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Thursday December 14, 2000, 03:50

The pitter-patter of the sleet coming down as stopped, at least for the time being, leaving the driveway and the trees and the grass and all the other things that we have here that I wouldn't have if I lived in the city covered in a layer of white pellets that will stay on the ground at least until sometime tomorrow morning at which point, according the man on the television who tells me what to wear tomorrow, the temperature will rise and everything will get wet and messy.

My day at the theatre consisted of me, primarily, becoming more and more dehydrated as the day wore on, making frequent trips to the bathroom and not drinking very much water. There really wasn't much else to do. Instead of working on the technical elements as I was supposed to be doing, I was instead wandering back and forth between the little room that houses all of the neat gadgets that the actors never touch but which give their productions at least a smidge of added life, and the comfortable yet elegantly wooden folding chairs in the audience as I watched the cast work a part of the show that did not involve me in more than the slightest capacity.

And honestly, I would have been a lot more upset had I been other members of the staff who actually must make a living these days and who could have been doing other, more productive (and most likely income-generating) activities while I am still living with my parents (and surviving to the extent that I am not completely against the idea of staying here for another couple of months before my apartment deal is finalized) and welcome any excuse for me to get out of my house and town and join the artistic ranks of those who operate in the New York Theatre Scene.

Which is another way of saying that I have nothing better to do these days than sit and watch rehearsals and not work.

And did I mention that I am getting paid for this? For the first time in quite some time I am getting some semblance of an income for doing something that I love (and, more importantly, that money is coming in the form of a paycheck with taxes already removed rather than the ratty envelopes slid across tables in darkened back-rooms as a man with no neck and a tie that matches his shirt insists that "I don't need to count it" and that "it's all there."

And who would I be to question?

Indeed this may not be where I want to end up, but it is certainly a good beginning. I have a title on this production. "Lighting Consultant" at a show at one of the "hottest" (their word, though possibly mine as well) off-Broadway theatres is not a particularly bad way to start off.

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