Here’s the thing with me and graduate school:
Immediately upon graduating from my four-year bachelor program, I was accepted into the Atlantic School for Acting’s Conservatory program. It necessitated my move to New York, fulfilling my life-long Manhattanite aspirations.
I attended two days of school before sending the bursar my Request for Disenrollment. Why did I leave? It was a windowless building. And–a teacher told us, with no lick of irony, we weren’t allowed to go to the bathroom during his 3-hour long lecture. The student body was made up of 18-year-olds, fresh out of high school, and early 30s reformed corporate suits, finally pursuing their high school passion: dramatic acting!
Imagine telling a 30-year-old they weren’t allowed to piss? Imagine being the 21-year-old awkwardly struck between adolescence and quarter-life crises. Also, I witnessed something racist happen between the administration and a student! Not my story to tell, but damn it pissed me off, and I included that incident in my reasoning for disenrolling! #ally!
But, in the spring of ‘22, a creeping panic overtook my body. I had been auditioning as a redhead actress for six months…and no dice. A few callbacks, yes–but not a single booking. I kept a spreadsheet of all my auditions, I’d auditioned for 102 productions. I needed a change. I succumbed to my invented backup plan. “Well–” I thought, “I’m a preternaturally talented writer, might as well.”
But I didn’t know how to write! I’d faked all of my rough drafts in school! (I would always get an A, so instead of writing a rough draft, and then a final paper, I’d just write the final…and then I’d write a worse version, and submit that as my “proof work.”)
I had no academic validation that I could write, not just fake it. I was living in Morningside Heights at the time, just over the hill was Columbia. I applied to be a part-time student and was accepted.
I was ecstatic, as I practically leaped over Morningside Park’s concrete stairs up to the financial aid office. I’d toured Columbia when I was a junior in high school and was smitten with its cinematically idyllic campus. When my undergrad application process began, I omitted it from my efforts. Partly because of its hefty $80 application fee, and partly because my ex-boyfriend thought New York was too far away. (Spoiler Alert, that boyfriend broke up with me in the first semester of my freshman year, at the in-state school I attended to appease him:))
So imagine the deadened quiet of Columbia’s campus during spring break, the carpeted floors of the financial aid office, dampening any pin drop. Imagine the sonic boom of my heart hitting my feet when they told me that one class cost $7,500. Imagine my heart’s glass-shattering break as I was told financial aid couldn’t be applied to part-time students.
“Maybe you could enroll full-time?” The sympathetic aid officer prompted.
“No,” I croaked choking back alligator tears, “I have to work three jobs to afford school.”
“Catch-22.” We said together.
My mom and I had bought a Columbia T-shirt the weekend before. In my family, we believe in the t-shirt curse. My brother, when touring a school he fell head over heels for, bought a t-shirt. He wore it proudly to school the next day. And then…the thin envelope came. Waitlisted.
As we bought the baby blue tee, I was sweating… “Mom–the t-shirt curse.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that! You’re already in! You’re enrolled.” She swiped her card.
If it were that easy. Now I have a Columbia Lions shirt I wear to bed.
Good enough to be a Lion, unable to afford its roar.
SOMEONE C’MON I SHOULD BE IN AN MFA PROGRAM, READ THAT LINE! UGH!
Defeated, having tearfully unenrolled from my second graduate program, trudging down the Morningside steps, I vowed to myself. “I do not NEED overpriced academic validation! I am a good writer! Who needs networking and mentorship? I can do it on my own!”
And now it’s the spring. I am a writer. I am a comedian! (A plot twist from me!) I am confident in my skill and ability. But have you guys noticed…
Everyone who is anyone in comedy went to NYU? Here:
NYU Alumni:
The Please Don’t Destroy Boys
Andy Samberg
Donald Glover
Ayo Edibri
Rachel Bloom
Adam Sandler
Rachel Senott
Aubrey Plaza
A Shit Ton Of My Funniest Friends
Taylor Swift, not a comedian, and its an honorary, but she totally would’ve gone there.
And I know, no, alma mater doesn’t really matter! Do you want a job in comedy? All you need is to be funny, and work hard, write all the time, perform constantly, hone your craft, have a monthly show, and know someone, who knows someone–oh how do you know them? Oh, she’s my Aunt–oh you’re a nepo baby? Cool? Hey YOU–other person–how did you get [COOL JOB WRITING COMEDY HERE?] Ohhhhhh I went to college with [NAME HERE.] Oh, what school? NYU! FUCK!
You wanna know something rich? I got into NYU for undergrad. What was that? Why didn’t I go? Ooh, I have your answer, and it’s a call-back joke:
Partly because I couldn’t afford it, and partly because my ex-boyfriend thought NYU was too far away.
Why am I harping on this? Haven’t I learned from my white woman ancestors, like bangs post-breakup, Grad School in your mid-twenties will not save you? I haven’t learned. That’s why I want to grad school! I want to learnnnnnnn. UGH, it’s annoying I know! But I love to be educated! Since I moved to New York, there hasn’t been a season where I haven’t been enrolled in some sort of class. Whether it's an improv course, stand-up, or acting. I love a class! Sue me, I’m a woman with passions!
I didn’t learn enough in undergrad. I had maybe three courses that challenged me as a writer and performer. Everything else was just–meh. Not a critique of my teachers! (Well…) or the institution! (WELL…) They were working against a lot. Especially considering over half of my college experience was conducted via Zoom. I just crave so much more…
I work in the East Village, so I hang out there a lot and at every opportunity, whether being asked by a prying barista, or a tired Uber driver… I lie.
“What’re you working on?” As they pass me my latte over my laptop.
“An assignment–for class.” I fib.
“NYU?”
“Yeah–graduate school.”
I know what you’re thinking reader: “You lie about being an NYU student? That’s embarrassing.
I know! “But really, if that’s what you want–NYU– why not apply there?”
Reader, you’re never going to believe the answer: I can’t afford it! And I don’t know how willing I am to go into $200,000 of student loan debt! Luckily, I currently don’t have any student loan debt. (In-state school, merit-based scholarships, graduated in three years, Mommy and Daddy, thank you!)
I’m writing this blog, actually almost as a poll. Do you guys think I should apply for Grad School? Specifically the Dramatic Writing MFA at NYU? I don’t know! It’s spring, it’s raining, and I scrolled too long on the Dark Academic side of Pinterest last night! Maybe I should! What would I do with $200,000 of money I don’t have anyway? Buy a house? Never! I’ve just been in the mood to read a thirty-year-old man's attempt to write a female character and be forced to give him positive constructive criticism. I’ve been craving over-analyzing “The Glass Menagerie,” again. Yes, I could do that on my own time, but it is so much more fun to do it in a circular formation of chairs, talking over other students!
Ugh–let me know what you think. ILY!
