The K of S

I.e., that thing on which we have always relied... Although nowadays I like to think of it as the Kindness of Assistant Principals.

I got a call from the AP's office. Good gravy. Makes me feel like I'm 14 again. You should hear about my run-ins with Fr. McDermott (I'm pretty sure that was his name—you know me and names) in the good old days. Of course, they didn't call him the AP then. He was the Dean of Discipline. Now there's a Catholic boys' school image for you. He was a good egg in the long run, with a great sense of humor, and they eventually made him Principal. But he could wreak holy havoc on the life of an adolescent, let me tell you. So the idea of having to meet with authority dies hard, even though I'm probably twice as old now as all the APs in Hen Hud put together. They mostly just want my assurances that the Pffffters won't burn the building down at Mini-Bump (and Maxi-Bump, for that matter). They're new. They'll learn. It's not the debaters they have to worry about. It's the chess club. Every one an anarchist. Trust me on this.

Last night was spent entering data for Regis. We're a little over 80 in 2 divisions at the moment, and I gather Eric DM is thinking of holding rounds on the roof; this is one mother of a tournament, with every forensic division represented, including Afterdinner Speaking, Tourette's Syndrome, and Futile Remonstration (my personal favorite). I'll bet things will be really jumping at Lakeland by comparison. Ah, Lakeland. Ten-minute drive, big library all to ourselves, proximity to the mall when you get the munchies. Of course, last year Lakeland never told us that there were no trophies, and that they were contributing the tin money to some nice cause or other. Not that we were against the contribution, only we wouldn't have minded participating in spirit a little more. KevinNotKeith, who went on to other things, marched to his own drummer. The new guy lives in a different time zone; all his emails to me are dated in September, and the only way I can read them is those rare occasions when I view only the unreads in my mailbox. Shakes of Ewok, whose computer once upon a time similarly resided in its own time warp. Whatever.

Right about now the Manchestroonians are on their way to the furthest reaches of the American northeast. Adios, amigos. Bring back plenty of TOC bids. And albino bagels.