One of ten portfolio pieces:

"I remember always growing up thinking that being white was the default; the colorless sterile existance that came void of culture, because to me, Mom's twang and Dad's obsession with hunting knives were both more annoyances than culture. I had always wished I had been born somewhere different, anywhere really. And I distinctly recall several ocassions when I had told the other kids my dad was born in Puerto Rico and had spent his childhood on the beach so they wouldn't think I was just another white boy. I was convinced that my tolerance for spicy chicken and rice proved my underlying Spanish heritage, or at the very least, my love for spaghetti and meatballs brought forth my true, Italian ancestry.

But my affection for pasta and my tolerance for spice were both heavily feigned, and Dad's short, six-month stint in Puerto Rico when he was two, was strictly military business, despite my tales of grandeur. Even as a school kid I had dreams of a brighter, more exciting me, with some sort of unique cultural offering to my world, something inherently, effortlessly "Matt" that inspired admiration. Along the way in that childhood, I discovered that my history was enough in itself and did not need to be augmented. The people and places that are attributed to my family are interest and necessity in the American culture just as any other race. This epiphany originated in a very small but profound event in my life concerning grits, the staple food of the south.

Behind the homemade maple syrup and along side the off-brand cereals, perpetualy stood a seemingly never-ending box of Quaker Instant Grits®, which were definitely a manditory part of every Saturday morning breakfast. When I was about 9 or so, when I could still talk to my peers about other things than sex and self-conciousness, I recall a discussion about the new cartoons on ABC that fall, and how the network had become too geared towards a younger audience, when someone brought up Saturday morning traditions, evoking my inevitible comment concerning grits. I described the plate of food, the ever-loved scrambled eggs, the cheerfully buttered toast, the many uses of the pig in various meals, especialy breakfast, and good ole grits, the old-fashioned friend.

Their were looks were of disgust, confusion, disdain, which sparked my own perplexity concerning this unexpected circumstance of disagreement. Anna, my long time crush, devoured my soul and spit it back at me with her cutting comment, the first after what seemed like an hour of awkward silence.

"Grits are gross," she jeered with no regret. I was shocked, abashed, discombobulated, flummoxed, perturbed, all at once. Why? How was it possible? Her tactless comment pierced my world and the heart I wore on my sleeve fell to the floor and splattered with the grits I had cherished for so long. It wasn't until that night, after I had shared this experience with Mom, that I realized the grand implications this would have on my previous perspective of my own heritage.

I am different. I am southern. I am American. And I am proud of my heritage and that we are form such a variety of people. It's such a simple truth really, We don't know our own cultural distinctions until we become the minority. Seeing this bunch, this diverse crew of American sould, I feel the uniqueness of even a foreign birth. My heritage, my culture, my grits... are indeed my offering."

Fin. No proofreading yet though, typos abound.

Another picture of Jen. Thanks for the help Julie!

I don't know why I insist on buying a frappuccino at the library, when the library itself is the same temperature. I'm in one of those uncontrollable shakes right now, a little more dramatic than a shiver, but not quite a seizure.

In other news, I've decided that if I don't get to transfer this year, I'm investing in equipment and making my own movies. Me and Jen have a few ideas... A lot of the most successful directors did not go to film school or even college. So there's a thought, not that I'm not trying my darndest to go, but you know... It's not the end of the world if I don't.

Caution: If/When I get the denial letter, I will feel like it's the end of the world, so my tune may change for a day or two, but I'll get over it. Stay tuned.

I'm going to a musical tomorrow night. Yay! The first one I've been to in Tampa. I'm going with Jen, who has been my partner in crime for the past few weeks. Yay for good friends!

I have lots to say but I don't have my notebook, so I'm going to save it all up for one long post coming soon.

"The prospect of leaving the country with little time to pack was undoubtedly appealing as I am never obliged to forgo a unique opportunity without good reason. On the other hand, I was also a smidgen naive to assume the weather in Quebec was a never-ending blizzard, which is probably the reason Toronto felt twice as hot as Tampa and half as comfortable, proving my stacks of sweaters useless that scorching mid-July. Nevertheless, I needed grand tales of adventure to tell the masses upon return, so I was determined to make the most of the journey despite the unsuitable attire. I am always looking for the photograph in my surroundings, or the perfect script in all this beautiful mess. And this jaunt was a subtle, yet profound experience I had longed for.

This journey was a conference in Waterloo for young Christians and was billed as for the adventurous type, but I soon discovered that this adventurous type rarely come from the states. Most of the participants were, in fact, native to Quebec and were rarely beyond the Toronto area, about one hour southeast of Waterloo. There is something particularly riveting about travelling alone to a destination lacking any type of familiarity, but upon arrival, the warmth of the hosts discounted any expectations of awkwardness. Unpacking in a small loft above a garage, I immediately felt at home in its quaintness, and being about a foot taller than the couple I stayed with, the low ceilings were reminiscent of a hobbit hole which added to the conversation and the coziness of the setting.

The conference itself was held at a local University and consisted of three classes per day for the first week, mostly teaching us effective ways to study the Bible..."

Don't mind me, I'm just tweaking and finishing. I have to hurry up, and this is the easiest way to track my progress...

Beware of Asian writing on your shirt, it may not make any sense at all. This picture care of Engrish.

My portfolio is officially done.

Actually, I finished three different portfolios yesterday. The one for NYU, and me and Jen made portfolios for a casting agency. Here are the ones we put in her portfolio. Mine will be coming soon (haha).

(Removed per request)

Nice, huh? The funny one in sepia is going in my NYU portfolio. I'll update that later.

I have so many things to do today, it's overwhelming, but I could finish my application today as well. I'm on a high from watching a fantastically inspiring movie last night, "Notting Hill." Don't laugh, I thought it was great.

This week is going to be soooo FUUNNNNNNNN!!!!

Another A+, this time the highest grade in the class. And he gave me a copy of the recommendation he sent in for me to NYU. The other one still needs to be finished, and it's in Avril's hands now. I worked for her off and on for the past year. I just have to figure out if she needs to fill out the sheet with all my high school credentials or not. Anyway, I don't feel like explaining all that. My portfolio is almost done. I'll start a fotolog or something so you can see what I'm sending.

In other news, photography is very enjoyable. Some of the more recent photos I've taken seem to be liked by many, or at least my friends are being nice about having to look at them. Sarah even asked me if I would take pictures of her and her boyrfriend (fiance? not sure...) and said she would pay me for it. I'm not sure if she was serious, but it was flattering anyway. Thanks, Sarah.

I'm off to class. Take it easy, and pray for me.

It was a good day. I took a quiz that I know I aced, and got my paper back in British Lit. What a teacher she is. There was writing all over all of the pages, most of which was purely critical of either style, diction, or specificity, and I still got a 93%. That's the kind of feedback that make writers better.

Woot!

I forgot to mention, the other day when I went to see "The Passion...," the guy at the ticket booth asked for my driver's license to make sure I was 17.

Not a compliment... I haven't been carded since I was about 14.

Crest white strips? More like, Crest puts-tiny-painful-holes-in-my-teeth... strips... Youch!

Me: i think i've known you for a year!
Audrey: sure
Audrey: wow, that is a random fart
Audrey: i man
Audrey: WOW
Audrey: fact
Me: LOL

perfect.

There's something so beautiful and innocent about Sophia Coppola. I'm glad she won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay. The Oscars this year went almost exactly as I would have wanted it, but I have to say, having heard such great things about Mystic River, I really think it's a travisty that it was released the same year as Lord of the Rings.

And I still think Kill Bill had the best cinematography I've seen in the past few years. Other than that and the fact that Bill Murray and Johnny Depp were beaten by Sean Penn, things went perfectly. Even in that, Sean Penn had never won before; I think he should have won for Dead Man Walking, so it was fitting. And I'm sure he was great. But Pirates of the Carribean was so fun!!

Oh well. My E! True Hollywood story will definitely include last night's Oscars. "As I was sitting on the floor indian-style with the TV on and my sketchbook in front of me, I was astonished, relieved, and ultimately captivated by the grandeur of Lord of the Rings. It rightfully won so many awards, and the director was so happy..."

I promise to thank Peter Jackson in my speech, and all the hobbits of Middle Earth. Sean Astin, you were robbed this year.