Master Debating*
The Most Dangerous Game is gorgeous, smart, and fierce, utterly fearless in promoting and publicizing the Econ Club. Yet she is a shrinking violet when confronted with traditional public speaking, such as in front of a classroom. She is under the Svengali-like spell of her Communications (public speaking) professor, who enticed her to join the U of M-Flint Forensics Team as a debater last semester. Partnered with an unenthusiastic boob, she compiled an 0-4 record, and so dragooned me into service as her partner. In two tournaments over the last two weekends, at Butler University in Indianapolis, Indiana and Eastern Michigan University in Ypsilanti, she and I have gone 2-2 twice, for a combined record of 4-4. Not bad for a pair of novices; my only training, not counting my unsuccessful debating career (but a different format of debate) way, way back in high school, was a forty-five minute briefing in the Svengali's office.

We've only faced one team twice, a pair from Bowling Green. They were our first opponents at Butler—my first collegiate debate—and then again at E.M.U. Both times, they were the Government (affirmative) and we the Opposition (negative); despite the burden of proof belonging to the Government, we were quite surprised to learn we'd prevailed against them in the rematch at E.M.U. They are much more technically proficient than we, possessed of a superior understanding of the strictures and customs of Parliamentary debating, or "Parli." We get by on my natural talent as a speaker (some false modesty to be as offensive as boastfulness) and The Most Dangerous Game's ability to relate any and all topics back to economics. During the debate at Eastern Michigan, I, as Leader of the Opposition (who delivers the first negative constructive speech as well as the first rebuttal), complimented them on their effective speaking styles. Blanket thanks to the other team, your partner, and the judge are, I've learned by watching others, part and parcel of Parli, and I was just following good form, though of course with my own inimitable flair. Later, in the hall, the bespectacled member of the B.G.S.U. duo asked me if I'd been serious in complimenting them; I could see written across his face his nervousness and desperate gratitude for my remarks. No, I don't think he and his partner are particularly effective speakers, just vastly more experienced than my partner and I, but what did it cost me to lie? Of course, I told him, mightily impressive. The Most Dangerous Game and I didn't find out we'd triumphed over them until the following afternoon, too late to find them and lord our victory over their heads (though that's probably for the best, as they eventually advanced to the Parli finals, whereas we didn't make it out of the round-robin round). Still and all, we beat them! Ha ha!

The theme of the weekend, a tournament featuring many other events besides Parli, was "Celebrity & Death." (These forensics kids, and by extension their gatherings, are weird enough without introducing a theme, but there you have it.) On the first day, the organizers acted like members of the paparazzi, snapping pictures and asking the competitors who they were wearing. Yes, there was a red carpet. On the second day, the organizers dressed up as deceased celebrities, e.g., Charlie Chaplin, Marilyn Monroe, and Kurt Cobain. When someone asked who the girl costumed as Janis Joplin was supposed to be, I answered by breaking into "Mercedes Benz" in the scratchiest, most tortured voice I could manage; Janis joined me. When we concluded the first verse, Janis extended her hand and introduced herself by her given name; I replied with mine. After she'd gone, The Most Dangerous Game remarked, "Now that's how you meet girls." So, later, I gave Janis my mobile number and principal email address and asked her to allow me to buy her a drink sometime. I don't expect to hear from her, but I'm quite pleased that I took the chance.

"Who dares wins."

Project MERCATOR
The other four members of the U of M-Flint Forensics Team were driven to Ypsilanti by Professor Svengali in a rental van. I motored behind them in Lumi, eager to have at my disposal the means of leaving E.M.U. independently. Am I really that antisocial? Nay, I was short on time if I was to make my way to Lansing in order to catch The Loose Ties at that wretched hive of scum and villainy, the Commie club; so, while my fellows stopped for dinner in Ann Arbor and then drove back to Flint, I put the pedal to the metal and made a beeline for our state capital. (And very nearly, as I found out, a beeline for our State Capitol.) I had invited the usual gang to accompany me, but four of them, including The Impossible Ingenue, were otherwise occupied at a wedding. The Most Dangerous Game doesn't really like ska and only goes to see The Loose Ties for the social aspect; she made the right call by riding with the others back to campus. Only one fellow, Jake, a fellow member of the Econ Club with whom I've been simply unable to form any kind of emotional bond, accepted the invitation, meeting me at the show, and arriving before I did. (I also invited the new acquaintances I'd made at the surprise party in Lansing about which I have not yet written; suffice it for now that none of them came, though there are plans for a couple to join me this weekend at the latest roller derby bout.) We stayed for two crummy bands before The Loose Ties, then helped our local heroes move their equipment off-stage and said our goodbyes. One of the Loose Ties said he almost didn't recognize me with the facial hair; I recalled that I had not seen them since their show a few days before Christmas, so, yes, they'd missed out on the Banzai Beard Bonanza II: Bonsai's Revenge. I see it every day; so, the change is not dramatic, but I suppose it might well be if the last time you saw me I was sporting my beloved sideburns and soul patch.

Always the social butterfly, on Sunday I drove back to Ann Arbor (the hotel at which the Forensics Team stayed overnight Friday was in A², not Ypsi) and had a delightful lunch with Dr. Hee Haw at Jerusalem Garden. I had not seen the good doctor in seven years! That's bloody ridiculous! We didn't know each other on the staff of the Gargoyle for more than two years, three at the absolute outside, though we also knew many of the same people from his hometown of Saline (the likes of Mrs. Sacramento, the Phantom Frantom, and many of my housemates at 1213, the Idiot Brigade), strengthening our bond. Our conversation was as if we'd seen each other only days before, hilarious and silly as our conversations always were, even when we discussed the very real and vexing problem of where in the high holy heck a fellow is supposed to meet available girls. I had no advice for him except to skirt the boundaries of good taste by pursuing undergraduates, as I am doing with The Impossible Ingenue. It was jolly good seeing ol' Doc Hee Haw, and we share a determination not to allow such a preposterous interval to pass before our next meeting; to that end, we are drawing up a list of eateries in Southeast Michigan which we might patronize. Is a meal necessary? Not strictly, but experience has taught me that even with the best of intentions far-flung friends need an activity around which to gather, a flag around which to rally, and everybody's got to eat.

You should be so lucky as to know Dr. Hee Haw.

*I will never ever ever be too mature to chuckle at that.