Montclair MHL

If you look at the map, Montclair looks to be on a level with Newark, but in reality it's a lot closer. I had estimated a solid hour and a half travel time, but we made it in just about an hour. Not bad.

Of course, we left one poor schmegeggie in the dust. Emceesis was under the misapprehension that we were leaving at 7:30, not 7:00, because of various listserver emails about other trips. So it's not like she was late because she was lounging about having the servants clip her toenails, but she simply thought we were leaving when we weren't. My guess is she was on time for the wrong time, if you know what I mean. Her mother called me on the bus, but even though I had my nice little phone on my person, there was no ring, because apparently there's a lot of coverage outages on the Garden State. But I did get a message when I arrived, and so I called her back, but at this point they were on the Garden State, and, well, I gather they're still driving around Jersey two days later, no closer to Montclair than they were when they awoke on Saturday morning.

It's a jungle out there.

Montclair State University is much bigger than I'd expected, and the surrounding neighborhood is chichi to the point of mind bogglement. Glorious estates all lined up in stately array: real estate heaven! Anyhow, the main event was the JUDL, as in Jersey Urban Debate League, a policy event, and they were breaking down the doors for that one. LD was an afterthought (but a happy afterthought). They put us in a dorm and told us not to roam around past the lounges, because they thought that the lean and hungry college kids would somehow attack the poor high schoolers. As if any lean and hungry college kid gets out of bed before six o'clock at night on a Saturday. The first rounds were in these lounges, then we had some classrooms which were around the corner or something, and everyone kept asking me where they were. People always ask me things like that. Where's the ladies room? Where's the Titanic? Where's Waldo? What is the 39 Steps? I never know and I always point out that I never know, but that doesn't stop them from expecting me to know. This may be the only case on record where being older than someone somehow confers knowledge. Do all these kids spend their days assuming that their teachers know everything, and that they're just not telling? I doubt it. Yeah, I know where all the ladies rooms are. I'm just not telling.

We ran pretty well, all things considered. Some guys who were banging on the walls with pile drivers were threatening to break into our combination tabroom, judges' lounge and hangout area, but they never did. I did screw up one ballot (which was, in fact, a ballot that was already screwed up and I had already remonstrated with the judge for being a putz, so you'd think I would have known better); it was one of Peanut's ballots, so he went 2-1 and not 1-2, and he would not have garnered a trophy, but still I entered it correctly with the Gods of Ripon. Paul Unspellable pointed out, correctly, that if he had done better he would have won; he shows promise in his play-by-play tournament analysis. Still, he and Emily and Jeff did take tin, so it was not all for naught.

We even had auditors. Mrs. Hirth brought some of her Australian World Congress girls along. I was with them by chance during a novice round they were watching. After it was over they went screaming back to Sydney. I don't blame them. A novice round will do that to you.

On the way home the dark secret of this year's novices was revealed: they sing on the bus. I will trust that the novice coordinators will beat that out of them before the next trip. Singing on the bus? That's what Speecho-Americans do, isn't it? And they don't even sing songs that people sing, if you know what I mean. Not a nice harmony ditty, not a nice singing song. Oh, no. Not these guys. These guys sing (and I use the term advisedly) Bohemian Rhapsody. With Peanut on the guitar solo.

Save me a seat to Sydney.