Since I am moving to Susquehanna University on Thursday, I have only a limited time left before my life undergoes a dramatic change. For almost a year now, I have almost fallen out of the habit of blogging, with an average of about one post per month. Therefore, with such infrequent updates, I have not taken the opportunity to tell you about some memorable events in my life. I think perhaps that, after my life at college begins, I may hesitate to recall and write about these events, since I would prefer to focus on my new friends and other new developments. Therefore, I think it is safe to say that these last few days before the 21st are my final opportunity to tell you about the lost chapters of my life in high school, the ones that went undocumented during the last few months. I can think of only a few events that deserve this last-minute attention, two or three at most. Today, I would like to bring you all the way back to early April, as I do my best to remember and recount my experience at the New York Speech and Debate Championship in Albany.
As I have explained before, my speech partner Joe and I never asked to be a part of the Hearn, our high school's speech and debate team, but the coach knew us and thought we had some talent. With our hesitant consent, he signed us up to perform together in the category of Duo Interpretation with a comedic piece called "The Bible: The Complete Word of God (Abridged)." I was happy to accept this script and play the role of God, which provided a great opportunity to use my booming baritone voice. (That's not how my voice regularly sounds, by the way.) Joe and I worked our way through several tournaments with some successes and some defeats, earning two trophies, one mug, and a full qualification to compete in the State Championship. Of course, our high school sent dozens of students to the State Championship, so our achievement was hardly singular. But it's a wonderful achievement nonetheless, especially for us as rookies. We packed our things and boarded one of the school's buses headed for a hotel in Albany, where Joe and I, like all Duo partners, shared a bed. Sure, we had a dispute or two. He claimed that I was stretching across to his side of the bed, while I (rightfully) claimed that he was hogging all of the covers. On the second night, though, we used all those extra hotel pillows to build a wall between us, and from then on we were two happy bedfellows.
The competition began at Albany High School on a Saturday afternoon, but we arrived at the hotel on Friday night. With our spare time, my friends and I crossed the street and a large parking lot to get dinner at a nearby T.G.I. Friday's, where I drank a delicious Red Bull-based smoothie drink and ate some food that later made me regret my decision to eat at T.G.I. Friday's. (The choice was so appropriate, though, because it was Friday.) Before we returned to the hotel, some friends and I went to the nearest mega store. It was probably a Wal Mart, but for all I know it might have been a K Mart, Walgreen's, Duane Reade, or anything to that effect. Anyway, four or five of my friends invested in some Nerf guns that they would then bring back to the hotel. It was here that I learned that Nerf actually makes a product that looks just like a shotgun--a slightly small, lightweight, bright yellow and orange shotgun. Two were purchased that night. Personally, I chose to spend my money on nourishment, specifically Reese's peanut butter cups and Red Bull. By now, you may be thinking that I have a dependence on energy drinks. Actually, I can quit any time I want. All I need is one more fix, and then I'm off the stuff for good. In all seriousness, I don't need energy drinks in my everyday life. They provide a welcome boost under demanding circumstances, such as a speech tournament, which is more strenuous than you might think. There are so many rules to follow, there's a lot of waiting to do, you have to be dressed very nicely, you have to worry about going over time as you're performing, and you're almost always in an unfamiliar setting. It's more than enough to take a lot out of you.
Speaking of the competition, I found that the State Championship was really not much different from a regular tournament. While there were many teams in the field of competitors that showed amazing talent, nevertheless there were also teams that I could only watch and wonder, "Really? State Championship? You guys?" Of course, there are probably a few people who had the same thoughts while watching me perform, because these matters are so subjective. Nonetheless, during the weekend of competition, I came to the conclusion that some of the other teams must have come from less competitive districts in order to earn a qualification for the State Championship. I would hate to see the teams that they were able to beat, because the worst part about forensics is sitting through an awful piece. Actually, the worst part is probably the judges or the long hours without sleep. There was one particular Duo team at the State Championship that I will never forget, nor will anyone else who saw them that day. In the second preliminary round, Joe and I, surrounded by two friends from our school and two friends from a sister school, watched in horror and astonishment as that infamous team performed a piece called "A Walk in Your Shoes." The plot is simple: a married couple wake up to find that they have switched bodies for reasons that are never explained. Lots of yelling and raunchy jokes ensue. It was the yelling that really captured our attention. The young man, who played the wife in her husband's body, screamed many of his lines in the shrillest, harshest tones that I have ever heard. To watch it was almost maddening. As we exited the room at the end of the round, the six of us could not contain our laughter. For hours and days afterwards, we told stories of the strangest Duo team any of us has ever seen. I offered the theory that perhaps we had all suffered a collective hallucination, but the truth is that it was all too real.
The fifth and final preliminary round ended before lunch on Sunday, and the results came in during the afternoon, after what surely must have been an eternity of waiting. Huge sheets of paper were hung up in the Albany High School auditorium, each one bearing the code numbers of the performers who had been chosen to move on to the finals or semi-finals in each category. Joe and I stepped down from the bleachers and found that our number was not among the chosen few. In that moment, we knew we were eliminated from the competition, but it felt like more that that. Everything was eliminated. My career in the world of speech and debate was over. I had already won all of my trophies. I was no longer a performer. I was no longer playing God. Minutes later, I watched a girl pass out. I would later take that girl to my senior prom. That is a story for my next blog entry. As for me, with no more rounds to go to, I had a lot of time on my hands. I loosened my tie and stepped outside to think for a while. Within ten or fifteen minutes, I gained some perspective on the matter. I might have chosen to end my speech career differently, but it had to end at that State Championship anyway. I love to have an audience, but I was never a big star in high school forensics, and I'm okay with that. Joe and I had our own little rookie success story, and we had a lot of fun doing it. Now that it was over, I was finally able to escape from this world of obligations that I never auditioned for. I found a nice bench and wrote a few pages in my novel with my laptop, because that's where I'm most comfortable. No more waiting for scores and results. No more trips to other high schools. No more judges telling me what to do and always being wrong about it. And I saw that it was good.
End Post.
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