DLI

I’ll be getting together with the Nostrumite up at Cambridge this weekend, needless to say. In fact, checking in with the lad is one of the reasons I’m going to Harvard in the first place. Maybe the only reason, except perhaps for some residual insanity in the Menick DNA. The Mite, who is now coaching policy for Tennessee Williams HS, a small venue right outside of Boston, somehow expects that the two of us will spend the weekend pub crawling. The idea that we are both the responsible adults on this expedition seems so far to have eluded him. It will be sad to see the effect of the news when it dawns on him that our greatest kick might be an extra shot of espresso at Starbucks.

Anyhow, I was amused to learn that the Nostrumite is in a state of permanent depression over what he refers to as Defeat Longjohns Intermittently. He firmly believes that he can pin the magic date to within three hours when the chickens will come home to roost. “Don’t these people know that at three a.m. on the Wednesday of the third week of October during their junior year in college they will suddenly remember what they posted in their Cribs piece, and realize that they are scarred forever and that their lives will suddenly become a living hell of self-recrimination? That you never overcome the photo of the George Foreman grill where you cook all your tuna melts, or the image of the Freddie the Ferret doll you’ve been sleeping with since kindergarten, or your painting of Bietz Contemplating the Bust of Jon Cruz, or the picture of the room where your Uncle Ralph was sleeping when the local constabulary nabbed him for—well, we won’t talk about that one.” Why is it the Cribs that always brings out the worst in people? “If you ask me,” the lad continues, “DLI is missing some good opportunities.” And, of course, he proceeds to list them:

Pimp My Bus Ride: Pictures of the school buses the debaters arrive at tournaments in
Debate Makeover: Take some nerdy guy in a suit and tie and patent leather pumps and subject him to the real world. Throw away his jacket, pull out his shirt tail, get him into some $200 sneakers and put a backwards baseball cap on his head—Voila! The transformation is complete: an LDer turned into a Policy person.
Emory Poker Championships: That one is self-explanatory, perfect for both the Travel and Weather Channels.
Iron Chef Forensician: A look into the cafeterias at your favorite debate venues! Today’s ingredient? Ziti!
The Biggest Loser: Enough with all these good debaters. How about profiling a few real stinkers for a change, those people who show up week after week and go 0-6? The salt of the debate earth, so to speak.

The Nostrumite goes on and on with this, but I won’t bore you with the rest of them. If you see us in Cambridge, join up with us as we pretend to pub crawl. I’m sure he’ll be happy to regale you with another hundred or so.