DeMizio's Journal

Hell

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to the First Level of Hell - Limbo!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	High
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Low
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

boredom + yatta =

So yeah, thats what I got out of today.

Enjoy.

Formal time...

I just uploaded my pictures from the Masque Formal - http://www.demizio.com/images/masque_formal. Tell your friends and/or enemies.

I'll probably have more here later. I'm still trying to figure it out, and I have a headache...

Good times, though, for the most part.

Until later.

Quotes

Quotes from Professor Cronin
Advanced Fiction Writing, Spring 2003

• "I'm not going to have a sex-change to accomplish this goal." 1/23/03


• "The female carries my line. Proud time for a hominid." 1/23/03


• "I think it's important that we scandalize the other people in the building, so please come dressed as artists?" 1/23/03


• "It's the Wild West, Baby!" 1/30/03


• "Pornography?I think it was more special back then." 1/30/03


• "But what's the difference between Mississippi and rural Pennsylvania? Not much." 2/5/03


• "I can relate to the sheep. Oh don't go anywhere with that." 2/5/03


• On marriage: "It's a game of musical chairs. One or two people don't get to sit down. Those one or two get cats." 2/13/03


• "It was a part of the old core [curriculum.] We're in the new core. Like I care." 2/13/03


• "That will work if the story is played in the key of funny." 2/13/03


• "That will be a true "Holy Shit" moment." 2/13/03


• "One time she called me a "fucking walrus'" 2/13/03


• "I asked her, "Do you know who Jesus Christ is?" and she said "Yeah, that's what mom says on the way to school." 2/13/03


• "And it doesn't help that a lot of these parents are rich, dumb, shits." 2/27/03


• "Discussing my colleagues always brings out the light-hearted Cronin" 2/27/03


• "I don't know, I sacrifice goats in the woods. 10 years at La Salle and I'm not Catholic." 2/27/03


• "I lived on a dirt road which was a serious impediment to learning basketball." 3/13/03


• "A Chinese daughter is like the fashion accessory in my neighborhood." 3/13/03


• "Its all water under a duck's back" 3/20/03


• "Let's ménage-a-trios!" 3/20/03


• "This is supposed top be a snowman piss fest!" 3/20/03


• "This class is built to self-destruct." 3/20/03


• "Oh, I'd better mention my dick, because I'm a guy?" 4/3/03


• "Captain Planet was the Fat Albert of superheroes." 4/10/03


• "Some countries just suck to live in." 4/17/03

And one finally, actually about writing that is semi-profound:

"The world is fill of things I have no idea about. I'm going to write myself into that." 2/20/03

so done...

I don't want to jump the gun or anything, but I feel really great right now.

For all intents and purposes, I'm done.

Done!

I finished my last significant writing just now - a revision of the Toll Collector story for Cronin. I have 2 exams. As of tomorrow, two of my classes will be done. One still requires a long reflection, but only like five pages and some proofreading.

I got an A on the presentation for Shakespeare from last week...not sure how I pulled that off. Here's hoping the paper is as well recieved.

I'm exhausted...its been a long semester.

Hello Summer!!!

Borrowed from Ali :)

1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER? "Gods and Generals" over Spring Break

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? I just picked up "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand, and I intend to read it this time.

3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? Trivial Pursuit, although I've never actually finished a game. Also Monopoly

4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE? "2600 - The Hacker Quarterly." If not that, Newsweek usually works

5. FAVORITE SMELLS? you know that smell that happens after the rain falls on hot pavement in the late spring and early summer, and the moment you smell it you realize just how beautiful the weather is, even with the rain? That smell. Also, in late spring and summer, the smell of fresh cut grass.

6. COMFORT FOOD? Anything my mother makes

7. FAVORITE SOUNDS? laughter...true laughter when someone truly lets themself laugh without worrying about how they sound - snorts, chuckles, guffaws and all.

8. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? self-doubt, lack of self confidence. something I feel way too often.

9. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? The work I have to do that day / what the weather is / "something wonderful is going to happen!"

10. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE? Wendy's

11. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? James is a cool name...Tony always works too :)

12. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY, I WOULD... still have problems. Different problems

13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? No.

14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY? If its warm, and I can stay outside, then they're really freaking cool...If not...

15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? 1988 Toyota Camry, V6. 4 doors. I'm still driving it; it just hit 160,000 miles.

16. FAVORITE DRINK?? fresh lemonade

17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD THE TIME, I'D..." read and write more

18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? yes

19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD YOU CHOOSE? I probably wouldn't.

20. HOW MANY DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS HAVE YOU LIVED IN? four (roselle nj, millville nj, hunt valley md, philadelphia pa)

21. GLASS HALF EMPTY OR FULL? half full

22. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX? This one is weird, but bear with...in the townhouses over last summer there was a picnic table in front of our house under a streetlight. On warm nights, I couldn't be torn away from that table. So relaxing. Failing that, Gettysburg, PA tends to relax me, strange as it sounds.

23. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? Football and baseball

24. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS. Although she didn't send this to me...Ali is a wonderful person with a huge heart. Shes been a good friend through the masque, and is just a really fantastic person who makes me laugh, and who helps me keep perspective sometimes :)

25. WHAT IS UNDER YOUR BED? At home, books...mounds of books that I forget to re-shelve after I read them. At school, some storage - random plastic file, empty beer bottles, candy from move in earlier this year.

26. TOILET PAPER/PAPER TOWEL-OVER OR UNDER? over. it stays in place better :)

Randomness from home

I'm home again after wrestling with the traffic all around me on I-95. I really need to learn some patience and stop being annoyed by the traffic. Jill S-G hitched a ride with me, which made the ride a lot better: we had such random conversations that wouldn't make sense to anyone else.

Its going to be a quiet Easter. Saturday I have to get my car fixed at 9am. Then I'm off to see about getting something for the Collegian formal and possibly the Masque formal. I'm still not sure about that one. I need a new pair of sneakers too, so that'll probably happen tomorrow as well. My grandmother is coming down from Jersey tomorrow, and my uncles from Gaithersburg and York are coming down as well. That plus my sister and her boyfriend and the parents is it.

I finally updated the front page of demizio.com with some new pictures and links and stuff. The old theatrical resume is updated too.

Other than that, not much else happening. I'm finally getting excited for the summer again. The paper/presentation for Shakespeare that I thought was a week late was actually due the PAST Wednesday. This is good because: I'm not going to fail. I had the paper completely done (slightly BS'ed it, but I had six or seven decent sources for a five page paper) but not the presentation. This was a bad thing because the presentation was supposed to be the bigger portion of the project and the research just a write-up of what I presented/application to a play.

So I bit the big suck bullet for the presentation. I worked up something quickly from my paper in about an hour between Gothic Lit and night class. I would really just like to get out of the class alive at this point: my grades up to now have been in the B range. I'd love a B- for the semester, but would settle for a C or a C-.

The larger picture from this is that the major impetus for my emotional breakdown last week didn't exist. I lost a bunch of sleep and worried a lot of people without a reason for it. Still trying to figure out a lesson from it to make it somewhat worthwhile...

Cronin gave my first story from the semester an A. I was beaming. My second story, the one I posted earlier, was workshopped on Thursday. People love the voice of the narrator, but want a plot...my thoughts exactly. As it stands, its just a guy complaining about his job.

Eh; a work in progress. I got lost in character development...

My goal for break is to find a plot for this guy and make him interesting. Thats the last major hurdle that I can see for this semester.

Its almost over :)

Aargh...

Why did I do the trip to Wawa last night?

Why did I go again tonight?

I keep getting bogged down into this procrastination cycle. I keep meeting and putting myself into positions where I'll talk to people instead of getting work done. I feel great emotionally, but academically, I'm sucking air.

I just need to get this paper and presentation done. Once there, life is open again, and procrastination will reign supreme.

aargh.

Why does it have to be so nice outside?

Why am I so tired by 3am that I can't write any more?

A return to a personal entry.

(CAJH Fest pictures are here: http://www.demizio.com/images/cajhfest/)

My mood has signifigantly improved since last week. I finally got some of the overdue work done for Shakespeare, after spending some time in the library on Saturday. If I wind up going home for the summer, as it keeps looking like will happen, I'll be fine...theres some fun people who will be in Baltimore this summer from La Salle, and it won't be the end of the world. So my depression has disappeared for a few more days, or has at least repressed itself further into my mind. Thanks to all who left messages of support; they meant a lot...I was really messed up for a couple of days.

We closed another show last night. "And Then There Were None" was incredibly well recieved, in the press (well, the Collegian) and among everyone I talked to who went to it. I think its the most professional show I've had the opportunity to work on: things just fell into place and got done. The lighting was fantastic (its amazing what 3 years of experience and a little bit of planning coupled with other enthusiastic lighting engineers will do) Nick did an incredible job on the set. Props to Props mistress and crew. The acting was fantastic; people seemed to discover their characters and really inhabit the world that was created when the lights went up every night.

The cast party was fantastic, even though others would probably say otherwise. I got there at 12:30 and stayed until about 3:30, the longest I'd ever stayed at a masque party. What made it nice were the people - it was smaller, mainly just cast, crew and a few alumni. We weren't all jam packed into a basement...Pat's house was nice. I hung out upstairs for a good part of the night talking to people in the sofa and black light room. Highlights: "Road Head: the Musical" (I'll spare you the lyrics), and just a whole bunch of random conversation.

I got a little tipsy and wound up tripping on the stairs to the basement and twisting my ankle. I missed strike today because of that, and because of CAJH fest. I did however ask Katie to the formal, and got a yes. Its gonna be a great party.

CAJHFest was awesome; even better than last year, and the year before. CAJH RSA outdid themselves: we had inflatable stuff - a joust and a climbing wall, a DJ, a dunk tank, and a pie throwing contest at the RA's. They cooked from 12:30 until after I left at 4:30...the food was great and held out forever. I'm leaving off this entry with a picture of Vicki and Jean attacking my RD Kristal while shhe was dancing:

What a crazy day...I mean weekend.

Mario

:: how nintendo are you? ::

Re Collection

This is my second story for Advanced Fiction Writing. In lieu of writing anything else today, I'm posting it in its entirity. Comments appreciated.

Leaning out over the roadway can be dangerous: side mirrors are a hazard mounted at exactly my arm level. Getting hit with one leaves a bruise that lasts for weeks.

I wish that people would reach out a little more towards me?it's a bad habit that I've found seems to plague the drivers of the more expensive cars more than others. So when the driver of the black BMW 325i sedan pulled up next to me, I sighed, and reached out as far as I could, forgetting the danger just enough to enable me to collect the asshole's two dollars.

It was raining: beads of water streaked into chaotic paths on top of the glossy finish of the hood. His hand didn't reach an inch outside of his car, probably instinctively fearing getting wet. I knew better. For some reason people never want to acknowledge the toll collector: just one more barricade on their journey to wherever the hell they were going.

I remember the family road trip to Florida in the family's blue, four-door, Chevy Celebrity. I was crammed in the backseat with my sister for a thousand miles going, and a thousand miles coming back. There was no air conditioning, just open windows and bugs flying in at every mile. Orlando was a paradise when we got there.

As I reached my hand out of the booth and into the car, I could practically grab the guy's steering wheel. A blast of heat came in as I felt both the climate-controlled interior of the vehicle and heard this self-important demagogue talking on his cell phone.

"Lenny, I need those M46-54's here next week," he said, sounding pissed. He was dressed in a suit, although I don't remember the specifics. It was all a flash of black and white added to the thousands who had passed through before.

Entirely self-absorbed, he continued, "You're full of crap telling me that they're back ordered!"

I took his money - two pieces currency so creased and ancient that they must have been folded into paper cranes by Alexander Hamilton himself - straightened it out, and put it in my drawer, hitting the green "2AX - CASH" button on the keyboard in front of me. The button changed the traffic signal on the end of my lane from red to green and recorded the car for posterity in my till.

As he pulled through the lane, I could hear him still yelling at Lenny.

I wanted to give him the finger as he pulled away. He would see it in his rearview mirror, making him wonder for the rest of the day whether or not he had actually seen me do it.

I would have too, if I hadn't remembered my suspension from six months earlier when my supervisor happened to pull my drawer at exactly the wrong time.

* * *

I am a part-time toll collector, and a full time college student.

I make nine dollars an hour, with no benefits.

I'm doing this to pay for school, my financial aid having been cut last year when I changed majors from biology to English: the state not wanting to fund another "artist."

I needed that money; therefore I need this money.

Unfortunately, as with too many people, my job has taken to defining what little life I lead outside of it: People only see me as the toll collector, a strange guy in a strange job.

I'm a hit at parties. People always seem to see the job as fascinating, wondering about the interesting people one meets, seeing the exotic cars, and doing something so easy for such great pay. I try and tell them about my desire to write, but all they care about is this aberration in their midst, a toll collector from the NJ Turnpike, a road that most of them travel on a daily basis.

I have to explain to them the truth. Being exposed to the elements, whatever the weather. The huge gaping hole that is the window that I work through pretty much defeats the fan on my desk in the summer or the heater at my feet in the winter. The job is easy, I admit, but the ease borders on mindlessness. One of those plastic drinking birds could do my job if they could somehow put the money in the cash drawer: bobbing up and down, up and down, hitting the same key over and over again.

The toughest physical part of this job would probably be the exhaust though. In the beginning, my eyes would tear and tear. Friends would look at my red swollen eyes in class the next day and finger me for an addict.

I can remember being dragged to bingo with my grandmother when I was six years old. She had been keeping me for the night, but didn't want to miss her weekly game in the church basement. I remember seeing the little old ladies, sitting at their brown folding tables with troll dolls with neon spiked hair and other lucky charms in front of them, chain smoking. A gray-blue cloud hovered over the entire affair, the collected addiction of the huddled masses. My eyes burned and burned that night as I watched my grandmother cover number after number.

It got better as I got used to it, but the beginnings of this job were like that. The exhaust exits the tailpipe and collects under the roof covering the road, where it expands, and with my luck, becomes more toxic and dangerous.

Coupled with a 90-degree sunny day, the cloud becomes enough to fell a man. One or two fall into a faint during their first summers.

Then of course, in an entirely different column are the "customers." It seems most days I'm scheduled, I see the dregs of humanity in their cars on their way to Somewhere Else. People yell for not getting their change fast enough - yeah, sure, I can break your fifty dollar bill, beg spender. People yell for hurrying them through, as they root through their ashtray for exact change. People yell for the inconvenience of having to sit through the traffic.

Because All Of That Is My Fault.

When I've finished explaining the excrement I live through, the standard answer is a definitive "ah" and a nod. They usually then excuse themselves from my presence, and continue mingling with those around me, having confronted the strangeness in their collective.

* * *

The worst I've ever had to deal with on the job was a brown paneled station wagon that looked like someone had plucked it right out of the seventies and put it right smack dab in my lane.

It was a clear, cold day. I was working the afternoon shift, and the sun that managed to get under the roof into my booth filtered through the frost in the air that every breath I took made. I had managed to sneak a small transistor radio into the booth and had it tuned into an Oldies station?the only reception I could get.

I had managed to pass the time pretty effectively, lost in song. I murmured barely audible lyrics as I dispensed change and poked the button. "Tears on My Pillow" came on, and I sung along feigning that I actually did know what Little Anthony and the Imperials were talking about.

The brown paneled station wagon pulled up. Its one of the few cars that I remember every detail of the interior: green, thick upholstery covering bucket seats in the front and a bench seat in back. Papers were strewn along the floor, along with greasy, semi-translucent food wrappers from Burger King and McDonalds. There was an empty children's car seat strapped in the back.

I remember my mother pulling through the McDonalds drive-through by our house. I must be only five years old, but I remember her handing me a French fry. It is still exceptionally hot, and it burns, and I drop it to the floor of the car. I lick the salt off of my fingers, and reach down to retrieve the fry, moving papers to get it. It still tastes fine.

A hand reached out of the window and handed me a stack of quarters. It was a man in his mid-forties: dark curly hair, wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a red flannel shirt and a pair of jeans. He looked angry with me as he reached over to give me the change.

Suddenly, without warning, the guy spit in my face and gunned the engine. It caught me off guard, but I began screaming and yelling at him as he drove off.

And that's the one time I resorted to the middle finger: reaching out as far as I could into the lane, with both hands, as spit dripped from my face onto the oil and exhaust stained concrete below. "Tears on My Pillow" ended, and "Here Comes the Sun" came on the radio.

I got suspended for a week for that, despite what the jerk had done.

I never understood why he did it. He even underpaid by a quarter, which I was forced to chip in at the end of my shift.

* * *

This girl at a party once asked what my ideal shift would be like.

She was cute and kind of tipsy. I wanted to impress her, so I came up with two answers.

The first was a shift on a day in May, before the summer heat hits. It would have to be a day when the temperature was in the low seventies - just warm enough that everyone was wearing shorts outside. It would start at noon and last until nine, and there would be no cars.

I want an entire shift with no cars and beautiful weather.

There would be no exhaust. There would be no spit, and no annoying questions about how to get to the airport or to Philadelphia or what road to take to Six Flags.

I would leave my booth and stand on the concrete embankment in front and just sun myself, enjoying the fact that I was getting paid to do so.

I remember being at senior week at the shore after graduating high school. Night was spent walking the boardwalk, looking for girls or playing the games on the piers or riding the rides. It was a week spent without a care in the world.

The other shift was a little bit more grisly. I wanted to work the toll on a bridge that had collapsed; only nobody knew that it had collapsed. The shift length was variable: all that mattered was that all of the people who had annoyed me went through my toll one last time.

I would wave them on, of course. No toll today - just a gorge where the bridge once was.

Cute girl looked at me for a few more seconds gave me a fake smile and walked off.

She did ask.

* * *

Surprisingly, the spit story significantly expanded and with the title of "My Job" was my first success as a writer.

Professor Karty, the pompous instructor assigned to the introductory creative writing class thought the story had merit. Karty had always seemed to be a strange man: his black hair was always neatly cut, but never in any discernable style. He would wear a metal studded belt to class that seemed to mock the class into trying to pin a description on his life.

Still though, he passed it along to the literary magazine, of which he was moderator. With little more fanfare than a word-processed form letter stating "Congratulations!" the story was published that spring.

I remember going to my mailbox and picking up the letter. It was behind an ad for a local theatre company, Imagination Productions, and a bill for thirty-four dollars and eight cents from Comcast. A single piece of tape sealed the envelope. I opened it in the mailroom, and scared the clerk at the mail window when I jumped three feet in the air and let out a loud whoop.

In retrospect, I don't know why I was so excited. The magazine was free to students, and I didn't make a dime off of my words. Most of my friends hated the magazine and its primary colored covers that sat in the Union lobby collecting dust for months after they were published. The quality of the work usually amused us to no end: the usual drivel from privileged undergrads, who had never worked a day in their lives, had no idea how the world ran and were too full of their own teenage angst to every try and write anything meaningful to anyone besides themselves.

I guess seeing my name in print changed our collective opinion exponentially.

Karty later convinced me to change majors at pre-registration time, after reviewing my grades in bio and inflating my ego as a potential writer. Having realized the horrors of medical school from the upperclassmen I knew that had been studying for the MCAT exams, I signed the form he provided.

* * *

It's a Sunday afternoon. I spent yesterday in the campus library, writing a story for my advanced creative writing class this semester. That's the only reason that I stick with this job, I realize: it pays too well and lets me schedule when I want to.

A car pulls up. Exact change. Push the button. Drives on.

I guess in a way, the job makes me kind of special in a way. I'm different from most of the people I know with their on-campus jobs, filing day in and day out while taking phone calls and running errands.

A car pulls up. Five-dollar bill. Three dollars change. Push the button. Drives on.

It's kind of nice being outside, too. The weather is starting to turn towards spring, right at the time when it's just wonderful to be able to stand outside. I could see pink and green buds on the trees this moning on the drive in. The beach traffic is going to start soon.

A car pulls up. Twenty-dollar bill. Eighteen dollars change. Push the button. Drives on.

I got ten pages done yesterday during my work in the library. It still surprises me how much I'm able to write when I put my mind to it.

I remember running around playing tag on the playground on the first day we were allowed to go outside the winter storms. I was in the eighth grade and we played wall ball until the bell rang. I remember getting pegged with the blue handball and being bruised for the next week. I ran to hit the wall and kept playing.

A car pulls up. Exact change. Push the button. Drives on.

It's a story about the BMW-guy, some guy named Lenny, and a drug shipment coming next week.

A car pulls up. Throws change at me. Drives on.

Procrastination

The level of procrastination has reached new heights. I can't believe how little work I've allowed myself to do recently. I have so much due this week - a story for Thursday that I haven't started, a presentation for Wednesday that I need to research...

I just can't get myself jump started for whatever reason.

This weekend was great; My parents came up for the play on Saturday night. We went to dinner with Shannon at the Olive Garden before the show. They loved the show. I stayed with them out on City Line Ave that night, and came back after breakfast the next morning.

The audiences thus far have been small, but enthusiastic. The audience on Sunday especially - they were our smallest house (30) but due to a couple of masque people in attendance were loud and completely into the show. Daylight Savings Time has kicked my butt since that morning as I keep feeling like I haven't slept enough...

I'm at a really low point now with everything being the way it is. I'm feeling lost in terms of what I'm going to do: both now, and for the upcoming summer. I don't feel the motivation anymore that I think I once must have felt... Its never as bad as I think it is, I know, but with everything looking like it is right now, I'm not sure whats going on...

Has there ever been a vaguer sentence in the English language? I think not.

:)

ATTWN Final Dress

The final dress rehearsal went swimmingly.

That's usually a bad sign, but I'm not taking it as such because this show has been so atypical: to have had everything lighting-wise done this past weekend is atypical. To have had maybe 3 lighting notes all week (tweaking cue times) is atypical. To have gotten out of the theater on the night before the show before 4am is atypical.

This show is atypical. I feel like it may be the most professional thing we've done since Assassins. The cast is excellent. The set is fantastic. The lighting is great. Come see the Masque shine; don't judge us on Footloose alone. CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO ON "AND THEN THERE WERE NONE."

The pictures from tonight's dress rehearsal are here: http://www.demizio.com/images/attwn_finaldress/ There are approximately 8MB of files there; they go in chronolgical order from beginning to end. SPOILER ALERT: KNOW THAT VIEWING THEM MAY GIVE AWAY SOME OF THE PLOT.

I'm doing well. I have a meeting with Alan Wendell today at 2 about the Day One process...not sure exactly why, but my letter said to contact them about it. I'm kind of still hoping to stay on campus somehow this summer. I have this feeling that I just can't go home after my experiences last summer. My friends are for the most part here...I want to stay here if I can.

Thats about all. My life has been the show this week, and I feel as though everything else has suffered somewhat. My apoligies to friends I've ignored, teachers and papers I've forgotten, and others pushed aside.

Have a great weekend all!

Currently listening to: "The Secret Agent," Soundtrack - by Philip Glass. (used extensively in the show)

a quote.

"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

All I want is some certainty.

For the past couple of weeks I've been waiting patiently for word from La Salle about 2 things: 1) Where I am living next year and 2) Whether or not they're hiring me for Day One. #2 is important so I can plan my summer; #1 is important so I can tell some people and make plans for next year.

I finally got a letter about Day One saying that I've been "chosen as an alternate Day ONE host." I have to call and make an appointment to see whats going on.

I'm, of course, wondering what the hell this means in the context of anything. All I wanted was a little certainty from La Salle, so I could either be ecstatic for the rest of the week or depressed (kidding...) and make alternate plans for the summer...just once (in the context of everything I've worked with at La Salle) I'd like a firm "yes" or "no."

Although, I don't really want that, because this, like everything else, provides a gray area in which hope can still exist and things can be done.

But anyway...

Tech week is going better than it ever has gone before - light cues were done on Saturday by 8:30. The set looks FANTASTIC. The lights (I don't want to toot my own horn, but...) look INCREDIBLE. The show is decent.

I can't wait for this weekend: opening night, parents visit, get work done...

Yay!