Why Do Fools Fall in Love, AKA the Josie Gellar Story

Why do people fall for their friends?

I mean, I know that this is a huge cliche--falling for a friend, whining about it, worrying about whether it will affect the friendship, blah blah blah. I recently found myself in the unfortunate position of counselling a friend in a similar situation. She ended up hooking up with one of her best friends, he subsequently treating her like crap, oldest story in the world. I just wanted to shake her every time she started talking to me about it--she was being so deliberately blind about what an asshole he was being.

Still, I can't help it. I am becoming the cliche. And I think this is going to have a cliched ending as well. Not the best friends realize their true feelings, ride off into the sunset cliche. No, I mean the girl falls for a friend who isn't interested in her, only to end up with her heart broken and the friendship over because he can't deal with the awkward of it all. That cliche.

I've just never elicited much a of response from guys. I don't say that in a self-pitying way. Well, maybe a little bit, but mostly it's just stating the truth. I mean, I'm pretty, I suppose. I'm tall and curvy and I've got great breasts. I'm very smart, and I can be funny, and I'm very sweet. There seems to be nothing wrong with this picture, right? I think I just give off some sort of a vibe, sort of a "stay away" type of thing. Or maybe I'm just lacking that va-va-voom factor that make some girls hot and some girls just "pretty." Or hell, maybe I'm just lacking some self-confidence. But whatever it is, it's how I've made it to the age of 19 and never been kissed.

Yes, folks, that's right. My horrible secret is out. I have never been kissed. I am Drew Barrymore in that terrible movie. I hate that movie, because she gets to kiss Michael Vartan in the end. LIFE DOESN'T WORK OUT THAT WAY FOR ME! I mean, I've had Spin-the-bottle kisses and even stage kisses, but nothing that I think really counts as my first kiss.

And the thing is, I'm not what you would traditionally think of as a late-bloomer. I mean, I'm fairly gorgeous, and have been since high school. It's just never happened for me somehow. Watching The 40-Year-Old Virgin, I had a terrible vision of my future.

Well, this started out as one thing and turned into a monologue on how pathetic my life is. Sorry about that.

I am SO ANGRY.

There are so many things to say about this summer so far, I really don't know where to start. I spent June in Italy, studying Italian in an intensive language immersion program. Jules and I did it together, and we had a fantastic time.

However, at this exact second, I'm focused on a particular person whom I met in Italy, another program participant. Let's call him...well, let's be obvious and call him "D." D and I became friends very quickly, which is unusual for me. I don't make friends easily, but I found myself able to talk so naturally to him. Anyway, he's a good looking guy, and I developed a thing for him. The first weekend of the program, we went to Venice. One night, we all went out together. Dan and I ended up being left together while everyone else separated in an area with about five different bars. I don't drink, so he was probably just being a nice guy, staying with me and keeping me company. We talked all night after we broke the ice by realizing that we both take anti-depressants. We went through the usual routine, exchanging names of medications like designer drug users. After that, nothing was off-limits.

I really, really liked him.

We got closer after that. We spent time together. We both tend to walk near the back in tour groups, so we spent a lot of tours ignoring the guide and talking. He told me things that he didn't tell anyone else in the program. It all came to a head the third week of the program when I got up the nerve to ask him to do something with me one night. I didn't phrase it like a date, and neither of us ever indicated that we thought it was, but it had date-like elements. Nothing happened, to my disappointment, but of course, everyone else in the program assumed that it had.

After that night, he got very distant. People were asking me questions about whether we were together, so I have to assume that people were asking him. He started acting very fraternal towards me--kisses on the cheek, that sort of thing. I was starting to accept that nothing was ever going to happen between us, that he didn't feel the same way as I did, or maybe that he didn't want to get involved with someone in the program. Ok. I was dealing with it. It brought up some issues that I've had with myself for a while, but I was dealing. Then came the journey to Elba Island. I saw D on the trip sitting with a certain girl, who we'll call Slutty Vapid McWhorebag, or just A. A wasn't one of my friends, but I didn't really know her, except that I thought she was stupid and vapid and I'd heard she was bitchy. I saw D and A, and thought to myself, "God, I really hope D doesn't hook up with A. That would really suck." Well, the next thing I know, D and A are hooking up. Everyone is shocked, especially me. Well, certain things that happen make it clear to me that D just doesn't know how to deal with me, that he's embarassed/ashamed.

Anyway, the week goes on, and it hurts, and it sucks, and eventually I leave. There's more to the story there, but it's complicated and has no bearing on the final point. The final point is that I was determined to remain friends with D. We were friends first, and I didn't want to lose that. I contacted him with a friendly note, the same sort of note I was sending to other people in the program. He never responded. The other day, I wrote him another note asking him how Cambridge is going (that's where he is now, and where I was a couple years ago. We talked about it a couple times before the rift). He never responded to me, although he did respond to another program participant's similar inquiry (this is all on MySpace).

I am just so pissed off at him for being such an incredible asshole. Why wouldn't he respond to me? Because he's an asshole. There are just so many angry things going through my head, I can't organize them well enough to express them here. He sucks. I hate him. How could he do this to me?

I just wanted us to stay friends. I hate that he's too afraid to let that happen.

What Dreams are Made On

Well, I don't even know where to begin. First of all, I got a part. It was in a fifteen minute one-act, the directing II class's final project. The performance was Monday night, and it went so wonderfully, I'm still on a high.

In other news, I decided to declare as a drama major. This is obviously a life-changing sort of decision, and I'm so excited about it. I wrote a really long email to someone explaining my decision, but this stupid thing won't let me copy and paste it, and I don't feel like writing it all over again. Suffice it to say, I'm extremely happy. This is the right decision for me.

I'll leave you with something beautiful, to brighten a cold, gloomy day up here in Boston. From the Emilio Pucci Fall 2006 runway:


Ok, two beautiful things:


And a few quotes. The Shakespeare quote is from The Tempest, and many scholars believe that it represents Shakespeare's farewell to the world of the theatre.

"Acting is a masochistic form of exhibitionism. It is not quite the occupation of an adult." -Sir Laurence Olivier

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on...

Cast Lists

Well, the cast lists are up, and, as usual, my name not does not feature. I don't feel sorry for myself, which is funny, because I think it is constructive to feel sorry for yourself sometimes. I think my theater experience has just been such that I don't find feeling sorry for yourself in this context to be acceptable, or even reasonable. I'll always be grateful to Ms. T, my high school director and all-around mentor, for instilling in me the strict sense of ethics and honor regarding theater that she insisted upon. I think it has made me a better actor, a better member of any theater community, and a better person in general. For one thing, I understand that not being cast is not a personal rejection. Yes, it is a rejection, and that hurts every time, but it's not personal. Being so close to Ms. T, I knew that every time I wasn't cast or wasn't given a great part, it had nothing to do with her personal feelings for me. This is useful to me now, since in the context of student theater here at Tufts, I'm auditioning for people who I know, who are actually my friends and peers. I'm glad I don't mix personal feelings into casting. I know that these people like me, that I am accepted, whether they cast me or not. I'm not pushy, I'm not spoiled, and I take what I'm given--it's what I was taught.

That being said, I've auditioned four times this year so far. I've gotten two callbacks, which has been incredible. However, I haven't yet been cast. I'm okay with this--I knew when I decided to audition this semester rather than working as an ASM that it would be an uphill climb. I'm not the most talented actress at this school by far. I'm not always going to be right for a role, and even if I'm right for it, I often won't be the best person for it. However, there is one thing bothering me right now. I auditioned this week for the spring minor productions. The major production went up this week, so the people in it were allowed to audition for the minors. With very few exceptions, those people from the major make up the cast of the minor. As strongly as I believe that the best person for the role should be cast no matter what, I'm a little frustrated, since I thought that my chances might be better with all of the usual choices tied up. Instead, they are available, and they are cast.

I don't want to be bitter, or angry, or resentful. I like these people, and they are my friends. That being said...can't I get a break? I really thought I had a shot this time, and finding out that I was wrong hurts more than usual.

Waiting

Well, here I am again. I've had two auditions this week, for Passion by Steven Sondheim on Monday and for The Dining Room today, and tonight, the callback list for Passion and the cast list for The Dining Room will be posted. I'm actually experiencing a level of anxiety about this that I haven't felt for my last few auditions. It's probably the combination of both at once. I thought I wanted to write a post about theater here at Tufts, but now that I'm here, I just...don't want to do it right now. Hmmm. Well, suffice it to say that I'm very nervous and trying to keep my hopes down, as disappointment is the worst sting of all. It's not even failure, because I know I did my best, and it's out of my hands. I suppose part of it is rejection, but I'm fairly used to that by now. No matter how hard I try, I can't keep myself from imagining what would happen if I were to get cast. I try to quash those fantasies immediately, but I can't prevent them entirely. Then, when I don't get cast, I have to deal with the feeling of crushing disappointment, knowing those fantasies will never come true.

Ok, I'm getting a little too melancholy. I'm for bed, as I have a long day tomorrow.

Nothing Gold can Stay, But They Consider Beige a Reasonable Alternative

I'd like to take this opportunity to rhapsodize about one of my favorite topics--fashion. Olympus Fashion Week has come and gone, and with very few exceptions, I was left remarkably unimpressed. For one thing, the color palate was incredibly bland--we're talking beige, everywhere. I mean, I understand the whole "fall colors" concept, but would it have killed them to try for more bright greens and reds? I mean, give me a break! It brought to mind that Robert Frost poem:

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Thank God for Badgley Mischka, who I can always count on to brighten up my day:

I mean, look at that print! I'm a sucker for purple. Also for flowing, pleated chiffon. There were a couple other highlights for me. I love the sister team of Rodarte; they really have attention to detail down to an art, and I adore their floaty silhouettes:

I'm looking forward to the European shows, etc, to flesh out Fall 2006, since Olympus Fashion Week kind of failed me. However, sitting in my dorm room in Boston, with snow piled on the ground outside, Fall 2006 seems remarkably far away. So I'd like to look back at the shows for Spring 2006, which I definitely preferred, to say the least. Yes, the color palate was fairly bland then as well, but the boring beige was not yet universal. Let me start with the master, who almost never disappoints me:

Oscar de la Renta is incredible. I mean, just look at it! Perfection! The lines, the shape, the details! I can just picture myself in it at a snazzy luncheon.

I love a nice, full skirt. I myself am 5'10.5'' with a pretty classic hourglass figure, so I can't always pull off the full skirt, but I still love them. I marked this Balenciaga dress for the skirt alone, as it has no other redeeming qualities in my mind:

I mean, the top part? Immensely unflattering. But the skirt...Oh, the skirt... To be perfectly honest, there are a few details that I adore so much that I will ignore an outfit's other (sometimes major) shortcomings for the sake of that single detail. As I mentioned above, pleated, flowy chiffon is one of those. Observe this Alberta Ferretti dress, which I found marked in my lookbook for no reason that I could remember other than the chiffon:

I mean, ugh. Except, so cute! The chiffon! I can't resist! Another clincher for me is the little bow at the front. Burberry Prorsum's color palate is pretty much irredeemable for me--I would never, or could never, wear all of that olive and khaki--but they had bows on a lot of their clothes:

Now, here's Dolce and Gabbana doing something well:

Now, here's Dolce and Gabbana taking an idea way, way, way too far:

There are no words.

Poofy skirt. Enough said. Well played, Gaultier. Well played indeed.

I love the preppy stuff that Bottega Venetta did:

Now that is a skirt shape that I could rock.

Karl Lagerfield himself scares the shit out of me. (I'll let the brilliant Manolo sum up his opinion of Lagerfield, as he has a way with words I can only dream of.) However, I have to reluctantly admit that I like his treatment of the classic Chanel suit. I think it would be difficult, even for Lagerfield, to completely screw up such an iconic style (knock on wood).

However, this does not excuse his hideous Fall 2006 show for his new Lagerfield line. The devil, he has many forms.

Now I come to what was, for me, the highlight of the Spring 2006 shows: Valentino. I adored both the Ready to Wear and the Couture shows. Here are a few of my favorites:

Look at that print!

I don't love the neckline, but I do love THE SKIRT!

The last two were from the Couture collection. Let's read what Style.com has to say about that collection: "The fact that old-school technical wizardry still exists is something to be marveled over, of course. Whether the woman still exists who is cut out for such a genteel, highly wrought way of dressing—for wisteria polka dots, apricot silk, and cream suits—is another matter altogether. It all makes for a lovely spectacle, in a nostalgic way, but a bit of a frustrating one, too." Hey! Waving my hands wildly in the air. I'm right here! I'm cut out for it! Pick me! Pick me!

All right, that's it for me. Of course, there were other designers whose Spring 2006 collections I enjoyed. Elie Saab, Diane von Furstenburg, and Donna Karan, for example. I doubt I'll be wearing any of it while I trudge up the hill to class, but it does give me something to dream about and doodle during Greek and Roman Comedy.

Let me leave you with a quote from Coco Chanel:

"Fashion passes, style remains."

An Open Letter to My Roommate

What I'm about to write requires a little background information. My roommate, A, and I are not friends. It's not that we don't get along--I have no idea whether we would get along or not. You see, A doesn't speak to me. She never has. I have no idea why she decided not to speak to me. I suspect she made the decision when she received my response in the negative to her email asking me if I, too, am an evangelical Christian. A writes for the "journal of conservative thought" here at our school, which I will call "That Offensive Heap of Trash," or just Trash for short. You can imagine how thrilling that is for me.

The Vagina Monologues were performed here last weekend. My friend directed it, and I, along with most of my friends, saw it. I thought it was excellent--a very good production. I guessed that A was writing an article about the Vagina Monologues for Trash a couple weeks ago, when I saw some information about it on her desk. Since I doubt she was reading up on the Monologues for her own pleasure, I assumed she was writing an article criticizing them, and guess what? I was right. The article came out yesterday in the "Valentine's Day Edition" of Trash. I'd just like to write a letter to A here about her article, entitled "A Dissenting Feminist: V-Day at Tufts is a Vulgar Disgrace." I'm not even going to talk very much about the politics or beliefs involved in the argument. I'm just going to say a few things to her, one writer to another. Also, as an editor to a journalist. I'm using the title of journalist loosely.

First of all, I find it interesting that you didn't see the Vagina Monologues. I know perfectly well that you did not see it since you were out of town last weekend. When I write an article criticizing a performance such as this, I generally see the production before I start writing. Well, doubtless the repeated use of the word "vagina" was just too much for your sensitive ears. In addition, whenever I assigned a piece to a writer about something like this, I required them to see it. It's like writing a review of a movie based on the plot summary that you read online. It's just not good journalism. It's not even mediocre journalism. It's bad. Granted, you were criticizing the moral value of the show rather than the production value, but if you'd seen it, perhaps you would have understood some of the power inherent in the work. Also, you might not have claimed in your article that it "glorifi[es]...prostitution and child rape." It's called a minimal level of research. Look it up, and send whatever definition you find to your editor at Trash, because apparently, he hasn't heard of it either.

Next, you spent most of your article talking about the woman who the Tufts Republicans are bringing to speak against the Vagina Monologues. I realize that you feel obliged to plug for your group's events, but the amount of space that you spent summarizing this woman's opinions in her books is absolutely ridiculous. This is not a book review. The fact that about half of your article is a recap reveals that you couldn't fill that space with your own opinions. Not that I'm interested in reading that much of your opinions, but if your article wasn't long enough on its own, your editor should have axed it. Period. End of story.

Also, "...lines like, '[My vagina] was better than the Grand Canyon, ancient and full of grace...' do nothing but cheapen women and make them seem like whores in the eyes of the public"? Really?

I'm not going to get into the reasons that I support the Vagina Monologues, since the show's positive effects have been discussed elsewhere by people more qualified than I. However, for future reference, let me sum up the points of this letter (you understand summaries, I believe): See things before you review them. Don't summarize somebody else's opinions in an opinion piece. Get a life.