioning the decision of a judge, how unprofessional and immature it was, how I was lucky they hadn’t decided to throw me out of the competition. I got the chewing of a lifetime. The score would stand as it was. After which I was told to get to fourth round. And then my coach walked back down the hall.
I stood there utterly dumbfounded. Just… breathing. My headache exploded. I turned and stumbled down the hall, mindlessly, Sarah caught me just as I was passing. She asked me what had happened. When they were going to change it… I told her what happened.
She cried. It was amazing. No… it was insane.
It was getting late. I had another round to get to. Sarah gave me a big hug for some reason and I gathered my things again, making my way down another hallway to my fourth-round room.
“I’m really sorry!” She shouts after me.
“No problem…”

Upon arriving I find two out of three judges, two timekeepers I eventually silently dubbed “thing one” and “thing two” as they were both working together to operate the stopwatch and their combined ages may have barely reached my own. My opponent was also already there, she was scribbling on her own notepad. Another girl? What is the deal here? I have nothing against debating women. But your odds are better winning a small lottery than to hit five females in a row in a national tournament. Though I still had a headache, and was in little mood to worry about much anything other than what had just happened three minutes ago.
I reach into my stuff while we’re waiting for the final judge to arrive and pull out my papers. I glance over them, reach tentatively back into my bag, and then again frantically. Oh… no way.
The front sheet, two thirds of my negative debate case- is gone. I tell the room I’ll be right back. I whirl back into the cafeteria and over to my table. I shuffle through everything there, none of it is my case. If I were a swearing man I’d have done it many many times by now. My headache throbbed full force again.
I returned to the room and reach into my flows. I pulled out all my notes and drew up a quick outline. I remembered most of my main point arguments, not word-for-word… but this would have to do. I put it in front of the remaining sheet of paper, the last one third of my case. Then the last judge arrives. My head is pounding.
“Hi guys! Sorry I’m late!”
“No problem.”

I made everything up on the spot. And somehow it ended up working. It was strange. I was just… making it up, I wasn’t bound by a scripted case, I could cover whatever I wanted to. I mean I myself wrote the original case, but after I had spent a half an hour scribbling extra notes all over it, it actually came out more clear just pouring out of my head. I kept the outline for specifics and for the sake of structure to my side. And we just went at it. A few speeches into the round and the poor girl makes the same mistake the one in last round did. The very same contradiction. I do it again, feeling somewhat crueler about it though… But still very courteous. The round is over, thank you, thank you, goodbye.

That was the last round of the day. I had a lot to think about. The weather was freezing cold and I watch words echo around my own breath as I saw it wafting in front of me walking towards the bus that night. I wondered why I was there. I had thought that we were there for… I don’t know. Truth I guess. That’s what we were learning, wasn’t it? To dig deep through issues, get to the core and find truth? But no it couldn’t be about that, because the truth was I had won that round, Judge said it herself.
And we weren’t there to win because I had won, and it didn’t matter. It was less of a hassle for everyone involved to just… ignore it, and silence the kid who rocked the boat. And we weren’t there for fun because… well, a lot of fun this was.
As the bus juggled home I gave up trying to cure my ferocious headache. I figured it was just going to stick there till I fell asleep. And so I tried to sleep. It was a long bus ride after all. But nope, no sleep. So I just kinda sat there for an hour. Staring into nothing.
And that was day one.
“So Caleb, are you going to be all rested and ready to come back twice as strong tomorrow?” My coach asked cheerily. “Another big day as you’re still in competition.” She said it as if she wanted to remind me of something I already knew. As if she wanted to make sure I wasn’t angry with her because after all, I’d beaten everyone else I’d faced today so… obviously it wasn’t all that bad. “Are you going to be ready to come back and do it again?”
I looked up at her blankly. My head was pounding, my case was missing, my eyes were glazed over and my voice was fried. “Yeah…” I rasped quietly. “No problem.”

Well this is entirely too long. Sorry Jess. I know you were absolutely enthralled and all (who am I kidding?) but this thing is just over eight solid pages long and its well into one am. I’ve got to find a way to get to and from school in the morning but that will require sleep so. I’ll finish the rest later if you’re interested. Trust me, it gets better… (Rolls eyes) Till then, this is your coolest ever American friend- signing off.

-Monsterbox

Jessica Bond!! (angels singing) Today is an unprecedented day! For today, yes this very night, I have breached the 60,000 word mark in Ancient Tale! I well expect it to be at least 100,000 before I sign ‘the end.’ Everything has changed and nothing has changed, the story writhes with action and I have no idea where it’s going! YEAH! Just typing away clickety-clack just exactly the way I do everything else: making it up as I go along! (It always turns out best that way. Completely perfect and completely whole, yet still completely unpredictable and unexpected!)
Soon you may notice that I’m out of communication for a bit... It is the infamous spring break as I have foretold! A solid week where NOTHING occurs! No school, only three hours of work, and a LOT of sleeping in and being a lazy bum! ^_^ Which sadly means I’m also completely cut off from outside world within my little box (my room.) Either that or I’ll have to find alternate means of getting online (and I’ve been very resourceful recently). So I may be scavenging for a connection… (Difficult yes, but possible.)
Oh these tutoring hours are going to make me go insane! ACK! Thirty-three and counting! I average about sixteen hours a week! That’s more time spent tutoring than I do SLEEPING!
Massive Chemistry test today… (Crosses fingers)
Oh the weather is getting warmer and it feels phenomenal! The grass is actually- GREEN! What a thought! Green grass? That went out of fashion along with Led Zeppelin didn’t it? But green grass is back! Oh no, not Zeppelin too… Eek!
My brain is operating very very quickly right now.
What the heck is a jackaroo?
Hey! I bought a chicken today! A DEAD chicken! And I ate it! I ate it with barbecue sauce that claimed to be from Australia! They called it Jackaroo BBQ.
I’m starting a coin collection. As soon as I have all fifty-eight varieties of coin made and used here in the US, I’ll send them to ya! Then what? You’ll be wealthy in American coinage!
Last week the government announced that they were redesigning the ten dollar bill again. The last time they did this kind of thing was like… two months ago? And then again three months before that? I swear, we rotate currency like bed sheets in a motel out here. Eh, I guess it keeps the treasurer busy. Good for him! Actually do something while you’re sitting on your butt you nerd.
I’m inventing the next great personal security feature. It’s called the purse protector. It’s a preventative measure for the rise in purse snatchings. Basically, you place the patented ‘purse-protector’ security device in the purse, and the detonator in the pocket of your pants or jacket. But it for your friends or purchase it for yourself! Makes a great gift! When you’re walking along and some utterly unchivalrous adolescent thug bolts past and grabs your handbag, don’t just sit there and scream- “Help! Police! He stole my purse! Thief! Thief! Someone help!” Just casually reach into your pocket and press the little red button! Not only does it prevent your personal effects from falling into the hands of thieves, it also provides the public at hand great entertainment watching the delinquent blow into little pieces! Never get your purse snatched again! The incredibly high fatality rate is shown to dramatically reduce recidivism amongst offenders, meaning that the first time you steal from someone armed with patented purse-protector technology, it will most likely be the last! Making the world a better place! (Keep out of reach of children, use only as directed, please use responsibly. Purse-Protector is not responsible for damage to purse, items contained therein, or surrounding environment.)

I’m going to make millions! Here’s the deal, its late at night, I just ate half a chicken and a coke. I’m wired, my brains is going twenty trillion miles per hour. (Because it does that late at night… why? I don’t know. I’ll ask it.)
“Oh brain of mine! Why dost thou become so energetic so late at night?”
“OREOS!”
“Oh goodness. Yes, yes absolutely, must find Oreos and appease my brain by packing them in great amount into my open mouth.”
“Yahoo! Oreos and Jessica Bond!”
(That’s why, I’ve got you and oreos on the brain.) I’ve also go this massive AP Chemistry test in the morning, and following that, another two hours of tutoring. (Goodness heck.) So I’m going to have to get out of here if I want to survive. Sure wish my brain could get this excited about stoichiometry. Then I’d have no trouble at all. But as it stands, I’m still human. Posh… too much to do. Talk to you soon as possible Jess! Goodbye…

Two dabs of this stuff and I knew… This is going to take some getting used to… It was a successful day to say the least. Even without ever uttering a single word I got over eight people to try the vegemite. I got every imaginable reaction. Anything from- “That’s pretty good, tastes like roast beef.” To – “Omigod, its tastes like organic axle grease! Eew!!” And everywhere in between. Though the general consensus was that this exotic substance was some pretty potent crap and tasted nothing like anything they wanted to eat on a regular basis. _
I did sample the stuff… Multiple times. I kinda had to in order to convince half the folks that it really was edible. Most of them had never even heard of it. My English prof had, she regarded the small yellow tube with a paranoid mysticism that proved amusing. She wouldn’t let me near her with it.
By lunchtime, I found the closest thing resembling bread I could (a biscuit) and very lightly applied the vegemite. Then I bit into it. After the first bite, I didn’t put any more on, which didn’t matter a great deal, this substance maintains a very durable aftertaste that lingered in my mouth, intermingling with the other flavors of my lunch, until long after the meal was over.
I’ve been experimenting with it, to say the very least. I’ve had a dab or two of it with everything I’ve eaten today, which hasn’t honestly been an awful lot. Though I do solemnly swear- I will, no matter how long it takes, consume this entire tube and forever keep the container merely for the experience of it.
Charles Jones took upon himself the duty of informing me that when I gently squeezed the vegemite to the top of the tube that it looked like the cap was “pooping.”
The coins were very popular. Probably the most popular of all. Being that I didn’t open the package (which I still have) until the middle of the school day, a lot of students got to see the contents, and were utterly thrilled. ^_^
Lovely letter. It was kinda strange seeing actual human handwriting, and knowing where it had come from, and who wrote it… Suffice it to say there has been the atmosphere of heaven wafting around me. Tickled me to death. ^_^

This may be one of the last times you hear from me for the next week or so, spring break begins, our week off to celebrate a climate change (shrugs), whatever. All that means is that I get to prepare for National Qualifiers without the distraction of school and that I will have utterly 0 access to a computer. Which means I can’t even post these things here! This however, is also the week where I apply for the new job, which will nearly triple my pay. Which is… significant. _ Supposing the job works out, I could easily buy three landlines, chat online with one connection, play Halo on XBOX live using another, and happily chat on the phone with the third, ALL AT THE SAME TIME.
But- everything in moderation. No honestly, upon the dream come true of a sudden and immense cashflow, I’ll probably just sit on it, building money for the college fund… Though it looks like I may actually get all my hours in… WHEW! Its gonna be terrifyingly close (cries out in fear, teeth chatter, hands shake, eyes wild in horror). Its going to literally come down to ONE DAY, maybe even a matter of a couple of hours. Hoping and praying, there’s two years worth of university tuition riding on it, and I’m not exactly a wealthy son-of-a-gun.
Being that I couldn’t talk opened kind of a can of worms today… You and you package, well… my package ^_^ :P got us into a bit of a misunderstanding. Eventually, because it had to happen- sooner or later, someone had to ask where all this cool stuff came from, the coins, the vegemite… and when I point to your name on the outside of the envelope… some eyebrows went up. Let me first define a particular fascination that my American society indulges itself in: From coast to coast, if its not religion, and if its not politics, the American people are absolutely consumed with their own sexuality. Not the extremes mind you, though those have been becoming more and more popular… But the basic idea of a relationship between two people. They never leave anything alone Jess. Never.
There was a small snowball sitting atop a hill, it was nudged by a simple question- “Who is she?” And it began to roll bouncily down the hill. Try as I might to stop the snowball, it kept rolling, and it collected more and more snow and got bigger and bigger and BIGGER till it finally reached the bottom of the hill a great deal more obese that it was when it began…
Basically what happened was that the news is spreading that I’m deeply involved with an amazing starlet from exotic Australia. So apparently we’re dating! Hey hey! I’m telling you Jess, these people had made up their minds, the instant they heard that some girl from another country was sending packages and letters to me (yeah, me.) they freaked and knew that you and I were engaging in a lewd romance thousands of miles apart and refused to be convinced otherwise.
So if anyone you don’t know just randomly clicks onto MSN and demands to know how you could possibly be in love with me- um… just ignore them. And I apologize. (joke. There’s no way I’m giving your email to anyone.) ... (Except Arby of course, and he’s got a good head on his shoulders. One of the few…)
(Unscrew cap, peers down the tube.) You know, I think I’ll just have to get you back for this. (Squeezes the tube gently, vegemite surfaces. *pokes at it) I’ll find something exclusively American and send it to you. That is… if this return address will reach you. It will won’t it? (Puts finger in mouth) I wouldn’t want it to accidentally end up at the home of a little girl has a fascination with scissors! (smacks lips thoughtfully) I could get used to this stuff.
Hey its late and I’ve got homework like you would not believe, spring break coming and all they’re packing end of quarter exams… Whew. You remember going through this… If I’m going to survive the mean time, I’m going to have to get the busywork done. _ As always, I’ll talk to you as soon as possible… girlfriend. :P

P.S. Arby has volunteered his email account, for the time being, he’s told me he’ll pass along any messages that you send there.

P.P.S. You really did send a lot of PS’s with that letter you know, enough to stock two extra sheets of scrap paper!

P.P.P.S I never actually said thank you did I? Dear me in all this excitement… I’ve lost my head. Thank you. For the package, for the time and (money!?) you spent, for your friendship… that most of all. Thanks for being there. You’re a rare kind of person Jessica Bond, very rare.

P.P.P.P.S. Don’t ever lose that part of you okay? ^_^ Till next time…