Why I Am Me

On my way to open my first NYC bank account, way back in 1987, my new Texan friend turned to me and said, "Now Miss Kizzy, what do you think about that?"

This was just days before that whirlwind first week of college. We were in a partial conservatory program for acting, though. Our studio was a bit of a hodge podge and, at the time of our appearance, on the low end of the undergraduate drama totem pole so our classes were small. Our largest class had under 20 people in it. The group we spent most of our time with was 8 people strong.

You know those first-day-of-class exercises where you go around the room and tell everyone your name and where you came from and something about yourself? We did those with the same 8 people in every class all week long. Finally, in our last class on Friday of that exhausting week I had my turn and I gave my full name and the boy we'd already identified as our smart ass piped up, "No. Tell him your real name."

Not to be shamed and having always desperately wanted a nickname I proudly said, "I'm Kizzy."

Over the years that nickname has gotten nicknames (Kizz, Izz, Kizzbeth, KB, Kissy, Kizzybeth, Tizzy...) but it has stuck.

So, Hi, my name is Kizz, I'm from 117 Hudson and I like to blog.