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September 27, 2003
Cubs win!  Cubs win!  By bringing this up now, I run the risk of jinxing them before they even get started, however, I want to write about this while I can still dream about the possibilities.  The Chicago Cubs clinched the NL Central Division title today as well as their first playoff appearance since 1998 and their first division crown since 1989.  On the other side of the board, the Boston Red Sox will be going to the playoffs as the Wild Card team in the American League.  This begs the question, have the baseball gods set these two teams on a collision course of historical proportions?  What comedy would this be should both teams who have been mired in self pity for the better part of a century were to meet underneath the October sky on baseball's center stage?  A BoSox/ChiCubs World Series would be every sportswriter's fantasy, and we, the sports fans, would be inundated by talk of The Curse of the Bambino, The Curse of the Goat, Bill Buckner's legs, Tinkers to Evers to Chance, Teddy Ballgame, Mr. Cub, Yaz, Santo, Ivy, the Green Monster, and who can forget, Merkle's Boner.  With all the negative mojo that seems to be damning each of these teams it would be fascinating to see what sort of mayhem occurs in determining a winner.  That is, if either team is capable of winning.  Is it possible that a hole open up in the Earth and swallow both teams preventing either from being crowned champions?  
A brief history for those of you who don't care:
The Red Sox last won the World Series in 1918.  At that time the Boston club was led by a pitcher by the name of George Herman "Babe" Ruth.  The following season, The Babe would be sold to the hated Yankees, and the rest, as they say, is history.  The last appearance the Sox made in the Series was in 1986 when they had the series all but won when a routine groundball in the nineth inning rolled between the legs of firstbaseman Bill Buckner allowing the NY Mets to force a game 7 and take the series.  Boston fans have watched as they're bitter rivals, the Yankees have bested them to the tune of 25 World Championships.
The Chicago Cubs last appeared in the World Series in 1945, the year we dropped the bomb on Japan!  To find a championship banner, you would have to go all the way back to 1908.  While Boston fans, in true yankee fashion, have griped and moaned over their woes, the Cubs have become the loveable losers.  The team everyone loves because they pose no real threat.  The Cubs have, however, had their share of collapses.  The 1969 Mets are known to history as the "Miracle Mets" for their improbable comeback in the last half of the season to win the division, and, eventually, the World Series.  I contest that the magnitude of this accomplishment is made less when one takes into account that their comeback was against the Chicago Cubs.  Was it really the great Mets, or could the Miracle Mets simply be a product of the inept Cubs?  
Of course it is highly improbable that one, let alone both, of these teams will make it to the Series this year.  Yet it is fun to dream about a Series played partly amidst the dying ivey of Wrigley Field and partly beneath the towering Green Monster of Fenway Park.  Now I am the world's worst sports prognosticator, however, this year strange things are happening.  So, if the Cubs somehow pull this thing out and make up for nearly a century of bad luck, I would like you to scroll down the page and notice that I called it back in January.  --Possum   

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September 15, 2003
Tackling todays tough issues.  Scroll down to the bottom of the page and you will notice a small icon that looks sort of like the neon sign for The Rings of Saturn Bar (if such a bar exists).  Well, that little do-hicky gives me an idea of how many people happen upon this conglomeration of ramblings from a person with too much time on his hands, as well as how they got here.  When I started this little journal almost a year ago it was more for my personal amusement than anything else, however, to my surprise (and probably yours too) we are approaching 800 hits to this page!  Even more surprising is that in the past few weeks I have begun noticing that I am getting references from Alta Vista and Ask Jeeves search engines.  This has amused me to no end, and I felt it relevant to share with you some of the queries that have yielded Possum's Online Journal as a result:
1)Top Of The Hill Boulder Racing
2)My Toenail's Falling Off
3)How To Stop My Toenail From Falling Off
4)Payne Stewart's Birth Certificate
5)Drafting A Mocumentary
6)Has JLo Ever Won An Academy Award?
7) What can studying a tree's rings tell about how the tree adapted to its enviroment?

So, in an effort to keep my ever increasing constituency happy, I shall offer my humble responses to each of these inqueries.  
1)  I am from the mountains, so I know a thing or two about boulders roling down hills, and, my friend, I must advise against it.  It may sound like a fun idea at first, but far too many times have the residents of western North Carolina had to deal with detours due to rock slides.  I'm pretty sure that it was Downhill Boulder Racing that was responsible for closing of part of Interstate 40 for several weeks 5 years ago.  
2)  Yeah, well, I burnt the fire out of my finger, but you don't see me whining to the internet.  Let me tell you, buddy, the internet is becoming so vast and so powerful that for some it is becoming a substitute for real life.  Deal with it!  It will grow back.
3)  Have you tried duct tape?
4)  Unfortunately, my collection of celebrity birth certificates is limited to pop music icons and professional hockey players...no golfers.  On an interesting side note, a trip to paynestewart.com will get you redirected to abortionismurder.com.  Who knew!?!
5)  Friend, if you have dillusions of becoming the next Christopher Guest you have to be prepared to pay your dues and spend countless hours dedicated soley to your project.  One does not just write a mocumentary overnight...well, ok...but my roommate also wrote a novel over the course of a year without me noticing...and your never gonna have someone just give you the equipment you need...well, ok...unless you are in college...Then, you have to dedicate weeks or even months to shooting your mocumentary...well, ok...at the very minimum, 20 hours.  Finally, if you get that far it takes hours upon hours of expert training in editing and post production in order for your masterpiece to be completed...I mean, it took me the better part of an afternoon!  Mocumentary production is not a game for amateurs.
6)  No...NO...Heck, no!  
7)  This is an easy one!  The more rings on the tree, the better it has adapted to it's environment.  I mean, come on, a dead tree hasn't adapted very well, has it?

Alright, so if you are a long-time reader, thank you for your patronage, if you are just wandering in, welcome and feel free to look around.  It's a cold, cruel world wide web out there, but here in Possum's Online Journal everyone's welcomed with a smile...except Alec Baldwin.  --Possum

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Summer 2003
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles...and loud, loud music.   This summer has been all about changing plans.  I had initially planned upon staying in Chapel Hill for another month after graduation before heading for the hills, however, monsoon season relegated my umpiring duties to one game per week.  So, after a couple of nights of grilling burgers with Big Snod at Mrs. D's and one final trip to the Rat with the usual suspects (Marc, Hoss, T-Bone, Snod, Efird, Nasty B, Officer Reese, and Scott), it was time to return to my mountain homeland.  Awaiting me in Sylva was a job working at my mom's building.  I had planned on working there later on in the summer, but they were glad to have me a few weeks early.  Mostly my days consisted of moving various heavy objects back and forth throughout the building as well as putting down the basketball flooring which is like putting together a 21 ton jigsaw puzzle in 180 lbs. increments.  There were times where I admit that I was thinking "what is a guy with a degree from UNC doing pushing a mop and broom?"  I guess we all have to pay our dues, but perhaps the best advice I got all summer came from the drummer of Reckless Kelly when I went to their concert in Asheville.  He told me that I needed to go to Amsterdam, and then I would see what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.  Ok...so maybe that was NOT the best advice I've ever received.  

The end of June brought the annual trainwreck that is Cullowhee Arts Fest.  Working as a stagehand we loaded in and constructed an outdoor stage that was 80' x 40' and a truss canopy that was 50 feet tall.  Then, during the shows (headliners included Collective Soul, Delbert McClinton, Nanci Griffith, Edwin McCain, and Acoustic Syndicate) I helped shuffle the band's equipment on and off stage.  I logged 85 hours that week including one 18 hour day, but I enjoyed it (although I was concerned for my life working around heavy machinery and handling large objects on just 4 hours of sleep in 2 days).  It was at the end of that week that I was graced by a visit from Julie.  After her summer work plans fell through, my mom referred her to a job for a week working at a camp at WCU.  It was nice to see a good friend one more time before she ships out to Honduras during the times I was able to sneak out of the backstage area.  

The next thing I knew, it was July and time for Possum and Snod's Ultimate Roadtrip to Miles' Wedding.  The adventure began with a flight from Atlanta to Houston where I met up with Greg and took in an Astros game from seats directly behind the foul pole.  It is difficult to watch a baseball game when you can't see first and second bases.  The road portion of the trip began the next morning as we wandered up to Wichita Falls, TX where Pat Green was playing that night (I wasn't going to let a trip to Texas pass without catching PG).  I thought Sylva was a sleepy town, but Wichita Falls is ridiculous.  Their dot on the map is a good deal bigger than Sylva's, but try to find a resteraunt open after 7:30 pm.  We finally found some food, and made it to the show, which I might say, was AWESOME!  Pat in NC was cool, but Pat in Texas (where he is actually extremely popular) was unbelievable.  Morning number 3, we were off to Colorado, and that night it was bachelor party, MTS style.  I think Miles put it best when he asked me, "when you moved in next door to me, did you ever imagine that four years later you would be in Colorado riding blocks of ice down the side of a mountain at one in the morning?"  This game was a lot of fun until I bruised my tailbone, which made driving nine hours a day the next few days uncomfortable.  After hopping a barbed wire fence to scramble a hill at the Garden of the Gods with Dave Efird and Cory Cavin, we had to high-tail it back to the wedding.  But Miles and Brooklynne got hitched without a hitch (as my former roommate, PFC Will Hart likes to say), and Greg and I were back on the road again.  On the way back to Houston, we climbed Capulin Volcano in NM, chased a bear, encountered the "Ding Dong Daddies" of Dumas, TX, explored Carlsbad Caverns, witnessed the tallest cross in the western hemisphere, played poker in a hotel room in Fort Stockton, TX, and visited Sammy at camp T bar M in Austin.
The final stage of my trip, after flying back to Atlanta, was more about business than pleasure.  I hopped back into the Possummobile, after having ditched it for the bulk of the road trip and trucked on up to Nashville, TN.  I suppose all the traveling had finally caught up with me, though, and I spent my first two days in Nashvegas on the couch, sick.  I did manage to make one good connection through the family friend that I was staying with.  However, the coolest friend I made there was at the Bluebird Cafe where I attended a Walt Wilkins show.  Walt used to be a member of the Pat Green Band, and still writes some songs for him.  I got to talk to him after the show and he invited me to give him a call if I ever moved to Nashville.  I never expected a fairly respected musician to ever say to me, "hey, I'd like to get together with you sometime...give me a call at Curb Music Publishing."  

I returned to Sylva with even more questions about my future than when I had left.  However, this is where plans started to change again.  I went into the railroad depot to tell them that I wanted to work with them for the week of Thomas the Tank Engine, and while I was there, they talked me into working the two weeks leading up to Thomas week.  With no clue what I was going to do after Thomas week at the end of July, I began to think that, as much as I love working for the railroad, that I might want to stick with them for a few more months if I were to get a promotion from car attendant.  Prayer that I would know if that was what God wanted me to do was completely answered the very next day when one of the crew chiefs quit, leaving the train crew short.  

And that is where I stand today.  We are smack in the middle of Hurricane Thomas, but after that blows over on August 3, I will begin training as a new crew chief for the Great Smoky Mountain Railroad and "plan" on doing that until the end of the year.  I know this is longer than my typical journal entries, but I guess it covers a longer time span, plus, it is better than putting all this in a mass email.  So I will see you all in Chapel Hill whenever I make it out that way, and if you ever want to ride the train, come see me in Dillsboro.  I'm not really the conductor...I'm more like a semi-conductor.  --Possum        

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June 14, 2003
Seems like you're always 17 in your hometown.   Well, here I am, back in the bustling megalopolis that is Sylva, North Carolina.  My summer plans seem to be continuously changing, yet I know about as much about my future as I did upon leaving Ehaus.  However, I am currently working, and should be able to stay busy for most of the summer.
There really isn't much in the ways of entertainment here in this small, mountain town, however, my Tuesday and Thursday nights are always occupied with Church League Softball.  My history in Church Softball is actually more interesting than one might imagine, and to get an understanding as to why, one must understand that Church League Softball in Jackson County is a fairly competitive sport.  I have mentioned in the past that baseball is the sport of choice for young boys growing up in the greater Sylva area.  We have produced our fair share of decent ball players.  Steve Streeter was the national high school player of the year back in the '70s, Johnny Oates would grow up to be the manager of the Baltimore Orioles and Texas Rangers, and most recently, Derrick Hawk (whom I had the pleasure of playing with in Little League) led the Southern Conference in wins as a relief pitcher for Western Carolina University, as well as pitching 8 scoreless innings in the NCAA Tournament against #12 ranked NC State two weeks ago.  But, for every Derrick Hawk there are dozens of hometown heroes whose baseball careers were over after high school.  So, every Tuesday and Thursday night, every hometown hero from age 18-55 (coincidently, my dad is the oldest player in the league) gathers at the Cullowhee ball fields in an attempt to be 17 again.  
When I was little, my home church, St. Mary's always had a strong softball team, however, by the time that I was old enough to play most of the guys who had led the team had decided to retire.  My dad, who had managed the team for a couple of years went back to the church he grew up in, Scotts Creek, and started a team there that would soon become a perennial competitor for the title.  The first year I was eligible to play, I organized a team at St. Mary's.  We didn't do that well, but in the first (and only) Sellers vs. Sellers matchup, my team won after I made a catch on a line drive, then doubled up a runner on third base that kept the tying run from scoring.  After that season, I would go off to college and the St. Mary's team would once again disappear.  
Three years later, I would join my dad's team along with several stars of the Smoky Mtn. High baseball team from my years there.  We would go on to win a championship, I would hit my first homerun, and with my cousin at shortstop, me at second, and my dad at first, we would turn the first ever Sellers to Sellers to Sellers double play.  
Each game is an event.  The parking lot is filled to capacity with jacked up pick-up trucks while the bleachers are filled with parents, grandparents, and former homecoming queens (honestly, I counted 4 at the last game).  Most people never leave Sylva.  I'm not quite sure what it is about the town that has such a stranglehold on it's residents, but even I, at one time, was scared to leave.  I believe that I am a completely different person than when I called Sylva my home all the time, however, I can't help but feeling like I'm back in high school when I go to the ball field on Tuesday and Thursday nights.  --Possum  

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May 18, 2003
The road goes on forever...  I sit here in the ghost town that Ehaus has become after a long day of graduating and spending some final time with some of my most special friends.  After four years, they are kicking me out of here tomorrow.  It is my last night in Ehaus and I can't help but spend some time reminiscing when I catch the lyrics of a Cory Morrow song on the radio, "I'd go home, but my home's right here."  So, maybe I can't stay here.  Though there are others who will tell you otherwise, I have come to terms with the fact that I have to find somewhere else to live (as a matter of fact, I look forward to it), but that doesn't discount the feelings of home that I have for the Haus of E.  I have offered a reflection upon senior year, but tonight I feel obliged to present a compilation of some of my favorite memories of four years in Ehaus:
meeting Miles and Marc during move in, BOLO, the 1st annual MTS scavenger hunt, covering Miles' door with pieced together newspaper headlines, "Bond"ing, midnight birthday party for Hillary, my 18th birthday cupcake on the balcony, big brother is watching you, Payne Stewart (the very first MOW), the great flood, snowman in our room, the notorious three strikeouts on the sixth floor, the infamous Kristy Kent water fight, Chase Expansion Theory, playing volleyball for hours at a time, forming the Dixiecan Party (It's not about the Gallop Poll, it's about the Death Toll...We don't raise funds, we raise Cain!), room cram for the Duke game victory, Suiteball, Glow-In-the-Dark Suiteball, Cowboys and Angels Mixer, Ehaus hangout nights, Balderdash, cleptomaniacs, movie nights, balcony yells, Bible Study, and the list goes on...
I would also like to give a shout out to some special Ehausers.  First of all, everyone who has lived with me in the MTS these four years: Miles Travis, Greg Snodgrass, Brad Burton, Will Hart, Ray Wilford, Marc Jones, Chris Hostetler, Jason Hinger, Neil Stauffer, Travis Hipps, Gian Toro, Blake Hyde, Jamaal Edwards, Justin Shaddix, Baker Pratt, Joseph Hoyle, and Alex Johnson.  While the MTS has provided me with some of my best guy friends, we have also been blessed to live next door to a suite that has provided me with my best female friends, those incredible ladies are: Faride Komisar, Hillary Salo, Tiffany Yep, Jennifer Hatch, Kristin Couch, Brandy Micklewright Shannon, Martha Chavis, Carrie Hesse, Julie Early, Jennifer Hagin, Erin Escarsega, Jessica Donor, Lori Woods, Mary Gardener, Lauren Tolles, Sapna Patel, Emily Martin, Amy Lorang, and Sarah Wilda.  
These people, along with many others, provided the enviroment that made it desirable to stay in a South Campus dorm for four years.  I am sure I will move on to much nicer living conditions, but I know that I will never be surrounded by the community that I have had here.  I just hope that wherever I settle down will have a balcony.  --Possum       

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May 6, 2003
Last Will and Testament.  I often think about what I'm leaving behind at this University.  Well, here is the list off the top of my head:
To Shaddix: the prayer notebook so that an original peice of the MTS will live on (find a worthy carrier to follow you) and charge of protection from yard gnomes.
To Lori: underclassmen friends (it's your turn to be the upper classman), 3 back rubs after a long week, and The Christmas Song.
To Joseph: a Devil Went Down to Georgia singing partner.
To Dianna: an oil change, a freaked out puffin and retarded polar bear, and a paper class ring.
To Lambert: Bullocks, moonpies, baseball, and a blind fold in case more naked people show up.
To Marissa: right arm raised.
To Lauren: discussions of college football and repayment of all borrowed paper and ink
To Sarah: a sideways bunny down the hall, information about Goofy.
To Baker: many great games of ultimate, and an entire lunch listening to Jeremy talk.
To Ryan: a motivational speech to the good people of Morganton.
To Jessica B.: a hammer and a lobster.
To Jessica D.: many more home baseball games.
To Blake, Chris and Megan: a new pirate and man maid.
To Derek: monopoly over the internet journal audience.
To Melanie: so many Keys memories.
To King: the Great Schizm of Popes Derek and John.
To Ehaus: the Ode to Ehaus.
To the Drama dept: too many hours of my life.
To the Comm dept: The Great American Book (a Mocumentary by Brian Sellers).
And my parting gifts for my fellow seniors:
To my roommate, Private First Class William P. Hart, Jr.: permission to use my likeness in any off his books and a new roommate for law school.
To Adam: Fire (!) and hopes that you get hitched without a hitch.
To Julie: Godspeed in Latin America and thanks for hours of real conversation and willingness to listen.
To Greg: Pat Green, four years of being like a brother, and hopes that we both make it to Nashville.
To Hagin: a box of cupcakes and a couch to do the Macarena.
To Overcash: all the verses to Rocky Top (sung wherever you demand) and campaign help whenever needed after Ole Miss.
Finally, to all my readers: thanks for your time, and a ham sandwich.  --Possum

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May 1, 2003
The year in review.  Memories from Senior year: The Crusades (I. retrieving the gnome slayer II.the failure III. riding the Motown elevators  IV. taunting the Texas trailor V. the great Crusade...costume party on the P2P), sitting in Kenan all Friday afternoon with the mountain boys getting excited for the Texas game, improv games at Lori's birthday party (Shaddix, Will and myself acting out a beauty pageant during Sit, Stand, Lie Down), flag football team just ain't what it used to be, Possum's bag of unspeakable fun, Chapter Retreat planning with the Seniors, foot washing ceremony, fall break in Sylva with Julie, Lori, and Justin, Dixie Stampede, hanging out in the cornfield, one-line stories, Communist invasions, growing a goatee and seemingly aging five years, Swash Buckle invades Large Group, deciding randomly that my future was in Nashville, working crosswords in Sports Psyc with Jessica while listening to Doc Lobster, MTS movie nights, Thanksgiving dinner at George's Garage with Scott's parents, living at Playmakers for a month during Proof, B-Money and his fly girls, showstopping jokes over headset, Waffle House and Big K-Mart with Lori since her flight was about 5 hours later than she told me, having three weeks practically by myself to think about things (i.e. the past, the future), driving to DC with Marc and Olivia, New Years with Kristy Kent, choosing to take an 8 am class my final semester, Karl Ruch's song about Nashville and a Ford Escort, the Raiders making it to the Super Bowl, going to see Chicago...twice!, being mistaken as the professor of my country music class, random outting to the Weekend Excursion concert with Megan and Brooke, Bull Durham and cooking steaks on Valentine's with a good friend ("sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains"), 24 Hour Plays, Ladies Night, "bar hoppin" with Shaddix, sitting lower level for the Duke game with two of the greatest guys I know, spending my Spring Break cleaning up after a monster truck show, the naked people that seem to follow me and Lambert around (nude protest, streakers), baseball games at the Bosh with the old guys ("oh, if Donny were here...), Donny's jokes (A good first baseman would've had that, comment cards for naked bat girls, and others I can't say here), Academy Awards party (predicting half of the winners), Good Ol' Boys softball (6-2 while advancing to the final four...and continuing our domination of Drinking Problems), the Pat Green concert ("if you're not having a good time tonight, your good time thing is broke."), getting to meet PG, MTS A Self-fulfilling Prophecy, the Carrie Heitmann song (As I went down the the flood pond to play, studying about Uta Hagen's way, and who shall wear the monkey crown, Carrie Heitmann show me the way ), Dianna making me a class ring out of a piece of paper off the ground then escorting her to get her oil changed, Men's Night, Man Maid!, that AWESOME day (Roy, Goldberg, chillin in the football center, paper extension, hitting a softball homerun, Wes Moyer's nineth inning heroics, etc.), sitting in the Pit all day working crosswords and hanging out with friends, Bussit , umpiring, Julie's baptism, almost losing it when Marc and Cliff showed up at IV Senior Night, Poetry , holding the "I've Been Counted" sign, special tour to the TOP of the Bell Tower with Julie, Lori and Adam, and looking forward to the adventures ahead (final mountains trip with Lori and Julie, graduation, traveling to Miles' wedding in CO with Greg, Robert Earl Keen concert, and someday...Nashville).  --Possum              

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April 28, 2003
Circles of Confusion.  I came to Chapel Hill a slack-jawed, 17 year old hillbilly clueless in the ways of the world outside of the Great Smoky Mountains.  The thought of a dorm that housed as many people as attended my high school and a college campus that was attended by a group equivalent to the population of my home county intimidated the heck out of me, and I felt like that kid in The Jungle Book put on display when the yankee girls next door heard me open my mouth for the first time.  But, with the aid of my future best friends, I unloaded all my junk into what would become the infamous Miles Travis Suite minus a fingernail on my left middle finger that had been the casualty of a summer accident involving a boulder, a tractor and an uptight yankee (a lethal combination).  
Four years later, They are going to be handing me a diploma stating that I know a thing or two about "Communication."  What does this mean, exactly?  I'm not sure I really know.  What have I really learned at this University?  Well, for starters, I learned that it is always best to keep the rough side up and let the smooth side slide (I think that is trucker talk for don't sweat the small stuff).  I learned that the most annoying sound in the entire world is Lacucaracha at 7:00 a.m..  I learned that if you put it on a t-shirt, people will buy it.  I learned all about Communist filmmakers, existentialist playwrights, lobster obsessed professors, and how to operate a light board (it's real confusing...you have to press the "GO" button).  College has sped up my speech and introduced me to my best friends.  It has helped me grow up and given me confidence. I've almost come full circle; I find myself once again stepping of the front porch of my little world facing a larger world in front of me, but today I consider myself better prepared to face...well, whatever lies ahead.  Oh, and did I mention, my toenail is falling off.  --Possum

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April 7, 2003
Only me.  You joke about it all the time, but you never in your life imagine that it could happen to you.  On the other side of the coin, you are always tempted to do it to your roommate, but even as a prank, it just seems too sinister.  But let me tell you, I cannot describe the feeling felt coming out of the shower in nothing but a towel, taking hold of the doorknob, and realizing that you have been locked out.  My roommate, Private First Class William Hart, Jr., had taken off for dinner at Chase while I was in the shower and locked the door behind him.  It was 5:45 and I had a meeting at 6.  After kicking the door a couple of times, I began to weigh my options.
No one else in the suite was home, and it quickly dawned on me that any solution short of standing in the hallway until Will and Justin got back was going to involve me going outside in the 45 degree rainy weather in full view of any number of people wearing nothing but a towel.  I'll admit, the idea that I would actually have an opportunity to use the phrase "you'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel" made the thought of leaving the MTS half naked sound like fun, but that notion was quickly bedded down.  Perhaps next door someone would be home so that I could use the telephone.  There were two problems with this idea.  A) The suite next door is comprised of females.  Albeit, close friends, I still didn't want to show up at anyones door in a towel.  2)  Who was I going to call?  
So, I just stood there...drip drying...reading the vast amounts of literature on the walls of the MTS...for 45 minutes.  Eventually, Alex showed up and let me watch tv in his room while he went to lab, and after about 10 more minutes, my roommate arrived.  At this point all we could do was laugh about it all.  
Be on the lookout over the next couple of weeks as I release journals on the lessons I've learned in college, as well as share some of the more memorable moments. I would guess that this event could show up on both.  --Possum

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March 24, 2003
For those of you who weren't keeping score at home.   As the old MTS mantra goes, "make 4 prophecies each day, fulfull 2 of them."  In other words, 50% is the ideal percentage when prophecizing in the Miles Travis Suite.  Well, I did exactly that in my Academy Award prophecies.  Of the 24 awards given out during last night's ceremony, I was correct in predicting 12 of them.  Here is a quick run down of the good, the not so good, and my overrall thoughts.
Correct: Best Picture, Best Actress, Best Supporting Actress, Cinematography (I almost fell out of my chair), Costume Design, Documentary, Documentary Short, Editing, Make Up, Animated Short, Short Film, and Visual Effects.  I second guessed myself out of two more.  On a list that I had made the week before, I had correctly predicted both Sound and Sound Editing, however, I was moved to change my predictions after watching Road to Perdition.  
Wrong: Best Actor.  I thought Adrien Brody's speech was the best part of the show, but Day-Lewis deserved this so much.  Supporting Actor.  If you had let me pick four of the nominees that I thought were going to win this award I would still have been wrong.  Animated Film, Art Direction, Directing.  The fact that Gangs of New York got nothing makes me even more upset that Scorcese did not win this one.  Foreign Film, Score, Song, Sound, Sound Editing, Adapted Screenplay, and Original Screenplay.  
Ways to promote peace: Good...Adrien Brody.  Bad...Michael Moore
Touching parts of Nicole Kidman's speech: Good...wanting to make her daughter proud.  Bad...not even mentioning her son.
Things to blame when having trouble making your speech: Good...Russell Crowe (Nicole Kidman).  Bad...your hormones (Catherine Zeta-Jones).
Accepting on his behalf: Good...your son (Conrad L. Hall).  Bad...Cameron Diaz.
Line to include in your speech: Good...As I totter into antiquity, movie magic enraptures me still.  Bad...It's a great thing working with Marshall [Mathers] day in, day out.
Ways to celebrate your award: Good...kiss Halle Berry for several seconds (Adrien Brody).  Bad...watch the show from the non-expedition comfort of France (Roman Polanski).
Biggest gripe:  Bad...I lost to a child molester (Martin Scorcese, Rob Marshall)?!?.  Worse...I lost to Eminem (Paul Simon, U2)?!?
Steve Martin targets:  Good...Jack Nicholson.  Bad...J-Lo.
The Big Winners:  Chicago, The Pianist, Frida
The Big Losers: Gangs of New York, Peter O'Toole (after 7 failed nominations they finally just gave him an honorary one)
My personal acceptance speech: Friends, countrymen, MTS faithful.  As I stand here before you today there are four things that are perfectly clear to me.  I don't know why I always cry histerically at moments like these, but you'll just have to bear with me.  First, it is apparent that, after preparing my speech on the back of my napkin at dinner, I believe I left it in the men's room.  Secondly, I said to myself after Eminem won, "I suppose anyone can win one of these things nowadays." And the fact that I am standing up here now solidifies that notion.  Next, there is no way this would have been possible without the free webspace provided by the university that allows a person with no real journalistic experience to write what ever he wants for the public to read.  And the fourth thing that is clear to me is that I am grossly underdressed for the occasion.
I would like to thank Rob Marshall, simply because everyone else who has been up here tonight has.  I would also like to thank the host, Steve Martin, for making the movie Bowfinger.   It changed my life.  The stranger who is sitting in my seat right now so that when the camera pans across the audience when I'm done, there won't be any holes.  My twelfth grade physics teacher who told me, "Brian, your theories on perpetual motion are a bunch of baloney," which shattered my dreams of being a physicists and sent me down the road of film.  There is at least two more people I would like to thank, but the light is flashing telling me to get off the stage, so you both will just have to wait til next time.  Thank you, and God bless.  --Possum  

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March 19, 2003
Possum's Oscar Prophecies.  Everyone is invited to watch the 75th Annual Academy Awards with me in room 241 Ehaus this Sunday at 8, but before that time comes I would like to offer up my predictions for who will be taking home the little statuette of Oscar for everything from the big award to the technical awards that no one really thinks about.  As a media production major here at Carolina I have taken more than my fair share of film classes and feel somewhat versed in film criticism.  Even if the prophecied film doesn't take home the gold, for many of these awards I personally feel that the film I choose is deserving irregardless.  So here we go...
Best Picture: Chicago.  I went to see it twice in the theatre.  That should say enough.
Best Actor: Daniel Day-Lewis (Gangs of New York).   I've never seen an actor so engrossed in a villainous character.  Nicholson was great in About Schmidt, but Lewis' performance was something special.
Best Supporting Actor: John C. Reilly (Chicago).   This is a very competitive category and he is an underdog up against the likes of Ed Harris, Christopher Walken and Paul Newman.  Newman didn't blow me away, and while Walken seems to be the favorite, my vote goes to Mr. Cellophane.  One of several brilliant performances in the Broadway remake.
Best Actress: Nicole Kidman (The Hours).   I never got around to seeing this one, but I have the feeling that this is finally her year.
Best Supporting Actress: Catherine Zeta-Jones (Chicago) .  Dazzling performance steals the show from many worthy others in Chicago.
Animated Film: Ice Age.  Honestly, I didn't see any of these cartoon movies, so take this for what it is worth.
Art Direction: Gangs of New York.  The detail in this movie was unbelievable from the sets to the costumes.  Recreating the 5 Points in 1860s N.Y. was no easy task.
Cinematography: Road to Perdition.   A stunningly beautiful film.  This one ranks up there with Almost Famous, Traffic, and Apocalypse Now as films that make me want to be a filmmaker.  Truly artwork with a camera.
Costume Design: Chicago.  In my opinion, this is a toss up with Gangs of New York, but since I have a sneaking suspicion that Chicago is going to go nuts and take home an armload, my vote leans that way.
Directing: Martin Scorsese (Gangs of New York).   This category is fascinating.  Nominated are two of the greatest directors of their generation, yet neither have ever won an Academy Award.  Roman Polanski (The Pianist) has outstanding legal problems that will keep him away from the ceremony, and anyway, Scorsese deserves it for this enormous project.
Documentary: Bowling for Columbine.   As close to a sure thing as it gets at the Oscars.
Documentary Short: Twin Towers.  Why not?
Editing: Chicago.  The editing is a crucial element to why this film version of the Broadway show works.
Foreign Film: The Man Without a Past (Finland).   I wanted to vote for Y Tu Mama Tambien simply because of its name, but apparently it didn't get nominated in this category.  So, I went with this one because one of my favorite professors, Prof. Hap Kindem,  is a fan of Scandinavian cinema.
Make Up: Frida.  Ok, so this isn't exactly a category I know much about, but it's a fifty/fifty shot since their are only two nominees.
Musical Score: Catch Me If You Can.   I liked the music for this film and the fact that it includes The Girl From Ipanema on the soundtrack wins me over.  I know that is technically not part of the score, but that's just the way I feel and what I'm basing my choice on.
Original Song: Father and Daughter by Paul Simon (The Wild Thornberrys).  I like Paul Simon, in fact, I'm listening to him right now.
Animated Short: The ChubbChubbs!  How could you not pick a movie with this title!
Short Film: This Charming Man.  Sort of like me :-)  Ok, maybe not, but I have no other criteria to on which to judge these.
Sound: Road to Perdition.  I could try to explain why, but it would probably be boring.
Sound Editing: Road to Perdition.   See above
Visual Effects: Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers.   It's gotta win something, right?  This is its shot.
Adapted Screenplay: The Hours.  Most people did not think that the book could successfully be adapted onto the screen, but the buzz around this movie suggests otherwise.  However, it did benefit from performances by three incredible leading ladies.
Original Screenplay: My Big Fat Greek Wedding.   Hollywood doesn't know how to explain the success of this one.  All I have to say is that Nia Vardolos' script is clever, and this film is almost as adorable as Rene Zellweger.

We shall see if the Academy agrees with me.  I'll let you know how I did next week, but I'd still love for yall to join me in watching the ceremony.  --Possum

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March 16, 2003
Thoughts from Spring Break.  Why didn't I just hop in the car and head south for the Keys (the answer would come on Sunday!)?  Political correctness has out lived it's purpose...the McDonald's manager's nametags now read "Service Ambassador."  Auburn baseball fans are almost as obnoxious as Clemson fans (I hear the only difference between the two schools is the lake).  I think it might have been worth all the junk I've put up with for four years with our basketball team for the feeling that came with being in the lower level for the victory over Duke in my final game as a student in the Dean Dome. Thank goodness no cars were flipped this time!  I think we may have found someone to take my brokedown car from high school off our hands...how cool would it be to see it smashed by a WWE Monster Truck?  BTW, have you ever wondered who cleans up all that mess in the arena after a monster truck show...well that is how I spent my Spring Break (nice work if you can get it...not really).  What is 10 times worse than listening to rap music all afternoon while trying to sweep a 7,000 seat arena...listening to French rap music! Apparently, the WCU football team just tosses out their used cleats at the end of each season...so I now have a new pair of Nike cleats.  Although, it is kinda difficult to find a college football player who wears a size 9.5 (have you ever seen a size 18 shoe?).  Spring break my foot!?!  Coming back to school is going to be a break from my week off!  --Possum (be on the lookout for my Oscar predictions coming later this week)    

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March 5, 2003
It takes all kinds.  Just when you think you've seen it all on this campus, someone or a group of someones show up to prove you wrong.  Yesterday had me counting the hours until I return to my mountain homeland where people have a smattering of what is decent and sane.  An afternoon as beautiful as yesterday is no time to be in a classroom, and when I remembered that there was a home baseball game it didn't take me long to decide that I would much rather go to that than to sit through a three and a half hour Swedish film.  
As I walked through the Pit after class en route to the Bosh for the ballgame I noticed someone preaching their that I had not seen before.  He did not look at all like the usual Pit Preachers.  This dude was scrawny, had a big, bushy beard, and appeared not to have bathed in weeks.  As I moved closer, I heard him say something about the right wing conspiracy.  My first thought was that he was a Communist, so he had my attention and I decided to listen further.  After going on about how the government is watching us he said something to the affect of needing 10 million soldiers to be part of the religious police.  He continued to announce that he did not believe in anything nor did he follow anyone, but he thought that Jesus Christ was on to something.  He had a large knapsack containing personal items and I got the impression that he was homeless from some of the comments he made.  He told one fellow that he knew what it was like to be poor and he was here to give him tips.  I was late for the game, so I didn't stick around to here any longer.  Lambert and I would dub this man The Prophet.
It was a perfect day for the ballgame, and after a Carolina victory over Lemoyne, Lambert and I decided to head up to Lenoir for dinner.  As we left the Bosh, we noticed a helicopter hovering over the campus.  Questioning the reason for this all the way up to campus, we were soon distracted by a large crowd gathered around the Pit.  As we approached we saw several people with cameras (some news cameras and some home video cameras) and some campus policemen. Wading through the crowd, we were hard pressed to find anyone we knew.  Finally, we happened upon Brad Overcash and new that he would be in the know.  Cash informed us that there was supposed to be a Nude War Protest in a few minutes.  He speculated that no one would show up, but no sooner than the words came out of his mouth, there they come.  I hollered over to Lambert, "Don't look, Lambert!"  But it was too late, he done got a free show!
Fortunately, the 12 protestors were clad in white sheets featuring anti-war slogans.  One man had his mouth duct taped shut.  It looked more like a Toga Party War Protest than anything else.  One of the protestors addressed the crowd, "We are here to bare witness."  
Then a voice came out from the crowd, "That better not be all you bare!"
Lambert and I went on into the dining hall after the troops headed on towards the quad.  No sooner than we got up the escalator than who should appear but The Prophet serving food into his mess kit.  We observed him eating alone while we dined and thought it rather odd that he spent the majority of his meal talking on a cell phone.  After he finished eating, he put away his phone and took out a harmonica and began to play.  On a day like yesterday, things just stopped seeming strange.
Now I am not an avid proponent of war.  On the other hand I am not vehemently opposed to war.  There is a case to be made for peace, but everytime I see one of these childish displays the only thing I am made aware of is how much I wish I had a pellet gun to make those protestors dance.  As for this particular protest, Mark Twain said it best.  "Clothes make the man.  Naked people have little influence on society."  So, if you are wanting to make a statement that people are going to take seriously, put your pants on!  -Possum

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March 2, 2003
A Possum's Guide to Chapel Hill Night Life.   It has been an extremely busy couple of weeks here in the MTS, so I have not had the opportunity to write to you much lately.  A good deal of what kept me busy was planning for the return of the IV tradition known as Ladies Night.  The idea for a Broadway themed LN was contrived by Nick Jernigan some two and a half years ago, and I have kept it in my head since.  Now that it was my turn to plan Ladies Night, it seemed the perfect time to implement this idea.  So after hours of song writing, choreographing and music editing, Ladies Night became a success.  So, a great big thank you goes out to all the guys who put in so much work, and to the ladies who were the inspiration for it all.  After singing and dancing the night away on Thursday night, the rest of my weekend took on a quite different setting.
I have made an effort to stear clear of the night scene during my time here at Carolina.  The main reason is the fact that when it is time for the party to start it is already past my bedtime.  Possums sleep about 19 hours per day, so don't give me grief if I want to get 8-10 hours.  Friday night we celebrated the birth of the Green Havoc (Justin Shaddix).  It was also the birthday of his friend's roommate (Alaina), and so it was sort of a dual celebration.  After dinner, Alaina and co. decided to head to Top of the Hill for a free drink for the birthday girl and boy.  I decided to tag along after discovering that there would be a jazz jam session there. So while the birthday party crew huddled around the bar, I ordered my glass of wine and enjoyed the music.  However, no sooner than I had finished my glass, the crew had decided to move on.  Not wanting to have to walk home, I had no choice but to leave the music and go.  I found Top of the Hill to be a little to stylish for my likings.  I felt out of place.  It was probably a good thing that I wore a pair of khakis rather than my Carhart jeans and flannel shirt that I had been wearing earlier.  Overall, I'd give it 3 out of 5.  
Next stop, W.B. Yeats.  I should have stayed at ToH.  This place was smokey and the band playing there was loud and, in general, just awful.  It was packed and everyone there seemed to be drinking to get drunk.  I spent most of my time there just standing and observing and breathing second hand smoke.  The one good thing is they let us in without paying the cover charge.  So, I'll give it a 2.
My quest to hear jazz music thwarted on Friday night, I rounded up a couple of buddies of mine and headed out to another jam session on Saturday night at West End Wine Bar.  The place was a little trendy, and I'm not really a trendy person.  As a matter of fact, I'm almost anti-trendy.  However, the place did not smell of smoke at all.  In fact, I don't think I saw a single person smoking.  No one in the whole bar was drunk, and the music was phenomenal.  I understand it is usually a low key place, but on this occasion it was jumping.  Although we couldn't find a seat, it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, and having a friend along that knew about wine was helpful in selecting what to drink.  As a result, I was much happier with my selection than I had been the night before.  I'll give the Wine Bar a 4.5.
This weekend was a nice break from the usual dinner and movie, but I don't see how people make a life out of hitting the bars.  If it wasn't for some good friends and good jazz music I think I'd just as soon stay at home.  --Possum    

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February 18, 2003
This one speaks for itself.  "Frustrated with a 36th-place finish in no less than a second-place car, Junior refused comment after the race. His crew said the problem was easily repairable, and that they were confident Junior would have been back on the lead lap when it was time to get down to the proverbial nitty gritty."

A diagram released by Dale Earnhardt Inc. shows where they believe the source of the problem that put the No. 8 Budweiser car 2 laps down in last weekends Daytona 500 to have originated.  

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February 16, 2003
Your on the clock.  This weekend I was involved in UNC's first 24 Hour Plays as presented by Tar Heel Original Theater.  The concept is that a team of writers, directors, actors, and technicians come together to write, produce, and performs 6 short plays in the span of 24 hours.  A decent sized crowd showed up for this landmark event, but what they saw was only half the story.  You really had to be involved with it to get the full effect of what 24 Hour theatre really is.  So, I would like to offer, from the techie's perspective, 6 plays in 24 hours.  
Friday:
22:00.  Everyone arrives in Hamilton 100 for the kickoff meeting.  The actors all introduce themselves and share any special talents for the writers to take note of.  Also, everyone has brought props and costumes to share and inspire the writers.  My contribution to the stash was a plastic pirate sword, a Cubs hat, and my broken bat handle.  
23:00.  I go home to sleep leaving only the writers behind to do their thing.  
Saturday:
10:00.  I arrive back at Hamilton 100 to find the actors already on stage rehearsing.  Each of the six shows had only 1 hour a piece to rehearse on stage.  My technical director looks like death with bright blue hair, but we've had a drama class together in the past and he is a nice enough guy.  The girl in charge of lighting, Rachel, shows up shortly after, and we ride out with the tech director, Jon, to Swain to gather some set pieces and other equipment from Company Carolina's storage.  After loading up the truck we head back to Hamilton to unload.
12:00.  Everything is unloaded, so it is time to start setting up the lights.  We only have two booms and six lights, so lighting effects will be minimal.  We set up the two booms in the wings to hang sidelight, then rig some poles and 2x4s to create two more booms to hang our front lighting.  I ran cable all over the auditorium and hung the lights while Rachel set up the dimmers.  
13:30.  I'm starting to get real hungry, so I grab a plain bagel from the bag that had been provided for everyone and ate it as Rachel and I went over all six scripts discussing how we wanted to light each one.  
14:30.  We blow a fuse along the wall where the tech table is set up.  After a lengthy search, I find the fuse box, but none of the breakers appear to be tripped.  Numerous trouble-shooting attempts fail.  Just as we are about to move our entire setup to another wall, Jon shows up and finds another fuse box in another part of the building.  Crisis averted!
16:00.  The actors are finally off of the stage, so we can cut off the house lights and focus our instruments.  However, when we turn everything on we come to the realization that four lights in the back corners of the auditorium are nowhere near providing enough front light for the stage.  
17:00.  Tech rehearsals begin.  Each show has 20 minutes to run their light and sound cues.  The problem with this is that the lighting on the actors looks terrible and there is not much time to do anything.  
18:00.  It is two hours til showtime, and after much deliberating we decide I am going to have to move some lights.  So, I disassemble one of the booms in the wings and take down the light, move the boom to the center of the auditorium and rehang and focus the light.  This move provides the light we need, and everything looks a lot better.  The problem is, we've missed the tech rehearsals for the first two shows and will have to improv during the show.  However, we continue on with tech for the other shows.  
20:15.  The audience is seated and the show goes on.  Everything goes on without a hitch.  The plays are funny and clever, and all the tech runs smoothly.  
22:00.  The show ends, but our work is not done.  Now it is time to take down everything that we had spent all day putting up.  The actors pitch in to make this a quicker effort.  Three truckloads back to Swain, and we are done.  Six plays created out of thin air and performed in one day.  I never thought it would happen, and everything that could happen did, but I think everyone was pleased in the end.  On a side note, my bat handle made it's stage debut and was well received.  It even got a pretty big laugh.  However, in the hustle and bustle after the show, I was unable to track it back down.  I am somewhat saddened by this loss, but as the Green Havoc reminded me, epic weapons are often lost and change hands.  So, I can only hope that my bat handle has moved on to bigger and better things.  --Possum

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February 14, 2003
Love...true love.  As Valentine's Day finds me once again without a Valentine, I would like to take this time to offer another edition of "Things the Possum is Passionate About."  Pitchers and catchers reported to spring training this week, and it is a mere 38 days until Major League Baseball's opening day.  Possibly more exciting, though, is the fact that opening day for Carolina baseball at the Bosh is Monday.  This is that wonderful time of year where there is hope in even the Cubs fan's eyes.
I choose Valentine's day to talk about baseball because I often make the comment that baseball is my first love.  Some of my earliest memories are of throwing a plastic baseball with my dad.  Sure, later would come basketball, football, a brief period when I was ten where I wanted to play hockey, golf, and most recently NASCAR, but none of those sports hold a candle to what I feel for baseball.  I am in love with the rich history of the game, the atmosphere, the smells, the sounds.  I still get teary eyed when James Earl Jones gives his "people will come" speech in Field of Dreams , and sometimes I can relate to what Stan Musial said when asked what he does all winter.  His response was, "I sit at home staring out the window waiting for baseball season."  
As a baseball player growing up, I was average at best.  I made a couple of all-star teams, but for the most part I couldn't hit the ball all that well.  My specialty was defense, and as a second baseman, I idolized Ryne Sandberg.  Baseball is pushed pretty hard on young boys where I grew up, so by the time I got to high school I had gotten burned out, took up golf, and gave up playing.  However, I never lost the love for the game and I became fascinated with learning as much as I could about the vast history of the sport.  I've done term papers on Babe Ruth, Spanish presentations on Sammy Sosa, in general, if I can put a baseball spin on it I do.  Just like Connie Mack, "no matter what I talk about, I always come back to baseball."  
Intramural and Church-League softball have provided a way for me to stay involved in playing the game.  Last summer, I played for my dad's church team and we won the championship.  I also managed to hit my first homerun, but wouldn't you know my dad wasn't there to see it.  This spring, Lambert and I hope to have assembled a team to make a run at the IM (intramural, not instant messenger) title and win one of the coveted t-shirts in my last intramural sport here at Carolina.  
So, this Valentines I will be spending time with a good friend, cooking steaks, and watching Bull Durham (the 2nd best baseball movie of all-time) and counting the hours til the first pitch at Boshamer on Monday.  I just hope the weather is nice, but any day is a great day for a ballgame.  Let's play two!  --Possum

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February 7, 2003
The professor is: IN.  It has been quite a week.  I got to climb up into the face of the clock in the bell tower, I got to mess with some lab rats that glow in the dark, and apparently, I'm now the professor of Music 44, History of Country Music.  The following email appeared in my box two nights ago:

Prof Sellers,

I am in your Tues-Thurs Music 44 class.  I have been throwing up since
this morning and went to the student health center and they said that
I had a virus.  I have been throwing up pretty much since this
morning.  I'm emailing you to see what could be done about the paper
tomm.  Please email me back so that I know what to do about it.

Thanks,

This class has 300 members, and the professor is Jocelyn Neal.  Her email address is nowhere near mine, and irregardless (I've been waiting for an excuse to use the word 'irregardless'), why would this person have addressed it to Prof Sellers?  Now, I'll admit to possessing more than average knowledge of pointless country music trivia, however, I do not believe myself to be qualified to teach this class.  
I have no idea who this kid is, nor how he got my name.  I have to say that I'm quite a bit concerned about him.  He must really be sick and getting delirious!  So, I replied to him pointing out his mistake and told him that I didn't think that I had the authority to advise him on his paper dilemma.  I provided the email address for the real professor of the class and wished him luck on his recovery.  I must admit, it was tempting to tell him to come see me in my office hours at Gimghoul Castle or something, but I would imagine it is some sort of honor code violation to impersonate a professor (although, it sure looked fun in Catch Me If You Can ).
Even though I am not a professor of music, I still welcome any class advising queries.  I have often considered setting up a booth in front of Steele Hall at the beginning of the year to offer "No Wait Advising" for those who don't have time to wait on there advisors.  I have been called upon for these services several times and always dispense valuable information on easy classes and classes that involve power tools.  --Possum    

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January 29, 2003
MTS, A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy.  The MTS is finally getting some publicity, and it should come as no surprise that it coincides with the announcement of the fourth and final t-shirt slogan.  In the State of the MTS Address released Wednesday afternoon, the public was informed that we would be leaving behind the 'keep' phrases to make "A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy" our new slogan.  Shortly after the press release, a photographer from the Daily Tarheel arrived to take pictures of the MTS.  Look for these pictures in the DTH on Thursday or Friday.  
We anticipate that some people may be disappointed that we didn't choose something like "Keep the Change," "Keep On Trucking," or "Keep On Keeping On."  However, we feel that the slogan we chose does a better job of summing up the Miles Travis Suite.  To fully understand the meaning behind it, one must look at the existential nature of the MTS.  We are often hard pressed to provide a concrete answer as to why we are the MTS, or what it was that made Miles Travis so special that he deserved a suite named after him.  We exist simply because we can.  We are legends in our own minds, and we have made ourselves famous merely because we said we would.  What makes us the MTS is the fact that we say we are the MTS.  
What started out as a joke has now become the place where 27 people sat uncomfortably as we knocked off Duke in 2001.  Where a Student Body President candidate setup headquarters on election night.  Where the game of suiteball was invented.  Where each of the last three IV Ladies Nights have been planned.  Where The Great American Book was filmed.  Where great men, like Homer Simpson, Nanook of the North, Ric Flair, and Manfred von Richtohofen have been enshrined on the wall.  And, where a group of crusaders call home.  
So, place your order now to reserve your piece of Ehaus history, because when this semester is gone, so are we.  And, if it wasn't for people wearing our t-shirts, most people would realize we exist.  --Possum  

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January 26, 2003
Pirate Bowl I.  I was pulling for the Rams a year ago, before that, the Giants, Titans, Falcons, Packers, Patriots, Steelers, Chargers, the Bills (four times), Denver, and Cincinatti.  Notice a trend?  For every Super Bowl that I have been aware of in my life, I have been pulling for the losing team.  Most years, though, I didn't have much riding on whether the team I was pulling for won or not (other than not wanting the despised Cowboys to win).  However, this year I do, and I fear that even though they are the favorite, that my luck will hex my beloved Raiders.  Ol' Swash Buckle couldn't have dreamt up a better Super Bowl matchup than his longtime favorite Oakland Raiders and the other NFL pirate themed team, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  
Could this finally be my year?  My teams ALWAYS lose.  Not just in the championships, heck, it is rare for my team to make it to the championship.  The one exception is North Carolina's national college basketball championship in 1993.  My luck is best summed up in the one team that I care about even more than the Tar Heels.  Most of you know, that is the Chicago Cubs.  My dad (also a huge Cubs fan) has never even witnessed the Cubs in the World Series in his lifetime.  The last time they won the Series was during the Roosevelt administration ( Teddy not FDR!).  
So, this evening, I will be watching hopefully, with my Tim Brown jersey on, that my luck in the Super Bowl will change, and da Raiders can bring home the Lombardi trophy.  Of course, if I were a betting man, my money would be on the Buccaneers.
If the Bucs do win, it is not a total loss.  See, the Bucs (Yucs) are the NFL's version of the Chicago Cubs in there annual demonstration of ineptitude.  Once asked about his Buccaneer team's execution, the head coach during the 80s said he would be in favor of it.  If Tampa can win the Super Bowl, then perhaps that is a sign that hell is in fact beginning to freeze over, which is the first requirement on the road to a Chicago Cubs World Series Championship!  --Possum

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January 19, 2003
Prophecies and the like.   This weekend I  met a man named Karl Ruch who had spent several years trying to make it as a professional musician.  After spending a few years in Nashville, Karl has decided to persue a career in Pharmacy and is now in graduate school at Carolina.  A friend of one of the staff workers, he joined us this weekend for the IV leadership retreat, and shared with us some of the songs he has written.  I very much enjoyed his music.  His songs were clever and some of them had elements of humor in them.  One song in particular struck me.  It was a song describing an adventure that he and his wife undertook.  The verses were mostly spoken rather than sung, and it had a fun sound to it.  However, the reason this song struck me was the fact that he was singing about living in Nashville, which is what I am looking forward to doing after graduation.  Secondly, he was singing about taking a wild, cross-country roadtrip to Colorado.  I am planning on going to Colorado this summer for Miles Travis' wedding, and ideally, would like to drive all the way out there.  And finally, he sings about how he is not able to take his beloved Ford Escort on the trip.  The main thing holding me back from driving to Colorado is not wanting to put all those miles on the Possummobile, which just happens to be a Ford Escort.  
I got to talk with Karl after he sang, and I filled him in on how my story matched up with his.  He was thoroughly amused.  I asked him about Nashville, the music industry, and getting started in the business, but mostly we talked about our cars.  Now, it is a common practice among guys to stand around talking about their love for cars, but I doubt that too many of those conversations consist of two guys sharing tales about their favorite Ford Escorts.  He told of how he felt like he was selling a family member when he finally got rid of it, and I began to think of how sad it will be when I have to give up the Possummobile.  It may not be the most stylish, but it gets me from point A to point B and on the weekends point C.  Plus, there are times where I feel like it is my home.  
I was excited to have met someone who had experienced a lot of what I want to do (although he is a musician, and I'm going into a more technical aspect) and hear what they have to say, but mostly I was excited to have met a kindred spirit.  --Possum  

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January 19, 2003
umm....So, it has been 10 days since my last journal posting, and I have been struggling to think of something to write about.  Usually, something comes up to inspire me, or is eventful enough to include here.  I have been fairly busy over the last 10 days, yet nothing seems to be worth noting at any length for yall to read.  So, I sat down and turned on the stereo, putting in the CD that I normally journal to.  I find Paul Simon's Gumboots a particularly inspirational song when it comes to writing nonsense for other people to read.  The song contains some great lines such as, "I said hey Senorita that's astute, why don't we get together and call ourselves an institute," and "believing I had supernatural powers I slammed into a brick wall."  
I have been spending a good deal of time writing in journals of late, however, not this one.  It appears that the hip way to assign homework these days is to have students keep journals on various subjects.  I have three such journals to keep track of this semester.  One is for my acting class, another for one of my film classes, and yet another for my lighting designing class.  It is one thing to write frequently about what I am learning in acting class or about films that I have seen, however, there are only so many things you can say about the light you see everyday.   I went into a room today and the lights were off, so I turned them on.        
Anyway, I apologize for such a lame entry this week.  What can I say, the Communists seem to be keeping quiet these days (although I have been without heat for over a month), the Crusaders have gone into hibernation for the winter months, and one can only write so many haikus.  I anticipate that next month will provide many great stories, so be patient and Possum's online journal will return to it's usual tomfoolery.  --Possum  

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January 9, 2003
The little things that are important.   This week, I had the pleasure of spending some time with an old friend known to many of yall as Big Brad.  BB graduated two years ago, is currently in meteorology school at OU, and is among the more amusing people I have ever met.  He is also a faithful reader of Possum's Online Journal. The two of us spent about an hour sitting in the pit chatting with whatever friends of ours would pass and have time to stop.  This is among the activities that I will miss the most upon my departure from Chapel Hill in May.  Big Brad and I got to talking about a mutual friend of ours, Miles Travis.  Miles (obviously the namesake of the MTS) graduated after my freshman year, so these days most of my friends have never met him.  Brad proceeded to share a story with me about Miles that I thought was a good example to answer the question of why we named our suite after him.  It was a simple story, but it meant so much, and I think it says a lot.
One day during BB's junior year (i.e. my freshman year and Miles' senior year), Brad was having a tough day and was feeling kind of down.  Upon his visit that evening to Chase, he ran into Miles, and the two sat down and talked for a while.  Miles offered Big Brad some helpful and encouraging thoughts that perked him right up.  Also, Miles gave him a four leaf clover that he had just found, and to this day he has kept that four leaf clover in his Bible.  
I actually remember when Miles found that clover.  If my memory serves me correctly, he found about three that week.  It blew me away to think that it has spent the last three years in Brad's Bible.  I think that is, deep down, what the MTS strives to be.  Maybe Miles didn't leave us with a clover, but he set an example for us when we were searching for direction.  I would like to think that the MTS has been that four leaf clover to those who have encountered us.  That we, in all our random craziness, have been that gesture that has brought a smile to the face of those who were down.  That in our own way, we have touched the lives of those around us.  
As I look back on my time here at Carolina and the relationships that I have forged, I wonder if I spent enough time just being there for other people.  There have been so many people that I have come across that have been great inspirations to me.  I just hope that I've returned the favor.  --Possum  

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January 8, 2003
Hail to the King!  Today we celebrate what would have been Elvis Presley's 68th birthday.  Now, I'm not saying one way or the other whether or not I think that he is still alive or abducted by space aliens, but the facts seem to line up in favor of his passing back in 1977.  So, for the purpose of this journal entry we will assume that he no longer is a part of this world.  I have put forth a great deal of consideration as to an appropriate and creative way to honor the King.  I considered posting a bunch of random Elvis facts gathered from the Elvis Newsletter, but I thought that would be kinda boring.  Then I thought I might ramble about my own thoughts about Elvis, but then I figured it might get too long.  So, I decided I would see what Elvis means to you.  I apologize to any of my faithful readers who were not consulted, but the fact of the matter is my research took place in about 5 minutes.  So, without further adieu, here is what some of my favorite people said when asked what my favorite American idol meant to them:
Elvis lives January 6.
Elvis was Elvis.
The greatest clothes, hairstyles, and dances ever!
Lots of hair gel and hip shaking.
Decent music and bad clothing.
Elvis Lives!
Rock n Roll.
Like a bottle rocket, he was real pretty, then got fat and fizzled out.
Las Vegas.
Gyrating hips.
Elvis gives me hope that a man with no acting skills can grow old, get fat, wear really tight clothes and women will still love him.
Elvis is a legend; people visit his home, buy his posthumous albums, and cried like they had lost a member of their own families when he died. thanks
Fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.
And the winner is: "Elvis helps me understand what my grandparents think sexy means" submitted by the MTS's very own Joseph Hoyle (Note: entries including mention of aardvarks were disqualified).  Thankyouverymuch.  -Possum  

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January 03, 2003
Compilation of random thoughts from Christmas Break.   Why did it take me three and a half years to discover 35 Chinese?  If I ever hear about jojoba, vegetarian chili, or mathematical proofs again it will be too soon.  Stop saying Harold Dobbs!!!  "Time can heal all things except these crazy eyes."   Lori, what time, exactly, does your plane leave?  That would have been a good question to ask.  Big K-Mart sucks.  Is it really worth leveling a mountain to build a Sonic?  If things keep going like they are going, my family tree is gonna be a circle.  I wasn't dreaming of a white Christmas, but it was nice to have one, nonetheless.  You can never have too many mixers; the second one can be a spare in case the first one goes out.  Harrison Ford can't do a Russia accent, although, I'm not sure that is such a bad thing.  There is something inherently wrong about watching The Two Towers with three guys who hadn't even seen The Fellowship of the Ring.  There is something inherently right about being in a movie theater with only ten people, eight of which you know (gotta love small towns).  I'm not sure that I should admit to watching two Leonardo DiCaprio movies in less than a week, but the fact of the matter is I liked them both ( Catch Me If You Can, Gangs of New York ).  If you like intricate scheme movies then you'll love Catch Me If You Can.   Movies, tv, radio, conversation with friends, everyone is talking about JLo (Marc may be on to something in his claim that she is the anti-christ).  It's difficult to stay up for New Years after driving for eight hours.  Even if Richmond was the capital of the Confederacy, Virginians is yankees.  I'm not sure what the historical significance that a skeleton just begging for a goat to ram him in the groin has, but apparently it is enough to be on display in the Smithsonian.  College football really needs to rethink it's post-season because having teams sit idly for a month before their bowl game leads to a lot of dull games.  Was there a close bowl game this year (thought thunk prior to Fiesta Bowl) ?  Apparently, NC State is the second most overrated team in college football.  I finally got a new VCR to replace my roommate's 20 year old clunker that we have been using all these years.  While I know that the new one won't last nearly as long as the old one, you all can look forward to a better quality image for MTS movie nights.  This spring,  the MTS farewell party might just include an appearance from Miles Travis himself.  There is something sort of romantic about sitting in a car just after dusk with the rain rolling down the windshield, listening to good jazz music, even if it is by yourself.  Wow, I just have one semester left of college.  --Possum

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December 20, 2002

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December 14, 2002
Pretty fly for a shy guy.   The show continues to go on, and I continue to spend each of my evenings (and some of my afternoons) at the theatre running the sound board for Proof.   I still maintain that it is a wonderful play, however, it is starting to get old now that I've seen it...well...we'll call it about 50 times.  I have managed to stay entertained, though, by the crew members who can communicate with the three of us (me, the stage manager, and the light board op) via wireless headset.  My fellow Dram 66 classmates are some of the more amusing people I have ever met and always keep things interesting.  For the most part, they exchange jokes that I cannot repeat here as well as lame pick up lines.  Every once in a while there is something said that leaves the three of us in the booth roling, and if ever a cue came during that time the show would have to stop.  Again, I probably shouldn't offer an example.  I usually keep to myself since it is a long reach from where I sit to the microphone switch on my headset, and since I am generally a quiet person when interacting with people I am not really close to.  What has amused me the most is the how they have developed a character for me based completely from random statements.  Mind you, these are the people that refer to me as B-Money.  
I think B-Money could be quite an interesting character.  He is not as well developed as The Possum and does not have a cool costume like Swash Buckle, but with some work, who knows?  So, according to the crew of Proof , B-Money is, by day, a mastermind of sound design who, much like Tim Allen, is always seeking ways to rewire the sound system to increase it's power.  By night, he transforms into a double dragon ninja who will kick your head off if you look at him the wrong way.  His arch nemesis is Corndog, who considers himself the "man with the biggest muscles in the drama department" and wears skin tight, pink t-shirts that say "You Go Girl."  His sidekick is Phil, an actor, who, though approaching 65 years old, is a "squirrelly" fighter.  B-Money is always followed by Megan, his "fly girl," who wears pink sequened spandex, and promotes conditioner that contains jojoba.
If we weren't all crazy we'd all go insane.  --Possum   

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December 11, 2002
The rules are the rules.   Allow me to editorialize for just a moment.  An ugly issue involving my first love, baseball, has once again peered it's head into the attention of the media, and I feel the need to step up on my soap box and put forth my opinion.  About fifteen years ago, Major League Baseball's all-time hit leader, Pete Rose, was implicated in a gambling scandal that may or may not have included him placing bets on games that involved the Cincinatti Reds, which he managed. Baseball rules clearly state (and this specific rule is posted in each and every locker room) that any player who bets on any games will be suspended for one year, and any player/manager/team official/secretary/etc who bets on a team that they are affiliated with will be banned from baseball permanently.  The evidence against Rose betting on the Reds, while not concrete, is substantial, and he has been banned from baseball since.  Recently, MLB Commisioner (of contraction/all star game tie/Milwaukee Brewers infamy) Bud Selig met with Rose to discuss his reinstatement into baseball, and most importantly, his qualification for induction into the Hall of Fame.  This has most baseball fans and media members screaming about how Rose has served his time and deserves reinstatement, and has me raging that this make NO sense.
The argument that many people make is that if Rose were to admit that he gambled that he deserves reinstatement.  What!?!  If he says he did, that makes him guiltier than he is now, and that much less deserving of being allowed back into baseball.  Apparently, some people equate admitting what he did to an apology, but, seeing how Pete Rose has been one of baseball's foremost jerks this side of Ty Cobb, he has never and will never feel the least bit of remorse for commiting baseball's cardinal sin.  Others argue that he has paid the price and served his time.  Since when did fifteen years become equal to FOR-E-VER?  
The issue of gambling on games was the primary reason the position of MLB Commisioner was established.  Judge Kennisaw Mountain Landis was asked to intervene when eight members of the 1919 Chicago White Sox (Black Sox as they've become known to history) accepted money from gamblers to throw the World Series which they were highly favored to win.  Among these players was the infamous Shoeless Joe Jackson, one of the greatest pre-Ruthian baseball players.  Jackson was a poorly educated man and did, in fact, accept money from the gamblers, however, he returned the money upon realizing what was going on. He then proceeded to post the best statistical numbers of any of the players from either team in the World Series.  I hardly consider that "throwing" a series, but Judge Landis pronounced Jackson, along with his teammates (who did throw the games), guilty for having taken the money in the first place, and banned them from baseball forever.  So, for 80 years, the great Shoeless Joe Jackson has been sitting in baseball purgatory.
I don't buy the thought that Pete Rose has waited long enough.  As far as I'm concerned, he can go into the Hall about 70 years after Shoeless Joe goes in, and I'm not necessarily saying that Joe should go in.  Whether, or not he meant to, he broke the greatest off the field rule of baseball.  From what I have seen, Commisioner Selig appears to have no concept of baseball history and tradition.  He is only looking out to make himself look better to the fans after some huge mistakes he made over the past year.  Major League Baseball has prided itself over the years in how they have stuck to their basic rules.  There is no reason why they should bend the rules for any player.  And that's my two cents.  --Possum      

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December 6, 2002
There's no business like snow business.   The winter storm event that caught the triangle area and the UNC community this week inspired memories of some of the completely bizzare weather events I have encountered during my time in Chapel Hill.  Toss the following weather related occurances in with the turbulent athletic atmosphere that I have written about in the past and I can't imagine a more topsy-turvy four years spent at Carolina.  
Freshman year, we all spent a week with our attention focused on the Atlantic and the great Hurricane Floyd that was approaching the coast of North Carolina. Certain doom was what the weather forecasters predicted from this storm, and in light of these predictions, the University cancelled classes for the next day when the storm was ready to strike.  They said that it was the first time that classes had been cancelled since the sixties (I don't know what the validity of that statement is, however).  The rain and the wind were upon us as frat court erupted with "hurricane parties," while the good folks of Ehaus played hurricane volleyball.  After we had gone to sleep, the great Hurricane Floyd had taken a big swing and a big miss at Chapel Hill and students were greeted to sunshine on their day off from classes.  The ramifications from Floyd were, however, felt across the eastern portion of the state as massive flooding left hogs stranded on barn roofs.  A couple of weeks later, the M.T.S. fell victim to flooding of its own.  Returning from class one Friday, the five charter members of the suite were surprised to find water pouring out of the suite and off the balcony.  For reasons that were never fully understood by us or by maintenance, the entire suite was filled with over an inch of water that was coming up from the drains in the bathroom.  Luckily, water damage was limited.
During the winter of freshman year, I was taking Geography 11, or as it was called by my suitemates "Weather 19."  The meteorologists were calling for 5 inches of snow, my weather prof., Chip Konrad, projected the possibility of 10 inches.  Students woke up the next morning to 20 inches of snow, and the University was paralyzed for a week.  However, the snow is ultimately what sparked our basketball team on it's run to the Final Four.  Since the alumni were unable to make it to the Smith Center for the showdown with Maryland, the lower level was opened to students on a first come first serve basis.  The place was rocking, and the team that had shown little signs of life all season came alive on the start of their improbable run.  
Sophomore year brought about an event that wasn't weather related, but after this week we can all relate to.  In the middle of exams, some sort of major transformers blew leaving Chapel Hill and Durham without power for about 6 hours.  The power went off about 20 minutes into 4:00 exams, forcing many professors to postpone.  Unaware that the power outage was city wide (they had been messing with the power lines on south campus all week), my friend, Kristin, and I decided to take off driving to find some entertainment elsewhere.  Trapped in traffic, since all the traffic lights weren't functioning, it took us two hours to get to Durham.  By this time we were so hungry we pulled off at the first exit we came to that appeared to have power (all the way out to Hillandale).  
Senior year brought about a severe drought that I'm sure I don't have to elaborate upon, and obviously this week's icing ranks up there with all of these.  I don't know what is next, tornado, landslide...perhaps a tidal wave.  You never know.  --Possum 

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November 30, 2002
You can call me anything you want, just don't call me Ishmael .  Opening night at Playmakers and Paul Green Theatre was filled to capacity with Chapel Hill elite.  The show went off without a hitch in the sound booth, and afterwards all were invited to the reception in the lobby.  I decided to hang around and felt all high class as I puttered around through the crowd sipping my glass of white wine.  I kinda wished I had my top hat with me.  The crowd was mainly old folks, Playmakers faculty, and student crew members (all ten of us).  After a short while I decided that it wasn't exactly my scene and that I should start heading for the parking lot.  As I was about to say my goodbyes to my fellow crew members, one of them came up holding some sort of blue drink.  This peaked everyone's attention since we all knew that nothing of the sort was being served at this high-falutin' shindig.  
I was persuaded to join them as they headed backstage to the "shop party."  I'll have to admit that the sight of a full bar set up in between the paint shelf and the drill press came as a surprise to me, and I was just a little nervous at the thought of 40 drunks surrounded by every powertool imaginable and an air hockey table.  I tell you what, they went all out.  They had party lights set up and music blaring and all the boos you could want.  Now, the wine and cheese party with the old folks wasn't my scene, but this sure wasn't it either.  However, I had made a promise to myself that I would do my best to try to bond a little with the other crew members, and I don't get the opportunity very often since most of them are backstage while I'm up in the sound booth.  
Ever since we had Drama 64 together, Matt Cornelius (Corn-dog) has referred to me as "B-Money."  No particular reason.  He just does.  During the course of the evening the other crew members heard Corn-dog calling me B-Money, and the next thing I know the whole crew has picked up the new monnicker.  
So, I hung out at the shop party for about an hour and a half and had a reasonably good time.  No one gave me a hard time about not drinking, I played a couple of games of air hockey, and was even pulled out onto the dance floor (I'd describe it, but I'm not sure how) a time or two.  Many people go there entire lives without developing a nickname that catches on.  For me, it seems like everytime I turn around I am picking up a name that is not on my birth certificate.  Possum, Swash, now B-Money, I suppose I'll answer to about anything.  People often ask me what I prefer to be called.  Well, to quote my dad, "Puddin' tane, that's my name, ask me again and I'll tell you the same."  --B-Money            

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November 27, 2002
Smooth [board] operator.   This week I would like to offer another installment of "Things the Possum is Passionate About."  I was bitten by the drama bug, as I recall, around the time I was in second grade.  I played minor speaking roles in the Chatterbox Players productions of James and the Giant Peach and The Velveteen Rabbit.   My career as an actor in the legitimate theatre ended by the time I was 8.  I, however, was no stranger to the stage as a youth, performing for The Dancer's Pointe of Sylva for six years as a ballet and jazz dancer from the time I was 8 until I was 13.  I was a charter member of the Sylva Ballet Company that won several regional awards, and also won an individual award for achievement through the studio.  Though not directly related to my passion for theatre, it was the songs that we often danced to for our annual recitals that turned me on to the world of musical theatre.  Music from Guys and Dolls, Grease, The Music Man, The King and I , and many more were favorites for our dance routines.  
Western Carolina University just down road from my home was one of the few venues I had for seeing plays in my mountain homeland.   Fiddler on the Roof became an instant favorite after I saw if for the first time on the stage of Hoey Auditorium.  Opportunites for a teenager who couldn't sing to act were limited because the high school only put on musicals and the community theatre, Kudzu Players, usually only had parts for adults.  So, I got involved with Kudzu helping out backstage.  Managing props and changing sets for plays such as The Odd Couple and Crimes of the Heart proved to be good experiences, and my senior year I finished up golf season in time to work run crew for Guys and Dolls.  
I never expected to get involved in theatre at UNC.  I was, however, excited about all the plays that were available for viewing.  It was the spring semester of my freshman year when I took Drama 16 and Charlie Mitchell helped me realize how much I loved drama.  I took another one of his classes the following year, a selected topics class, Drama 84, that happened to be titled The American Musical Theatre.  It was the best class I ever took at UNC, and by the end of the spring my sophomore year I had declared a minor in dramatic arts.  With my area of focus being in production, the hands on experience that I have gained through the drama department has been greater and more practical than anything I have done in my major department where my focus area is media production.  I have gotten to work with audio recording and mixing equipment, learn basic drafting skills, and play with power tools.  Betcha never thought you do that stuff at Carolina, did you?
These days my acting career consists of my role as Swash Buckle the pirate in IV skits, as well as occasional improv comedy routines that my roommate, Private First Class William P. Hart, Jr. and I put on for close friends.  Also to my credit is a supporting role in the 2001 film, The Great American Book (writer: Will Hart, producer/director/cinematographer: Brian Sellers).  In the film, I play an accidental actor who gets suckered into the role of an arch villain by a free t-shirt.
As a requirement for my minor I have to work one play for Playmakers Repertory Company (Carolina's resident professional theatre company) as a part of the run crew.  My job is as the sound board operator.  I spent the past week working with the sound designer and the stage manager setting levels for all the music and sound effects used in the show and learning how to operate the mixer board and placing the cues in the show.  Basically, throughout the show, when the sound cues are called I have to hit the mixer button that calls up the fader levels for each cue, then press play on any number of the four minidisc players and one cd player sitting in front of me.  It is a little confusing at times, but relatively easy.  I have about 35 cues in the entire play.  
The play is called Proof and is a wonderful show.  I highly recommend that you come out and see.  It is a comedic drama about the fine line between mathematics and insanity.  It runs from November 26-December 22 (this is why I am never around these days and probably won't be the rest of the semester).  --Possum

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November 24, 2002
Happy Thanksgiving from the family.   After having more time than I knew what to do with for most of the semester, I have found that time is a luxury I no longer possess.  I started working as the sound board operator for the Playmakers Repertory Company production of Proof as a requirment for my minor in drama.  I spent about 28 hours at the theatre this weekend punching buttons and watching the same scenes over and over.  Since the play runs the day before and the day after Thanksgiving, I am relegated to spending the holiday with Scott Bilton here in Chapel Hill.  I'm sure Scott and I will find a way to celebrate the holidays in style.  I'll be sure to share any exciting stories with you, but I can't imagine a more storied Thanksgiving than the one I experienced a year ago.  
Before I begin this story I would like the record to show that I have nothing against my dad's girlfriend, Anne (since this is the second time in this journal that I have mentioned her in a light that is not 100% positive, I feel like I need to make this note).  She is a really nice lady and she has been the best thing that I've ever seen happen to my dad.  That being said, she sure has provided some great stories.  
Now, I thought my family was a bunch hicks.  There's cousin Neal, who when given directions to go right or left insists, "the Bible says go straight!"  There is Larry, who speaks with a accent that I cannot even discern and repairs lawnmowers in his spare time, and then there is Max, the Christmas tree farmer.  But, Anne's family put us to shame.  Thanksgiving dinner was held at Granny's house.  I'm not sure who's Granny, but everyone (my dad included) referred to her as Granny.  She was by far the oldest, but she wouldn't have anyone else doing the work of preparing dinner.  Cousin Daryl lives with Granny and does odd jobs around the house.  He is what the mountain folk would call "a little touched."  Daryl is an avid bluegrass fan.  Rather than the traditional football on Thanksgiving, the television stayed fixed on CMT all afternoon, and Daryl was glued to it because they had a special on Ralph Stanley (for those of you uncultured folks, he is the original singer of Man of Constant Sorrow).  I believe Daryl is Dr. Stanley's biggest fan.  Now Ralph Stanley just happened to be performing at the annual Cherokee Bluegrass Festival, and it so happened that Daryl's twin sister, Daryline (no, I'm not kidding), was able to get Daryl a ticket to the show.  Daryline also managed to tell Dr. Stanley that Daryl was there to see him, and show him a picture she had of Daryl when he was a kid listening to a Ralph Stanley record.  Ralph Stanley proceeded to dedicate his performance that night to Daryl.  To hear the pride in his voice when he recounted the story nearly brought a tear to my eye.  
Upon arrival at Granny's house, we are informed that one of the relatives had decided she wanted to get married before dinner.  Ok, so it wasn't completely a spur of the moment idea, but there wasn't a whole lot of planning that went into it.  The preacher showed up about ten minutes before the ceremony and looked like Steven Keaton from Family Ties.   I don't know what impressed me more, the patches on the elbows of his sports coat, the picture of a horse on his tie, or the fact that he was even wearing a coat and tie.  The bride, although she was not dressed up by any stretch of the imagination, looked presentable.  The groom on the other hand was wearing blue jeans and didn't even bother to take off his racing jacket.  The preacher insisted that he remove his hat during the prayer, but otherwise it stayed on his head from the dearly beloved's through the I do's.  Aside from some good, southern cooking, the rest of the day paled in comparison.  --Possum      

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November 19, 2002
The Great American Smoke-Out.   The CCC waged another offensive movement against the MTS today, however, having intercepted a message from the Community Direktor we were ready for them.  It had been about three weeks since, one by one, the CCC troops entered room 241 demanding that we move our furniture and requesting to "grab my pipe."  My thought was that my Halloween costume contained enough red that the levels on the subversion meter They have planted in my smoke detector had been lowered.  Unfortunately, they were just trying to let my suspicions rest at ease.
It was no surprise to me that they chose the day of the Great American Smoke Out to try to smoke-out two great Americans, the Possum and my roommate, Private First Class William P. Hart, Jr.  Sure enough, when I returned to my room this afternoon I noticed to buckets sitting outside of the MTS.  I looked over the balcony to see steam pouring out from the first floor and rising up to the second.  Upon entering my room, I found a CCC soldier leaning over my couch trying to plant some sort of heat bomb in my heater.  Startled by my appearance, however, he retreated.  Once more, the MTS has thwarted the CCC attempt to oppress the creative, free thinking, free enterprise, family values, and verbal wit of the Miles Travis Suite, Inc.  --Possum

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November 18, 2002
Hurricane Bad.   The Red Army took to the ice chewing their Big Red chewing gum and shouting non sequitors such as "Para la banana!"  Chewing banana-flavored gum became a gesture of loyalty for the Russian hockey team, and those who resisted were frozen under the rink.  
Years later, after the fall of mother Communism, the bodies of the frozen bodies of the hockey players were dug up and put on display in the "Dark Images of Russia's Past" expo.  Little did they know, that among these hockey players was Vladimir Lenin himself dressed in a Red Wings uniform!  But, hockey is not politics and politics is not Communism.
However, selling out to China, putting up pink flamingos in one's yard, and supporting one's right to arm bears and enter them in a hockey game are indeed questionable activities.  But, seeing how he was a gambling man he didn't hesitate in putting $50 on the Hurricanes now that hte bear was their goalie.  Unfortunately, he instead put the money on Hurricane Helga, which failed to reach land, causing him to lose his entire fortune.  Later, channel 5 action news would report on him as yet another victim of "natural disaster gambling."  What a sucker!  --Possum

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November 17, 2002
Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man. I need a top hat! It was that clear to me on Saturday afternoon, so I set out in search of one and found a perfect fit at Time After Time. If ever there was an appropriate name for a function it is Madness, the title of IV's annual semi-formal. For such an occasion, I decided I needed a certain amount of spectacle to make up for the fact that I was showing up alone. Three out of four years I have gone without a date, and three out of four years I have had a good time. I won't go into details about sophomore year, let's just say in was madness.
This year's event did not seem to have the glamour (ok, so there is never any real glamour) of years past. Maybe it is just me and the different perspective that I came in with. My top hat was a hit with the crowd and I shook my tail out on the dance floor for a little while, but I didn't feel like dancing as much as usual. A dance with an old romance was the highlight of the evening. During the course of the dance, a story I told had her laughing the hardest I had made her laugh in a long time. That alone made me feel good...since we have remained good friends she is the kind of girl who's laugh still makes me smile.
I always show up at these type things humming tunes by Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. That's just what I feel like when I'm all snazzied up. I was crooning in my room to Ain't That a Kick in the Head and Innamorata with my pin stripe suit and top hat. Of course, I'm always disappointed when I hear the hip hop music that they actually play at these dances. Last night, I just couldn't tolerate it. Sometimes I feel a couple of generations too young. --Possum

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November 15, 2002
The week in haiku.
Monday in sound booth
Wow are these lyrics cheesy
But sound good on disc.

Tuesday in sports psyc
My prof is a Communist
Likes his lobsters red.

Scrimmage b-ball loss
Everyone at After Dark
God wins, heels are toast.

Thursday I eat pud-
-ding, but with one little catch
Stocking over face.

Friday night: Possum
On Ice! What an ugly sight
But only fell once!

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November 10, 2002
In one word, please describe your personality. Oh, that's easy: barbeque sauce. Close friends of mine occasionally ask me, "Possum, what exactly are you passionate about?" In the past couple of weeks, I have shared my feelings on a couple of topics that I feel very strongly about, namely, Carolina athletics and country music. I shall continue on with the series of "Things the Possum is Passionate About" with a brief discussion on my feelings about barbeque.
Last night, I made the journey down 15-501 to the miracle on Hillsborough St., i.e. Bullocks BBQ. I cannot think of a food that brightens my day more than Carolina pork barbeque. Even the stuff they try to pass of as bbq at Stalinchase and Leninoir is a welcome relief from the usual selection. The fact of the matter is, I'm a happier person with barbeque in my belly. Some people are very picky about the style of barbeque that they eat. I, myself, am guilty of heated debate over which style is preferable. I guess it is just a matter of where you're from, just so long as you don't argue that barbeque is a verb (only yankees don't know that it is a noun). I have, however, learned to enjoy all types of barbeque, although I maintain that the stuff served at Bullocks is the "real" bbq. I enjoy both eastern and western style Carolina barbeque (vinegar and tomato based, respectively), and during my trip to Austin, TX this summer Lauren Tolles introduced me to the wonders of Texas style (made from beef, but I got over it). Texas has a great thing going with their brisket, but they leave out two crucial ingredients to a true barbeque meal. While the turkey and bread that I had with my brisket was wonderful, I could not believe that the North Carolina staples of cole slaw and hush puppies were missing from this feast.
I cannot claim to be a true barbeque connoisseur since I've never actually been to Lexington, NC, barbeque capital of the world. However, as a t-shirt wearing member of the Carolina Barbeque Society, I do feel obliged to mention the names of a couple of joints that I recommend highly. Of course their is Bullocks, which satisfies the immediate need for barbeque here in Chapel Hill. The eastern bound traveler would do well to drop by Wilber's in Goldsboro, NC and be greeted by some of the friendliest service I've found as well as some magnificent chopped pork. Back in my mountain homeland, the long trip up the mountain into Cashiers, NC is well worth it to partake of The Carolina Smokehouse. However, some eastern NC purists may protest the use of red sauce, but I assure you that this is some good eatin'. As a matter of fact, I would even go so far as to state that it is my favorite resteraunt of all-time. Finally, if you ever make it down to Austin, TX and care to treat your palate to some delicious brisket, pork ribs, and smoked turkey I would suggest dropping by The County Line, it can even be reached via boat...just dock right outside. Now you can't beat that with a stick. --Possum

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November 7, 2002
"No offense, but what you don't know could fill a warehouse." I don't know why when you type an away message AIM automatically turns the text color red. I don't know why 10-20 people a day visit my website, but only 4-5 actually IM me. I don't know why my roommate, Private First Class William P. Hart, Jr. cares if I end a sentence in this journal with a preposition. I don't know why Sarah Wilda (who is always in on it, but never gets credit for it) is always in on it, but never gets credit for it. I don't know what would happen to me if I were to take Women's Tylenol. I don't know why the Oakland Raiders started the season 4-0 and have since gone 0-4. I don't know whatever happened to Randolph Scott, or, for that matter, Randolph Childress. I don't know what my first question to Lewis Grizzard will be when we meet someday beyond the pearly gates, but I'm sure we will have some great conversation about trains, conspiracies, and Rock City. I don't know where, precisely, Elvis is hiding out, but I'm sure he'll reveal himself someday. I don't know if anyone actually reads what I'm writing that closely. I don't know why we should take over Canada...it just seems like the right thing to do. I don't know what the heck I'm doing half the time. I don't know why Justin thinks my head is "sack shaped." I don't know what the official duties of the Ayotollah are. I don't know what my travel ambition should be now that I've seen Rock City (twice!). I don't know the square root of 23 without a calculator (and even with one that's debatable). Although, I've been told, I don't know for sure whether or not there is sand in Momar Khadafi's underdrawers. I don't know when or where the MTS Crusaders will next strike. I don't know where the Honey Nut Bee riding a scooter came from...it just showed up on my desk one afternoon. I don't know when I'm finally going to find my way back to Tuscon. --Possum

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November 6, 2002
Just for the heck of it:



(for those of you who have seen Bowfinger) Kit Ramsey: It's too cerebral! First they gotta know that the guys name is Cliff, and that he's on a cliff, and that Cliff and a cliff are the same!
Some days are slower than others. --Possum

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November 4, 2002
Ya gotta take some time to believe in Santa Claus. I actually had a dream the other night that, inspired by an Erskine Bowles advertisement, I became a born again Democratic. I don't know what this means other than tomorrow is election day and I feel like I know nothing about no one except for my buddy, Jimmy Ashe, who should run away with the vote for Jackson County Sheriff. So, I will steer clear of politics. If you are so inclined you can find all the political mumbo jumbo you care for on my roommate, Private First Class William P. Hart, Jr .'s site.
Despite making it to Franklin St., my Halloween was reasonably uneventful. Being the fan of irony that I am, I decided upon Santa Claus for my costume (and even dressed Lori Woo up as an elf). Putting me in the holiday spirit, I managed to drive the Green Havoc crazy humming Christmas tunes. I don't know how many drunk girls tugged on my beard as I walked down Franklin St., and I was even accosted by someone that I went to high school with that doesn't even attend school here (strange thing is, he had no clue who I was). Prior to the chaos that is the biggest Halloween party on the face of the earth, I went to a laid back gathering at the apartment of that crazy girl from "The Florida." At this party there was someone dressed as Mrs. Claus! It was someone that I knew, although not well. She is actually the first girl that I met when I came to Carolina. We talked to each other on the bus the weekend I moved in, and it is pretty amazing that we have semi-kept up with each other for nearly four years. Someone mentioned the word fate, but I don't buy into that. A) she has a boyfriend that I know and B) we see each other about three times a year. Although, that is the kind of situation of which chick flics are made. I can't picture my life being a chick flic, I don't know how I would deal with that. I need wittier dialogue. --Possum

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November 2, 2002
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was a bittersweet day in the Southern part of Heaven. I believe more people left Chapel Hill by halftime of our 59-7 loss to Maryland than had come back to town for homecoming. On the other hand, the Blue/White basketball exhibition offered hope of a new beginning to the storied basketball program. I'm not convinced that this season will be pretty, but it is bound to be better. And, these freshmen (Felton, McCants, May, Noel, and Grant) are at least going to make it fun to watch. There were plenty of jaw-dropping dunks, but the game was dominated by some poor shooting. I am not such a huge fan of basketball, so unlike football, where during a blowout/boring game I can focus on the intricacies of the strategy, I have to find another means to occupy the time rather than leave early. The Dean Dome is an ideal place for such distractions. Many a time I have found myself staring in admiration of the rafters. I am always a little disappointed when I am in the upper deck on the side of the stadium that has the honored/retired jerseys on it (as I was today). I love to look at names of the greats who have played here before. During my years here at Carolina I have not been fortunate enough to see any of those guys play, but I know that tonight I witnessed the start of a team that should put one if not more numbers up there in the rafters. However, since I could not see the names on the jerseys from where I sat I started looking at all the NCAA banners, and that got me thinking about how the four years that I witnessed as a Carolina student will be remembered in the history of UNC athletics.
It has been a turbulent four years and I have seen it all, short of a national title. Freshman year, I held vigil in the stands with my dad on parent's weekend while Division 1-AA Furman ran up the score, only to see Karl Torbush redeem himself and put off his firing by beating State by one yard and killing Duke. Basketball season seemed like the worst ever (then) until an improbable run following a win at Duke had us setting fires and turning over cars on Franklin St. on our way to the Final Four. Coach Guthridge retired and all hell broke loose when Roy decided to stay at Kansas leading to the hiring of Matt Doherty, and a mediocre football season (loss to State) led to the promotion of Karl Torbush (to defensive coordinator at Alabama). John Bunting spurred the gridiron warriors, headed up by Julius Peppers, to a Peach Bowl championship during my junior year. A winning football season: I was in heaven (I considered going to school at Tennessee for a long time simply because of their football team). Basketball season saw every one of UNC's basketball streaks and records smashed. It was possibly the worst season for the Heels since the light bulb went off in Naismith's head.
Three years, a Final Four banner, an ACC championship banner, a Peach Bowl trophy, a gap in the rafters where any sort of banner for the 2002 season will be missing. There is serious hope for basketball. There is serious reason to be concerned that we will no longer have our winning streak versus Duke in football past Nov. 16. Yes, I believe I've seen it all at UNC, but everytime I say that, someone proves me wrong. --Possum

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October 29, 2002
It's alright to be a redneck. The TV has been on in my room a good deal more the past couple of days than it had been over the last three years. Reason being, campus cable just added CMT to the line up. I spent hours a day, when I was younger, sitting at home on the couch watching my favorite country music stars sing my favorite songs. Today, I managed to catch the Live Top 8 Countdown for the day, a cheap, PG version of MTV's TRL. It didn't take me long to see just how much country music has changed over the last few years. The songs on CMT are starting to sound more and more like what they play on the Top 40 station (on the other hand, top 40 music is starting to sound more and more like a sick blender). I saw Faith Hill half naked and soaking wet, I saw Shania Twain wearing some painted-on jump suit, riding a futuristic motorcycle through space being chased by a giant robot, and I saw Toby Keith dressed like a pimp.
When I was home for Fall Break I spent some time looking at my old cassette tapes. I didn't venture into the age of the "compact disc" until I was a senior in high school, and oddly enough that is about the time that country music started going down hill. Don't worry, this isn't an "evils of technology and communism" conspiracy theory, it is just that that same year Lonestar released the song Amazed . It's massive success prompted everyone else in Nashville to take up singing super-sappy, cheesy songs, and I hold them primarily responsible for the downfall of the country music that I grew up on and love.
Looking through those old cassettes I was saddened by the fact that many of them no longer played very well. There is some durn good music on those tapes. There was George Strait trying to sell me some ocean front property, Sammy Kershaw singing his ode to a lovely girl named after an onion, Tim McGraw held on to hope in what I consider the saddest country song ever, She Can't Be Really Gone, and Joe Diffie can still see that John Deere green heart painted on the water tower. When you look at my cd collection in my dorm room these days it is not quite so dominated by country music. Perhaps, some of that can be attributed to growing up and going to college. It was when I left the mountains that I was introduced to Frank Sinatra, The Eagles, and a little known singer/songwriter from Austin, TX named Pat Green. Lynyrd Skynyrd has replaced Lee Roy Parnell as the choice artist for driving down the road, and Dizzy Gillespie and Ella Fitzgerald sing me to sleep at night. Currently, my stereo holds The Rolling Stones, Elvis, and the Dixie Chicks.  Yes, that's right, the Dixie Chicks. I'm not saying that all country music today is terrible. You just have to sort through a bunch of sap and crap to find it.
People give me a hard time about my music. Close friends who have spent several hours in the Possummobile with me have been ready to slit my throat by trip's end, but you must realize that this is the music of my life. Maybe my dog is just a puppy and I don't have to worry about the dog dying for a while, and I'm not one to drown my sorrows at the bar, but I've spent my share of time in the back of a pick up truck. I know what it is like to not get the girl, I grew up with several girls that had two first names, there is a special place in my heart for trains, and a tear will be shed the day that Willie Nelson leaves this world. --Possum

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October 28, 2002
It's always something, if it ain't one thing it's another. So, once again the CCC invades the MTS. This time They came in my room demanding I move all my furniture so that they could take apart my heater and put it back together for no apparent reason. I'm sure they planted something in there while they were at it.
Anyway, I sat down last night to do some serious studying, which is something I don't do all that often. Now, I get a lot of junk from people about being a slacker and not doing much work, but I'll have you know that I currently have A's in all my classes. However, it is times like last night when I put off something fairly important til the last minute that Murphy's Law launches an all out attack on me. One time last year I sat in my room typing a paper while Lori Woo and that crazy girl from "The Florida" baracaded themselves in my room by pushing the couch in front of the door while my roommate, Private First Class William P. Hart, Jr. , wrote slanderous things about me on the outside of the door with a dry erase marker. Another time freshman year, the baseball game that I went to the night before a final that I had planned to start studying after went 13 innings followed by a game of pick-up basketball. I guess I could avoid some of this by venturing to a study lounge or (heaven forbid) the library, but it is kinda interesting to see what happens when the planets align and the Possum starts studying.
Last night, nothing completely wild happened, but nonetheless, it was something that never happens on the many nights when I am sitting at home doing nothing. After bible study, I sat down with my notes only to be interupted by a phone call...for me! Someone who is not related to me was calling me on the phone just to chat. Since when do people just call me up to chat? Only when the Possum is studying! It was Marc "the Turtle" Jones on the other end, and I was definately glad he called. We talked for a good half hour. I pick up my notes a second time and in through the door comes T-Bone (Cliff Mauriello). Another hour socializing instead of studying. Three minutes of resumed studying and that crazy girl from "The Florida" pops in to pick up something of hers that she had left last week, but a few seconds turned into a few minutes and all of a sudden it is midnight and I need to study.
Visitors are always welcome in my room, but I guarantee that the day you decide to randomly stop will be the day I randomly decide I need to do some hardcore studying. That's just the way things work 'round here. --Possum

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October 27, 2002
Possum's bag of unspeakable fun . Weeks of planning by the IV senior class for Chapter Retreat paid off this weekend. Our speakers did magnificent jobs and our feet washing ceremony proved to be very powerful to many people. God was truly at work in King, NC.
The on-stage duo of Samantha Gery (who insisted that fan favorite, Swash Buckle, stay at home) and the Possum seemed to work alright. I'm not sure how much I motivated the audience, but I'm a beginner (and it was much funnier to watch Rachel Smith do the Matt Foley, motivational speaker impersonation). I don't think I uninspired anyone, although I did end up being the butt of my co-host's jokes. I suppose that's what you get when you show up in camo. Of course, there was a reasoning behind my accouterments. Saturday night, in a battle that can only be described as "epic" and possibly "muddy," was the first ever Chapter Retreat capture the flag game. I commanded the red troops (I even dubbed the team "the Commies") against the yellow (bellied) team, under the command of Laura Dilly. Unfortunately, as I took to the woods in an attempt to infiltrate the enemy prison, the defense let a pair slip by and capture our flag. It was a valiant effort by all parties involved.
In the end Swash was redeemed as the rest of the senior class wrestled Ms. Gery to the ground and put Swash Buckle's cardboard eye patch on her and snapped a picture. It is so nice to know that my friends not only accept me, but my alter ego as well.
Alright, so the Great Pumpkin comes around in four days and I have not decided upon a costume to wear, and I've had no takers on waiting up for him. I guess it is just going to be me and Charlie Brown. Any suggestions for costume ideas would be welcome, just indicate Possum's Halloween Costume in the subject box and email your suggestion to bsellers@email.unc.edu. If feasible, I will take all suggestions into consideration. One note to consider in your submission,.if it involves flannel, piratey things, or camo then most people will accuse me (as they did last year) of "dressing like I normally dress." --Possum

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October 25, 2002
I don't want to think about what my family tree is going to look like . Alright, so my weekend got off to an interesting start. My dad was in Raleigh for the weekend with his girlfriend and her daughter, Crystal, to see Crystal's boyfriend who also happens to be my cousin (no, I ain't from West Virginia...as best as I can figure this is perfectly legal). My cousin, Jay, Crystal's boyfriend, is a State Trooper in Robbinsville, NC and as such was in town directing traffic for the State Fair. Since I was going to be out of town for the weekend, Dad said he would come take me out to lunch on Friday before I had to leave. Dad and Anne showed up at 10:30 a.m. obviously wanting to say their hellos and head back to Raleigh. They didn't understand why I did not want to eat lunch 30 minutes after rolling out of bed (I don't have Friday classes). Finally, I talked them into taking me to Wal-Mart. After paying for my stick of deoderant, he starts talking like they were going to hit the road. If Dad feels he is being rushed, he loses all regard for anything that he is doing whether it is important or not. Now it seems to me that the fact that I saw him for about 2 hours the entire time I was home for fall break would be reason enough to not worry if Crystal was waiting back in Raleigh for them to return...I'm not going to harp on this point anymore because it really doesn't bother that badly and I need to get on to the funny part of the story which is why yall are reading this. I did manage to talk them into taking me to lunch at a more reasonable time.
Now the first thing Anne does when I get in the car is inquire about the number of Asian-American students at the University. However, the word she used in phrasing the question hasn't been politically acceptable in probably 60 years. I let this slide, chalking it up to a mountain upbringing (on the other hand, she has a whole lot more worldly experience and travels than my father who I have never heard talk like that). I gave it no more thought until we were in K-dubs (K & W Cafeteria) and they began discussing the Latinos that worked there. Now the following line did not come from a Kids In the Hall sketch, no, this is actually what was said.
Anne (who's ex-husband is Mexican): "You have to be bilingual these days to live in the United States."
Fair enough I thought, but before I could agree...
"Because there are so many Mexican resteraunts now."
Aye Carumba! --Possum

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October 24, 2002
Hide your valuables . So I've been invited to speak somewhere at sometime in the future for reasons not entirely coherent. However, I have decided to start preparing my presentation now so as not to be completely unprepared when the opportunity presents itself. I've been seriously contemplating what to speak about for a good twenty minutes and my thought process has yielded zero results. This weekend I embark on an expedition that I hope will be my first step on the road to becoming a state renowned (I want to keep my aspirations reasonable) motivational speaker. I am adopting the Green Havoc's philosophy, that is, the key to life is having grand delusions about everything (Now honestly, you have to have delusions of grandeur to walk around campus with plastic knives tied to your head). Nothing is impossible, in fact, most things are highly plausible. It's all about being a legend in your own spare time. If you don't believe me, come on out to IV's annual Chapter Retreat this weekend in King, NC where I will attempt to connect the first transatlantic tin can telephone. But, much more importantly we will be discussing God's call in our lives and our response. Speaking about things way more important than anything I (as emcee) could ever ramble on about will be Adam (the Madman) Clarke, Laura Barton, that crazy girl from "The Florida," and Jenn known to most as: Hagin. God has done great things at past chapter retreats, and I look forward to what this weekend has in store.
In other news, my roommate, Private First Class William P. Hart, Jr ., went to class today wearing a lamp shade on his head. Best reasoning I could come up with is that he was hoping inspire the light bulb to go off. I maintain that once burnt out a light bulb is of no good use with or without a shade.
Monday night, the MTS continued it's new tradition of the "Monday's at 7:00 pm balcony yell." So far it has just involved the MTS, small group, and some of the girls next door. What we would like to hear is some other participants in other dorms joining us. Just step outside your room, yell as loud as you can, walk back in the room and come back out looking around as if you had no idea what was going on. We will be doing it again this week, and I hope that you will join us.
So, who is up for waiting up for the Great Pumpkin on Halloween? --Possum

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October 20, 2002
Home Sweet Ehaus . Man alive, did we put the miles on the Possummobile this week! Fall break in Sylva, and we stayed busy the whole time. I've spent months in the town by myself and not found anything to do, but with the Green Havoc riding shotgun and Lori Woo and that crazy girl from "The Florida" (Julie Early) in the back there ain't no telling what trouble lurks. Justin's quest to find Denise in the guy's residence hall at Western Carolina University proved futile so we pushed westward into the great state of Tennessee. In a tourist trap called Pigeon Forge (yes, home to the the world famous Dollywood) we found a dinner theatre that was still fighting the Civil War. Joining up with the men in gray we stomped our feet and ate with our fingers and all in all acted a fool until the evening's end when the Southern forces arose victorious. A trip to Bryson City aboard my beloved Great Smoky Mountain Railroad on Friday followed by a hike up Devil's Courthouse on Saturday afternoon reminded me of why I speak so fondly of the area where I grew up. During the 18 years I spent in western North Carolina I never felt like I fit in with the locals. Sure I picked up on a lot of the ways of the country folk, but it wasn't until I left that I really embraced it. There just isn't any escaping your upbringing I realized after just having found my way out of a large cornfield standing in front of a barn wearing a camoflauge hat and drinking an RC Cola. It was at this point that Lori Woo shouts, "I have a redneck friend!" No comment. --Possum

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October 17, 2002
Communist C onstruction C oalition Cold Cocks Carolina Comm Major with Can of Caulk . My distrust of technology and all things technological (i.e. cell phones, airplanes, the internet, and smoke detectors) proved to be fatal this week (ok, maybe not fatal...i'm not dead as far as I'm concerned). I have one of those clicky things that locks and unlocks the driver's door on my car (henceforth, the Possummobile), however, I (fearing that technology will make us all lazier and lazier) choose to lock my door the old fashion way, that is, pushing the lock down with my finger. This method works just as well as the high-fangled method providing you have your keys in you hand when you shut the car door (I hear they actually have cars that shut the door for you now...lazier?). In a mad rush to get out of town on schedule Wednesday afternoon I proceeded to lock my door with the keys still in the ignition. Good grief! Thanks to the help of Campus Security, the Possummobile was only 30 minutes late in leaving the station.
While all this was taking place, distracting my attention, the CCC ( c above) was ripping apart my shower piece by piece. Without warning, They came in claiming to be fixing a leak in room 243. Problem was, there was no leak in room 243. A pathetic excuse to once again invade the privacy of the MTS (we were intruded upon earlier this semester for a "smoke detector malfunction").
Now you may be asking yourself what the heck is this fool talking about. I think it was put best by columnist, southern icon, and kindred conspirasist, the late Lewis Grizzard, "You can't be too careful about things that start with the letter C, cause that's the letter that Communism starts with." Please don't argue with me on this point, it ain't worth it. Anyway, what letter does Construction start with? No further questions. --Possum

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October 14, 2002
Dear yall,
The temperatures are starting to drop here in Chapel Hill and this mountain boy is starting to feel at home. It won't be long until I have to put my sandals away for good and the tan on my feet will stop being so prominent. I go barefoot as much as I can during the warm months (and during the cold months when I can get away with it) and people are always commenting on my "zebra feet." So the high tomorrow is supposed to be 55 degrees and I am happy...just as long as it doesn't shoot back up next week. When I make the change from shorts to pants I only want to do it once. I don't care if it is 90 degrees out next week, I'm going to be going to class in jeans.
Anyway, enough talk about the weather, this is my journal, I don't need to be making small talk. As I draw ever nearer to that date (sometime in May) when I have to step out into the "real world" I find myself slipping further into an imaginary world. Don't worry, I'm not hallucinating, I'm just surrounded by people who think they are A) a super hero B) hysterically pregnant C) safe in handing me a microphone and/or putting my face on a large tv screen. Last Thursday, I successfully led the skit team invasion of Intervarsity Christian Fellowship's (IV) Large Group meeting, a task that had been on my to do list for a long time. For the most part, Swash Buckle's (my alter ego) mutiny was well received (nay sayers shall remain nameless).
Friday night we invented a new game that I recommend to any and all of those who know John Graeber (from Dallas, TX). The name of the game is "Chase John Graeber (from Dallas, TX) Around Ehaus." The rules are simple. In fact, they are so simple I will trust that you can figure them out without me explaining. After this game had exhausted itself (well, it mostly just exhausted John) the MTS Crusaders (see main page) decided the time was right for another Crusade. Crusades to Hinton James, Morrison, Craige and the University of Texas team trailer had been successful in the past, so we set our sights a little higher. Adding a couple of more heroes to the mix and being led by the Green Havoc, we hopped on board the P2P. I had heard tales of the antics that go on aboard the P2shiningP, but word of mouth does no justice to the things we encountered. More scandalous than an arena of papal trout, if you know what I mean. Surprisingly enough, we were not the biggest attraction on the bus, but we all agreed that the Crusade was a success. We managed to set personal records for strange looks and rude comments, as well as learning valuable lessons, such as, never give drunk girls plastic knives.
Saturday night proved to be a little more tame, but I still found myself spending my evening in ways I never thought possible. However, you never know what kind of mischief you'll get into hanging out with Lori Woo and Sarah Wilda (who is always in on it but never gets credit for it). The goal for the night seemed simple enough, go to see the play Marvin's Room. And see it we did, but there was the matter of the hour and a half that we had to kill between dinner and the show. After spending 30 minutes starring at the flyers on the wall in the lobby of Hamilton Hall, we proceeded to the top of Davis Library. Dubbing ourselves the official "sex monitors" we descended Davis stopping in each and every lounge on our way down making certain that no "lewd conduct" was taking place in those lounges. Thank goodness none was found. Once again, the lounges are safe for studying. I equate this activity with what my roommate calls his job (with Student Patrol).

This is getting to be longer than I expected so I think I will wrap it up. I didn't even get the chance to explain why my room was completely full of balloons on Thursday night. I guess if you really want to know you can just ask me. Hopefully, this journal will remain updated and entertaining (if I am boring you please submit all complaints to hillbilly@elvis.com, that is the email that I never check). Next week I should have some interesting stories to share. I am headed back to my mountain homeland on Wednesday for fall break and three flatlanders are along for the ride. As always, move out, lock and load, happy birthday and stay frosty! --Possum