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That awkward space between reality and reality television.
Monday, March 08, 2004
About a year and a half ago, Possum's Online Journal was started as a outlet for recounting random stories from my own life. As the old POJ morphed into Possum Holler there has still been stories from the life of Possum, however, I find that this journal has become more editorial. Oscar coverage, haikus, and an annual rant against Pete Rose are all well and good, but looking back at the entries over the past couple of months what do you really learn about me? I tend to be a little obsessed with Elvis. Partially true. There is some debate over my affiliation with the Communist party. I'll never tell. That I watch far too many movies. Perhaps. But what I want to commit to is keeping you, the faithful Possum Holler visitor, informed of the ode to randomness that is my life. So here is the Reader's Digest condenced version of Possum's winter.
I started the New Year by officially ending my homeless plight by moving in with two guys whom I had met for a grand total of five minutes. My fortunes took a further upward swing when I got a job offer from Playmakers Repertory Company on the campus of UNC. Within a week of moving in (and unsure of how I was going to pay the bills) I was settling in as the Assistant Box Office Manager.
My two new roommates, we'll call them Josh and Jimmy (those being their names), decided to throw a party in honor of my moving in with them (mainly because the guy whom I replaced in their apartment would not let them throw parties). It lasted three days. I felt like a pilgrim at the first Thanksgiving. I would go to sleep with the party still raging outside my room and wake up to random girls cleaning up the mess from the previous night in preparation for the day's festivities. I'd go to work when things seemed to be dying down and return to find a new cast of partiers in varying stages of inebriation. I suppose by the third day the neighbors had had quite enough, so around 2 am yours truly opens the door and gets to explain to the cops why exactly there was such a commotion inside.
The following week was the great snow/ice storm of '04. The entire state of North Carolina shut down; except, of course, for Playmakers. The university was closed, but irregardless, I knew that it was expected that I be at work the next day since everyone who had tickets for the cancelled Sunday show had been told to call back on Monday. Fearing the worst, I packed up a survival kit, bundled up and set out on a trek up to campus from my apartment with the plan of spending the night on campus for easy access to work in the morning. A simple enough plan, however, I decided to blaze a trail through the woods in an attempt to forge a straighter path. After crossing the same iced-over creek two or three times and coming face to face with a pair of deer, I decided that I better find my way out of the woods. I emerged in an unfamiliar neighborhood and after walking in circles for several minutes I flagged down a police car to ask directions. The female cops warned me of the "hinky" people that were around and offered to give me a ride. My first, and hopefully last, ride in the back of a squad car! I must say it wasn't very comfortable.
The temperatures began to rise (and fall and rise and fall) and the gates to Boshamer Stadium were opened for the start of another Carolina baseball season. I took my place for the first weekend series on the first baseline amidst the usual characters, the three older guys that Will, Jason and I have befriended over the years. We always have some great laughs at the expense of an umpire or some unfortunately named opposing player. However, it has always been an awkward situation because I do not know their names...and after three years, it is a little late to ask. It does make me feel better, though, that I don't think that they know my name. They've asked me to go up to Virginia with them, and Will and I are even considering meeting them in Miami this summer. I guess it just goes to show that the bond of baseball renders the details (ie first names) unimportant.
So there are a few brief anecdotes from my adventures. I hope that you feel like you've gained a little more incite into my life. That is, of course, why Possum Holler exists: to prove that Possum's mind is not hollow.
I started the New Year by officially ending my homeless plight by moving in with two guys whom I had met for a grand total of five minutes. My fortunes took a further upward swing when I got a job offer from Playmakers Repertory Company on the campus of UNC. Within a week of moving in (and unsure of how I was going to pay the bills) I was settling in as the Assistant Box Office Manager.
My two new roommates, we'll call them Josh and Jimmy (those being their names), decided to throw a party in honor of my moving in with them (mainly because the guy whom I replaced in their apartment would not let them throw parties). It lasted three days. I felt like a pilgrim at the first Thanksgiving. I would go to sleep with the party still raging outside my room and wake up to random girls cleaning up the mess from the previous night in preparation for the day's festivities. I'd go to work when things seemed to be dying down and return to find a new cast of partiers in varying stages of inebriation. I suppose by the third day the neighbors had had quite enough, so around 2 am yours truly opens the door and gets to explain to the cops why exactly there was such a commotion inside.
The following week was the great snow/ice storm of '04. The entire state of North Carolina shut down; except, of course, for Playmakers. The university was closed, but irregardless, I knew that it was expected that I be at work the next day since everyone who had tickets for the cancelled Sunday show had been told to call back on Monday. Fearing the worst, I packed up a survival kit, bundled up and set out on a trek up to campus from my apartment with the plan of spending the night on campus for easy access to work in the morning. A simple enough plan, however, I decided to blaze a trail through the woods in an attempt to forge a straighter path. After crossing the same iced-over creek two or three times and coming face to face with a pair of deer, I decided that I better find my way out of the woods. I emerged in an unfamiliar neighborhood and after walking in circles for several minutes I flagged down a police car to ask directions. The female cops warned me of the "hinky" people that were around and offered to give me a ride. My first, and hopefully last, ride in the back of a squad car! I must say it wasn't very comfortable.
The temperatures began to rise (and fall and rise and fall) and the gates to Boshamer Stadium were opened for the start of another Carolina baseball season. I took my place for the first weekend series on the first baseline amidst the usual characters, the three older guys that Will, Jason and I have befriended over the years. We always have some great laughs at the expense of an umpire or some unfortunately named opposing player. However, it has always been an awkward situation because I do not know their names...and after three years, it is a little late to ask. It does make me feel better, though, that I don't think that they know my name. They've asked me to go up to Virginia with them, and Will and I are even considering meeting them in Miami this summer. I guess it just goes to show that the bond of baseball renders the details (ie first names) unimportant.
So there are a few brief anecdotes from my adventures. I hope that you feel like you've gained a little more incite into my life. That is, of course, why Possum Holler exists: to prove that Possum's mind is not hollow.
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