Illusions, Michael.

Today, for the first time in what feels like forever, but what is probably closer to three years, I did a magic trick. What's more, it worked. It's true, I thought, I can still amaze a child.

The trick is called the French Drop (named for its inventor, Albert French), and its purpose is largely utilitarian: to make something disappear out of your hand as if it had never been, to extinguish its form from the realm of the visible. What actually happens, of course, is that you pretend to take it (the "it" today being a coin) from one hand to the other, but don't. Magic, and the awesome subclass known as prestidigitation, is both essentially the art of make believe and completely useless on a resume.

Or so I thought. I may have happened upon the only job in this fair city where the ability to vanish a quarter can net me steady income without requiring that I dress up as a clown, or undress as one.

I'm tutoring, or to be more specific, I'm watching people tutor. There was a time, and that time was called college, where I tutored a lot: in writing centers, for Junior Achievement (I taught kids about the economy, which is hilarious as I am both unemployed and ignorant on the subject. Thank goodness they had a teacher's packet), and for random roommates and acquaintances. There's a real joy to be found in helping someone figure out what they want to say, study, or write; It's a good feeling, like successfully hiding a fugitive from the police.

That said, I'm still in the job market (It's right next to the Farmer's market on 42nd; apparently, they grow these things organically). I'm not watching enough tutor sessions to make rent yet, so I'm maintaining a lookout for job postings that might be right for me. So, keep your fingers crossed, and I'll keep out of the greasepaint.