My full name is Alexander Bozicevich, but no one can say that. As a result, I’ve been gifted a lot of nicknames over the years. Boz is my favorite. Growing up, every year of public school brought the same experience: a classmate would realize that my last name rhymed with a certain curse word, and for the rest of the year I would be regaled with calls of “Bozice-bitch!”

The summer before senior year I was accepted into a statewide theater program. It was one of those classic and cliche experiences that are so uniquely adolescent they’re embarrassing to talk about. The first day of the program, I was filled with dread. I knew what was coming. But I couldn’t avoid introducing myself, so I braced for the inevitable.

“I’m Alexander Bozicevich,” I said.

“Oh,” one girl replied, “Can we call you Boz?”

I was stunned. This was not the usual script. No one had ever suggested a version without the use of “bitch” before. Not in my memory, anyway. But that summer, I did not have to be the Bozice-bitch I was back home. And the christenings continued: Bozzy, Bozal, Bozzley, Sir Bozzington, Wizard of Boz, all these variations on a theme I actually liked.

In college, some people still called me Boz, but it wasn’t quite the same. I felt out of place again. The pieces were there, especially as I became more involved with the theater department, but it was different. The atmosphere was charged and often frustrated. We wore cheerful smiles while competing and spent life offstage hoping we were good enough. In retrospect, it was good practice for my time in LA.

I moved to the City of Angels right after graduation. This was it. I was going to make a real go at the creative life. I was going to find people who would accept me as an artist. But the longer I stayed in LA, the more I felt like like a Bozice-bitch again. A strange and slippery viciousness permeated so many interactions in the city, especially where it involved entertainment. I felt the same way that I had in high school: trapped. I was trying to blend in, but I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. What I really wanted to do was get out.

The truth is, I’ve spent my whole adult life trying to recapture that feeling from theater camp, and knowing how saccharine that sounds doesn’t help. It’s been harder than I anticipated, to recapture that feeling, especially as I get older. Our culture is not kind to creatives until they are successful. Before that, dreamers are pitted against each other in a battle royale of limited resources. I’ve been fighting the good fight, but I’m quite tired, and in spite of my best efforts, I still feel that I am at the mercy of people who prefer me as a Bozice-bitch.

The day I moved out to LA, I posted that famous quote about ships being safe in the harbor, but that not being what ships are for. I think that’s true. But it’s also true that ships must return to the harbor now and then, if only for repairs and restocking. In that sense, I want this little corner of the internet to be a harbor, for myself and whoever else wants it.

I made this site as a place where I could be Boz again.