Add sample caller dialogue generation script + 10 validation samples

docs/samples/sample_gerald.txt

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+=== Gerald (71, Truth or Consequences, NM) ===
+voice: Ronald
+emotional_register: Measured and precise in speech — a man who chose his words carefully as a professional and now finds that precision failing him in a domain where it doesn't apply
+secret_want: Permission to call Patrice tonight, this hour, while the show is on — he wants someone to tell him the time doesn't matter, that she would want to hear his voice even at midnight
+
+CALLER (Gerald, 71, Truth or Consequences, NM): I'm going to tell you something and I need you to understand that I am not a timid man. I have stood in a river in a hard hat while a concrete pour went wrong and I kept my head. So I don't know what this is.
+LUKE: Yeah?
+CALLER: I've been listening to your show for three years now. Every Sunday night. And I don't think I've ever called before, so I'm going to just say it straight.
+
+I know a woman. I've known her — well, we've been corresponding for eight months now. Email. We met through this forum we're both on, we track the Mars rover, we talk about what it's seeing up there, and somewhere along the way we started talking about other things. Real things. And I know things about her. I know she taught chemistry for thirty years. I know she has a bad knee. I know she saw a mountain lion once and it changed something in her.
+
+And she has my number. She sent it to me three months ago, just casual, just at the end of an email about something else. And I have been sitting with her number in my phone since then and I cannot — I cannot make myself dial it.
+
+I designed a bridge. People drive over it every day. That was scarier and I did it. I was twenty-six years old and I was terrified and I did it. So why can't I do this?
+LUKE: Go on.
+CALLER: My wife Ruth died four years ago. We used to do amateur radio together on Sunday nights. She'd keep the logbook while I worked the dial. And Sunday nights have been... they've been the hardest nights since then.
+
+That's why I listen to you. I never told anyone that before.
+
+But here's the thing. I wrote out what I want to say to Patrice. I have it written down in my engineering notebook, the same one where I log the Jupiter observations. And I've practiced it. I know what I want to tell her. But it's midnight on a Sunday night and I'm calling a radio show instead of calling her, and I need to know what that is. What am I actually afraid of?
+
+Is it that she'll say no? Is it that she'll say yes? I don't know how to separate those two things anymore.
+LUKE: Mm-hmm.
+CALLER: And the thing is, I know her number. I've known it for three months. She gave it to me. That means something, doesn't it?
+
+But what if the voice doesn't match? What if I hear her and it's all different than what I've been imagining? What if I'm not... what if I'm not what she's been imagining either?
+
+We've written 340 emails. Three hundred and forty. Some of them are pages long. I can tell you what she thinks about the Curiosity rover and what she thinks about teaching teenagers and what she thinks about that mountain lion. But I've never heard her laugh. I don't know if she has an accent. I don't know if she snores or if she hums while she's thinking or any of the things you actually know about a person until you hear their voice.
+
+And Ruth and I, we had all of that. We had Sunday nights for thirty-two years. And then she was gone. And now I have this woman who knows me, really knows me, and I'm terrified to risk it by making it real.
+
+Is that it? Is that what this is?
+LUKE: Yeah?
+CALLER: I'm sorry, I don't know what you're asking me.