The following reflection was written in 2003, when I was between 25 and 26 years old.

One of the last things I did in my sophomore year of college was an acting gig. It was a short film being produced by members of a filmmaking class. [REDACTED] was based on a short story by a former Bradford professor. The production turned out to be one of my few refuges during those last awful weeks at school, when I felt ostracized from everyone I knew.

The cast was Baptiste, Larsen, Russel, a girl named Synge, me, and a couple of others. The premise was that you had this group of friends who played cards a lot, all of them guys except for the one girl. On this particular afternoon their money they’ve all put into the pot is now missing. One of the guys goes too far with his investigating and eventually everyone strips down to their underwear, including the girl. A line is crossed and it is literally the last game they ever play.

The story, despite what I later said on this very webpage, was well-written. Some professors who weren’t fond of the professor who'd written it said things within earshot of the students like, “That story is nothing more than an overblown wet dream,” and me, being the fucking follower that I was, I ended up keeping that credo with me when the production went sour and the end-result didn’t turn out so good.

The production faltered for a number of reasons and the finished product (which was edited in an editing class the next year) was ridiculously awful. It seems ludicrous that we all signed agreements that if it got picked up we would get paid. That thing was never going to get picked up.

It was a fun acting experience though. Working with Chris, Russel, and Sean was great fun and I didn’t even mind when I had to strip down to my underwear in front of a bunch of guys and one particularly attractive (and very talented) woman. I also didn’t seem to mind that I lost my yellow frisbee from that year’s Spring Day on the roof of the President’s House, which is where we filmed.