Antique Bitterness and My Inner Bonsai

Wow. I just finished reading an old word document that has been sitting on my computer for some time.. It was a letter I wrote on a flight to the East Coast that was supposed to me one way. It was such a jarring juncture in my life and the letter exoresses that in spades. I wrote it with the ferocious intention of sending it to be published anywhere that would take it essentially. I wanted to become a lion and come charging into the belly of NYU and rip it to shreds and roar to the world, its blood dripping down my chin and saturating my mane. I was so. fucking. angry. Even as I read the article I felt the fire in my belly. I feel it a bit now.

here is the article:

“Chasing my B.F.A, Receiving a B.F.U:

A young man’s disgust with acronyms and financial ‘aid.’”

by Anonymous

            Tisch School of the Arts! The top Undergraduate Drama program in the United States! Located in New York City at New York University, one of the highest rank universities in the nation! Sounds like a dream doesn’t it?  Want to hear something exciting? I got in. A 4.1 G.P.A, a 2160 on the S.A.T.’s, countless hours involved in my high school drama department as well as various other extra-curriculars to keep my collegiate options open including the Eagle Scout rank in the Boy Scouts of America. Being a young man brought up by college graduates, my mother with B.A. from U.S.C.D. and my dad ending up with his Masters degree, I always knew college was in my future. My parents are very intelligent and did well in school. I followed suit. I applied to a number of schools and had no doubt I’d get in somewhere. This proved true and I was proud to throw on the purple sweatshirt emblazed with “New York University.” I loved the idea of a program that provided conservatory style training for my acting career that ran parallel to earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from a top university. My life was going according to plan and I was, needless to say, overjoyed. That’s when reality set in. My mother receives disability and is unable to work, my dad doesn’t make enough to compensate. Suddenly, the phrase I had heard over the years “Not now honey, money is a bit tight.” Started to sink in and began to strike a little deeper now that I was trading in dreams of a Gameboy for dreams of my future.

            I felt derailed. I had worked so hard to get to this place only to find that it didn’t matter. If my parents don’t make enough, it’s a no go. The price tag was set at about $58,000 a year and after financial aid, my parents were still expected to take out a $36,000 loan for my freshman year. They literally couldn’t afford to put their life in jeopardy for a year of my schooling. We were all heartbroken. However, my parents realized I was putting all the pieces together and decided to give it a try. They were denied the infamous PLUS loan three times until my mother was able to explain the situation to someone at Sallie Mae and we were finally granted the loan. Tears of joy filled the faces of all members of my family as my parents and I embarked on a journey to screw our respective credit even further.

            My parents made it clear that I understood they could only promise me this first year. I appreciated their honesty and was just happy to be able to continue on. Everything was even more amazing then I’d expected. Welcome week ceremonies and activities, kids from all over the country and the world, parties, incredible classes, the whole nine. That first semester was unlike anything I had ever dreamed of.

Then things changed. At the start of Spring Semester, I found myself back to square one; my father had been laid off. The recession became all the more real to me. With my classes ready to be dropped, I scrambled to find a solution. I eventually found it in the form of a loan from my generous uncle. I had dodged the bullet once again although I remained ignorant that soon I’d be forced to bite it. Looking back I should’ve paid more attention to and taken stock in the status of my peers. All of my new friends were children of doctors and lawyers and the like. They had a giant wardrobe, frequently went shopping, out for drinks etc, etc, etc. I eventually became more learned in the concept of allowances and that mommy and daddy were the ones paying for this extravagance. I ignored the fact that I didn’t fit the mold, enamored with my Oliver Twist triumph.

Fast forward through summer and on to my so-called sophomore year. My sophomore year has yet to occur. While my contemporaries went on the following year, I stayed at home in Oceanside, California on a Financial Leave of Absence. I was working at a local Mexican food chain to hopefully make my way back to school or at the very least the City. I eventually moved back to Manhattan that spring truthfully only on the back of my Best friend and freshman roommate’s family’s generosity. If not for them, the train would have stopped there and you would only find me now if a ‘hankerin’ for a fish taco ever struck. Bitterness aside, I was back in the city and felt like I was making progress. My plan was to get a job in the restaurant field (having previously worked as a cater waiter to survive my first year there,) pay as much rent as possible and eat, as well as show up bright, early and frequently to the NYU offices to get additional aid. I didn’t realize at this point, however, that I was groping for a lead vest instead of the life preserver I had expected.

            I resort to numbness now when I hear the all-too-familiar phrases “My hands are tied,” “There simply are no more funds,” “All you can do is keep appealing,” etc. My eyes always dart from flat screen to flat screen quickly and quite easily adding up my potential funding as I leave the N.Y.U. buildings to call my parents with the next hopeless update.

 I would now be, like all of my friends and former classmates, a junior excited to be an Upperclassman; all the more close to my future and living out my dreams. What I’ve come to realize about this particular institution is that its so-called outstanding reputation and ‘prestige’ is upheld and carried on the backs of its students rather than staff and faculty. Excuse me, Greenbacks. If I can’t present the green, I can’t be a Violet. My ‘artistic review,’ which consisted of an audition and interview, as well as my application, apparently meant nothing. My talent means nothing. My passion means nothing. My intelligence means nothing. Ironically, for a university that prides itself on such intrinsic values (of education, the power of knowledge, talent and passion) only accepts pieces of paper that are truly worthless. President John Sexton, who creates the budget, kicks off every year with a speech of his undying care for his students and their future. He urges each and every new pupil to give him a hug if they see him in the street or an NYU building. A friend of mine actually spilled her belongings curbside trying to make the move from dorm to dorm her freshman year. Who was there but good ol’ J. Sex himself (as he’s affectionately referred to) to help her pick up her belongings and so generously provide the comfort of his self-touted warm embrace. Nowadays, if it were me, I’d be sure to check my wallet.

Why have needs-blind admission at N.Y.U? Why admit these poor kids thinking they have succeeded only to have the rug ripped out from under them if their purse is too light to keep them strapped down? This year we had some glimmer of hope when my Expected Family Contribution went down this past year to under $2,000. Although the government and every other university in the country expected my family to contribute this much, N.Y.U. had a different solution. They decided since my parents had less money and were struggling even more, that it made sense that they should just take out a bigger PLUS loan. Jumping from $36,000 to $42,000. Great ‘aid,’ huh?

This whole debacle also prompted me to ask another question: Why should I be denied an education based on my parents’ financial standing? The answer I received from the representative of the Office of Student Affairs was that I could apply to become an ‘independent.’ “Great!” I said until I realized I had cut her off in her response. If I was 24 or 25 years old, if I made at least 10,000 a year, if I had documentation to prove my parents had refused to pay for my education and that there had been some sort of legal falling out. If, if, if…” Fine. My parents decided they were willing to look like **assholes** on paper for my future, I decided I was willing to work my **ass** off, and maybe I could wait a few years or find a loophole. But how foolish of me to not wait for the catch.

“Just because you have declared Financial Independence does not mean you will get additional scholarship aid.”

  A private loan was suggested but even my more well off friend, who kept me afloat and free from starvation in NY when I came back to badger N.Y.U, is currently having a hard time securing one for himself. Furthermore, my credit is already screwed. Being someone of my economic stature requires getting a credit card to survive the city freshman year and, needless to say, Chase bank won’t be begging me to reapply.

So maybe N.Y.U. is out of the question; perhaps another school. USCD would still require a twenty grand loan a year considering they offered me no aid when I was accepted. This is particularly frightening as a California resident whose parents are both alumni. At this point, I’m thinking conservatory and community college.

I am disgusted, discouraged, and frankly disappointed. Why is college reverting back to a privilege of the elite? Why does financial aid exist if it can hardly aid anyone? Why is my life being ruled by three-letter acronyms? All these questions have proven unproductive it would seem. Perhaps I should focus on a new one that apparently has more potential to move me forward. Would you like fries with that?

...

Its just wild. To read this again with some distance. Somewhere deep down I am still bitter. I am working, now, to let this go and to free myself of such a destructive resentment. The fact is is that its not that big a deal. I am on my path. I have faith in my journey. I am happy to be where I am now. The past cannot be changed and I have to accept that fact and let go. I refuse to let this drag behind me any longer. I feel like a lion with a burning branch tied around his tail. well, maybe if you drowned that lion in a molasses-like substance we'll call BEING OVERWHELMED.

 That is why I pray, today, for the willingness to be true to my authentic self and act in faith. Living in my fears doesn't work. The wording of the previous phrase seems a little off to me. It doesn't quite accurately represent the way it works for me. When Im living in fear I'm not in it so much as I'm trapped under it. Fear, for me, is like a nebulous swirling dark cloud that looms overhead. I am crouching beneath, distracting myself with useless and meaningless bullshit. When I choose to stand up and take a deep breath it starts to unravel. I Say to myself, "Ok. What are we really looking at here?" And usually that first step alone allows for a second deep breath. It's always something I can stare down and put one foot in front of the other and change my behavior. Each time the result is better than hiding. But, its still a bit of a rollercoaster. Every so often I find my posture growing lax and soon I will succumb to my inner Golem if I don't keep it up.

Fear is more terrifying than the thing I "fear." This is because Fear is not real. Fear is a feeling; a hiding. The things I fear, don't wield guns or knives or clubs, or have big teeth or claws, etc. 99% of the time, the things I fear don't even have the power to hurt me if I don't let them. Also, the THEORY is the thing I fear. As if I know how things will turn out. PUHLEEASE! My disease yells, "BUT DON"T YOU KNOW WHO I AM???!!!" I'm not God and I'm done pretending to be. This is all a daily reminder to cultivate my garden. I like to think that in the center of my garden (which is filled with friendships, family relationships, business relationships, seeds of possible romance, etc.) Sits my little Bonsai tree. I must take delicate car of it daily. Clipping it. Spritzing it. etc. It sounds funny but I love this analogy.

the truth

Last night I saw a small concert at the largo with Fiona Apple and Jon Brian and some other wonderfully talented musicians. It was an incredible experience. I laughed and almost cried at times. IT was a wonderfully moving and powerful expression of artistic excellence and humanity. I very much enjoyed seeing the shared experience on stage and how it carried into the audience. I joked with my friend (who was gracious enough to invite me) that it blew N'SYNC out of the water. i hadn't been to a concert since 2001 when I saw N'SYNC perform No Strings Attached. I was eleven and at the time was blown away. The Fiona Apple show was a whole new level for me.

I have an incredible love for music. I am an actor and although I have let that become a large part of my identity I can't forget what music does to me on that same level. The concert last night at the Largo soothed me. I can't even begin to describe in words how pleased my soul was with the treatment. It inspired me. I think it's important for me to go to these types of things; concerts, plays, art shows. To allow my soul to breathe and get its much needed nourishment. I have become, in recent years, a master at hiding. Isolation has been my greatest form of protection against the world. But what am I hiding from?

I'm starting to think what I'm really afraid of is myself. In continuing this line of thinking I guess I haven't been to good at hiding. It's as if I've taken refuge in the devils closet. Isolating only gets me more muddied and entangled in my self-woven snares. The hunter that gets caught in his own traps is ineffective to say the least. 

This life is something strange I must say. I seem to be always stricken with the disease of the "terminally unique." I realize more and more each day that it won't matter much what I do in my life in the grand scheme of things and that I should truly stop the grandiosity and just live my life for me. Not to say "fuck everyone else" but that I should stop making my own decisions with the worry of how they will eventually ( if they ever will) pan out in the world. I always feel I need more. I need something more to make me happy. I think that perhaps what we really need in this life to be fulfilled is much simpler and more organic than we think. 

I love to write. I love to sing. I love to dance. I love to draw and paint. I love to act. I love to laugh and make others laugh. So why don't I do these things each day? Why wouldn't I choose to lose myself each day in the process and stop worrying endlessly about the result?

All I can say is I'm working on it. One day at a time. One step at a time. Maybe one day I'll get in a good enough habit of it to be satisfied and happy.

"clever title" /" late night incoherent babble"/ half assed ideas/ lets see how hard i can be on myself

So today in acting class I was forced to confront myself. Myself as the actor and as the man. You see, yesterday marks my first day back to acting school and my craft. I have been on a six month hiatus getting my priorities realigned and doing some cleaning up if you will.

     I am very excited to be getting back on track and fulfilling a passion of mine. To be so engaged once again in something I love and something which stimulates me to no end both intellectually and spiritually, is truly a wonderful thing. I am very grateful to have had the opportunity today.

     For some reason these masks bear a huge resemblance to the extremes I have gone to in the past. Im either ecstatic or morbidly depressed. I wonder if this fuels my attraction to this art form.





     I am currently learning. It seems pointless to make such a statement but I have a tendency to think in each moment I have it all figured out. I'm so stubborn. It never fails to shock me how subtly powerful these defects can be. In the course of a conversation, they take many different forms. I hesitate to write about it in detail just because the prospect is a little overwhelming right now. My habits up until this point in my life are such that I am constantly becoming aware of my shortcomings and attempting to take action to the contrary. This is both seemingly miraculous as well as endlessly irksome. Tedious may be a better descriptor.

   Today also reminded me of how much I miss flexing my brain muscles so to speak. I miss college. I made a choice to delve into this acting craft and career adventure when I was no longer able to pursue both simultaneously under my specific terms. (After my Freshman year in NYU's undergrad drama program TISCH I took a different road)





     I just want to surrender. I feel that I'm constantly working on upkeep and future development. I AM INDEED MAKING PROGRESS. I absolutely must keep that in mind or I'll turn defeatist. But today I found out through my one-on-one with my teacher after an exercise that I am still blocked because of a character defect operating like a fucking ninja assassin in some nook or cranny of my mind. I am still afraid to let go completely; to totally give myself to the task at hand and fully surrender to it. I feel as if blocking out the big picture will render me adrift. If I don't plan the next few moves, I'm toast! I don't know...does it really even matter? Why can't I just enjoy the moment and say screw it to all that other horse shit? I suppose it makes sense that if I'm doing the right thing in the present moment that the future will take care of itself. SOUNDS LIKE A TRUST AND FAITH ISSUE TO ME. All I can say is I'm working on it. Progress is okay no matter how little I suppose.

Tea and Cookies in the Chateau d'Iff

So, once again, I sit here on my couch, in my apartment, hiding. I'm hiding from the world. I woke up at ten, realized it was ten already and was off with a bang. My disease raged on screaming at me, "well its already ten o'clock! Way to waste the day fuckhead!!" and so we began :)

     I decided to have some breakfast ( toast and green peppermint tea) with no plan in mind. I read up on the news and pretended this would be a the begninng to a "normal" day. I decided it'd be a brilliant fucking idea to sit and watch a 2 hour movie on netflix and ( just as the doctor ordered) I feel like shit. I feel like a beast is raging inside my head. Like my inner being is wrought with cage madness. The only difference (and here;'s the really fucked up part) is that I have the keys..I can not only physically leave my apartment but I also have some tools to escape this inner plight. God forbid I use them correctly.

     Instead, I choose to revert to old ways. Not out of comfort ( as that decribes a far cry from what Im feeling now) but out of, oh let's say, tradition. My disease, which I so readily and so frequently put on trial, begs for extradition. This image above truly calmed me a degree or two. To pull back and realize this is essentially what I look like is amusing. It helps to put things in perspective a bit.

Right before I opened my computer to blog, I groped at an old tool in a last ditch effort. A box of store brand oreo's would surely be the cure. As I grabbed the last cookie something caught my eye. "365" Whole Food's' store brand stamp was incribed on this cookie. I thought to myself "Why haven't I noticed this before? I have spent the last week tearing through this huge box and it wasn't until the very last cookie that I even suspected something was written on them.." It was puzzling but to some degree, it made sense.. How many sparkling eyes, smiles, bottle labels, dimples, unique granules, crystals, quirks,etc. had I overlooked? Fiending for a reprieve, desperate to abuse. Fuck the details for that's where the devil lays in wait. right? Who gives a fuck what this looks like? It serves no purpose to me until the sensations take hold and I can escape. Succumb.

Perception. A Disease of Perception. Now that's a real bitch. I hear so many stories and see so many documentaries touting the power of the mind and preaching the secret of outlook. Why must my ball tend to read "OUTLOOK NOT SO GOOD?" The glass is half full! I had a friend with this illness or this problem but look how he/she triumphed with his/her faith, outlook, perspective! BUT WHAT OF THE MAN WHO"S PERCEPTION IS ROTTED? Now, he's really fucked. 

The above paragraph serves as an example in and of itself. Because in fact its almost backwards. I can acknowledge the point it makes but perception can be changed. Its not so bad after all. I have the power to change it. To be willing. To continually fight for sanity. TO TRY AND STOP BEING SO MELODRAMATIC! to try to stop beating my self up.  And so the defects march on.

    

less is more and enough is enough

So I had a wonderful experience the other day as I was meditating at Runyon Canyon Park after an awesome run. I am so truly happy to be able to get active again. I tore a couple ligaments in my ankle about four weeks back and am happy to be back on my feet. I began my meditation with my eyes closed. I was sitting in the grassy patch toward the entrance of the park where the yoga classes are held. When I walked over to my spot initially I quickly noted ho, up close, the grass seemed less lush. it seemed brown and sparse. Anyway, after meditating a while I decided to open my eyes and the most amazing thing happened. I looked out to see what appeared to be an unending radiant sea of green. The grass was thick and luscious. It sparkled as well. I knew it to only be an approximate ten foot radius of lawn surrounding me but it felt as though I was sitting in an endless green field. In my excitement, I tried to focus my eyes on the bits of grass and it started fading back to its former mediocrity..

I tried to remember this moment tonight as i had the worst night at work I've ever had. The fact of the matter was nothing in particular went wrong. I am a host at a very busy restaurant and our host "team" was all out of whack tonight. In all honesty, I had a big hand in that. I had the worst attitude and acknowledged it but wouldn't let it go. I had a moment where I felt exhausted from all this frustration and let it go and I could feel the flood gates bulging in anticipation. I just wanted to fall down and cry. I'm exhausted of trying so damn hard in every waking moment to be better. Every interaction with people, every fake smile, every concession, every time I think of someone first. I don't want to be an asshole but sometimes I just want to scream at someone and tell them to F*** OFF and shove someone and break a glass and express myself to the full magnitude. But thats not what an adult does. An adult doesn't go out partying. An adult smiles and behaves diplomatically and avoids confrontation and if confrontation arrises handles it politely. I know my ideas of this must be so incredibly warped because if every other decent human being out there is doing it this way then we are all secretly insane just waiting to snap.

You know, I have such a burning desire to get out there and live. REALLY LIVE. run around, climb things, hug people, run down the street, love people, i dont know what else truly..I dont know I just feel like Im going to explode. ALWAYS. But that if I let it all out that people are going to think I'm truly insane. Like I think I am. If people only knew who lives in the attic. Sometimes when Im boiling over and I let some spill out I do it dramatically and always get a few laughs. This makes me feel better for a couple reasons. 1) I get to let some out and relieve a tiny bit of the pressure and 2) I get validation. "Oh, Kevin's so funny. He is worth something after all.."

I feel like that kid in the picture above this crazy one. I feel like he's sitting at the controls in this "adult" body screaming behind the smiles and sorry's. Ugh. Life's weird right now. I thought I was kind of coming out on the other end of a weird transitionary period in my life but in some respects it keeps getting weirder and weirder, and better and better, and worse and worse. It lacks consistancy. I'm desperate to figure this life thing out and be able to enjoy it. i know there's some faulty logic at play here.

     I am just in the middle of waking up to a realization. I embarked on this journey to figure out what life is about and what I'm all about and to see if I can be a functional human being and maybe work towards fulfilling my dreams and finding some supreme happiness. I am now figuring out that I really set out to find the cure. I set out to solve the riddle. To become ever-joyful. To become God. or at least Jesus or the dhali lama or Johnny Depp. I'm now like "Whoa. Im human. I'm Kevin. And life isn't about being happy ALL the time." I guess I just want to make better habits and find better companions and love and be loved and trust people again. I want to love what Im doing and be able to cope when I'm not loving it.

To be able to say hey I just had a bad day, maybe tomorrow will be better. I just want to believe again. I want to believe that lifes really worth living because Im tired of sitting on the sidelines running damage control. Ok so Im rambling and falling asleep at the keyboard and have zero energy to edit this blog. so Im sorry and Im not sorry for the grammatical woes and overall sloppiness of this evenings neverending stream of conciousness.

Ozymandias and the Chateau d"Iff

My cup runneth over. My mind is full. Full of love and hate and resentments and dwellings. In fact, with regard to life I seem to dwell on it rather than in it. I sit in it and stew trapped by the confines I thought would protect me. All these walls have stolen my liberty. Unlike Mr. Dantes, I have imprisoned my self. I am Edmond and Fernand. I have betrayed my self and seek vengance. What a crazy drama queen. I also have to remind myself that my "cup" is also full of love and friends and food and safe living accomodations and a job and on and on and on.

     

     I've created this blog to serve as an outlet for my dam mind. I'm tired. I'm exhausted in fact. Trying to build up my walls and protect myself from God knows what. Somewhere along the way my fear has been quietly and subtly growing more powerful. Its latest trick ( which I'm starting to catch on to, I think)  is to disguise itself as romance and dramatic beauty. I must be tortured to create good art, yes? I used to ink "Carpe Diem" as a hope that seeing those words would light a spark within me. Now I scrawl "MEMENTO MORI" as a morbid reminder of my mortality. I'd like to strike a balance here. 

     This blog is going to explore this chapter in my life. The synopsis would read loosely,  "Conflicted young man moves to Hollywood in pursuit of fame, fortune, and maybe happiness if he can figure out how to get that too." I don't know what the hell I want. I think I want to be happy. I also simultaneously worry that I'll get to the end and look back and say "Shit...I wish I'd realized my dreams.." I can't help but wonder. As much as I try to stay in the moment, I wander.

     For someone of my make-up, its a wonder why I've decided to pursue in a career in a town where I'll be judged ruthlessly ( most of the time for superficial reasons.) will I survive? Will I grow stronger? It reminds me of when I lived in New York. When I left the city after a while, I realized I had become an asshole, to some degree. I'd learned how to stomp down the street in my boots, blinders on, focused and fortified. I did this to survive. Don't show a smile for fear it will be slapped right off your face. I went back a while later to visit and did an experiment. I wondered what would happen if I went the opposite route. I walked around beaming and attempted to strike up conversations with customer service. To my surprise all of these "cold assholes" weren't so evil afterall. (granted some were) They, too, had put on the frown of indifference for protection. A warm smile was the key.

     So what are my dreams? What are the value of my dreams? Why do I actually want what I think I want? Do I really want it? Will it all matter in the grand scheme of things? Probably not. But if its all relative how do I make the most of it without becoming consumed by the grandeaur of it? Where do I go from here? What Would Ozymandias Have Done if he had known what would become of his achievements in the big picture? 

   So this has been my first rambling. Welcome.