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Sunday, Apr. 21, 2002 - 12:55 p.m.

Tonight was the last of two nights of mixing Indian music and dance. It was an interesting mix of traditional and contemporary styles. After the show, I ended up hanging around with Jamie, the theater's production manager, who I haven't really seen in quite a while. We mostly talked about one of my coworkers (let's call him Mr. Granola), who has been pissing me off to no end.

Mr. Granola lied to me about being sick so he wouldn't have to go to New Jersey to unload the truck after the show on Friday. I went in his place, causing me to be exhausted at work the next day.

Mr. Granola disagrees with the way that I do things when he clearly has no understanding of what I'm doing.

Mr. Granola once annoyed the hell out of me by constantly singing R. Kelly's hit "I Believe I can Fly" to himself for several hours.

Mr. Granola is constantly screwing up.

After talking to Jamie tonight, I've learned that Mr. Granola also can't mix a show to save his life. He's doing really stupid stuff that's a liability to our company and our clients. I don't know if he did too many drugs, or if his raw food diet is leaving him with a vitamin deficiency or what, but something must be done.

My commute home from the upper west side has doubled in time since last year, due to post 9/11 changes to service. Damn.

 

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