Angler Fish Pumpkin!

Hello, Victoria!
A lot has happened to me since we last spoke.
But first thing's first: here's a video I took this morning.

The weather is certainly everything I was promised it would be...

A few exciting things have happened over the last few weeks.

It was halloween. Which, as we all know, means pumpkin carving.

My roommate and I only had one big pumpkin and a couple teeny tiny pumpkins, so we decided to figure out a combined project that we'd both like. I'd never actually carved a pumpkin before, so I was pretty proud of my work. 

And by the end we had ourselves a pumpkin angler fish. Because we're just cool like that. 

Angler Fish side view so you can see the mutilated hanger that holds up its light.

Angler Fish in the dark. Nemo doesn't stand a chance. 

The actual day of halloween was fun because our production of Souvenir opened so we got to go to the opening and reception in costume. So in addition to standing out for being the youngest people there, we also stood out for being dressed up like penguins and mobsters and Ursula from the Little Mermaid. It was a good night. 

Also, President Obama came to Portland and spoke a few blocks from my apartment which meant traffic was shut down and there were crowds of people lined up for blocks. I didn't get to see him speak, but I did get to see high quality protest signs like this one:

Yeah. There's a winner.

There was also someone there whose sign said "Impeach Cheney/Bush" which kind of seemed lazy to me. If you're going to criticize you might as well make new criticisms for each president. I mean, It's been six years. You didn't have time to make a new sign over the last six years? 

All in all it's been an action-packed couple of weeks. 

Talk to you later!

Emily

Deadly Prank

Dear Emily,

The other day an English teacher was asking me about Halloween traditions like trick or treating, bobbing for apples, etc.

I told her that candy corn and caramel apples were a huge thing.

And then I told her about a funny prank where a bunch of people are given caramel apples, and one of them is actually an onion.

Then I realized that if you were given a caramel onion, you would probably die.


Thinking of you.

Love,
Victoria.

PS: Better and bigger things to come, promise.

Why you Hate the Sound of your Own Voice

Greetings Victoria,

First, I want to tell you that I loved your apartment tour and, despite the multiple murders you seemed to have committed since you've been there, I'm glad you're having a good time back in Spain.

Now that Brighton Beach Memoirs has opened I'm back in the office. It's... not very eventful. Mostly I read some and then I write some and then I edit some and then I read some more. But every once in a while something I'm reading is actually pretty interesting. I decided to share one of those things with you today.

Our next show this season is Souvenir by Stephen Temperley. Basically it's about Florence Foster Jenkins who has gone down in history as the worst singer to ever be super famous and perform at Carnegie Hall.

This Chick.

She was so bad that it became a social event to go watch her perform and laugh hysterically into a handkerchief so she wouldn't find out how terrible she was. So one of the things I was researching was why our voices sound different inside of our heads than they do to those around us. 

For example, I might think my voice sounds like this:

When everyone else thinks it sounds like this:

And that can be a rude awakening when you hear a recording of your voice. As it turns out from my ample research, the difference is caused by the added vibration of your skull, which increases the depth and fullness because it is large and vibrates slowly. 

That's right, your skull has a sexy Morgan Freeman voice when your actual vocal chords talk like Truman Capote*. 

The moral of the story is: let your head do the talking, it'll work out better in the end. 

On another note, last wednesday, both of the girls who were supposed to play Laurie in Brighton Beach couldn't be there (one was sick and the other lived two hours away and couldn't get there in time to cover the show) so I got a terror-inducing call from the stage manager telling me that I had to go on twenty minutes before curtain. 

They managed to scare up a costume from storage and disguise a copy of the script and throw me out on stage. Supposedly the follow-spot op managed to get a picture, but I don't have it. I imagine it looked something like this, though. 

My eyes will haunt your dreams.

The horror-movie sequel to Brighton Beach is where the Jerome family discovers that Laurie isn't 12, she's actually a 23-year-old woman who intends to kill them in their sleep. It's call Biloxi Blues. Look it up. But don't watch it alone at night. 

And that's about all I got. 

Oh, except that I'm starting a new thing on this blog that everyone should be very excited about (but especially Karina and Hallie.) It should be arriving in the mail soonish, so keep an eye out and be sure to let us know when it gets there. Seriously it's going to be really cool. 

Onwards and upwards!

Emily

*Disclaimer: I have nothing against Truman Capote. In Cold Blood changed my life in high school. Without that book I would have totally discounted professional murderer from my career possibilities, and look where I am today.

My Spanish Apartment

Dear Emily,

I have successfully conquered the jet lag and settled nicely into my Spanish apartment! I've been going pretty non-stop since my arrival, but I finally had time to film a tour of my apartment for you!

I have new roommates, and I don't know that they can ever live up to your legacy, especially since we don't have an oven, but they don't leave tuna pizza out overnight and then eat it the next evening. So basically, so far so good.

Warning: This footage was taken on a 2012 Sony Cybershot with very little effort, so if you get seasick easily, proceed with caution. I'm looking at you, Emily's dad.

(I hope you appreciate that this video took about three hours to upload on my pathetic Spanish internet...)

Every new apartment deserves a good housewarming, so I threw one at our new place on Friday night! I invited some of my friends from last year and all the new auxiliars I've met so far, and my roommates invited some of the other Erasmus (study abroad) students from the university.

It doubled as a birthday party for Noémie, the new French auxiliar at my school this year, so we also had cake and sang happy birthday many times throughout the night.

We ended up having about 25 people in one tiny living room and pretty early on there was standing room only. I live on the third floor and a couple of guys who came late said that from the street, it sounded like hundreds of people... Oops...
But we all left the apartment by midnight, so it was no problem.

My street is called Gran Capitán, which I was pretty excited about because it sounds legit.

...And then one of my co-workers told me that a few decades ago, it was the street "dedicated to the oldest profession in the world."

Then another co-worker said, "Not decades, darling. Maybe ten years or so."

So in honor of historical accuracy, we are naming the new apt 'The Bordello'.

Here is our family photo:

Wednesday (when I filmed the video) was my first "official" day of work, but I didn't really do much and there was a meeting for all the auxiliars in a pueblo called Almonte on Thurs, so I really start classes this week! Wish me luck!

Besos,
Victoria

Apartment Tour: Transcontinental Style

Dear Victoria,

As you journey back to your exotic adopted home and navigate your internet issues, I've decided to occupy our time by posting a virtual tour of my apartment. Since I haven't been able to get my computer to move into the 21st century I thought it might be nice for some of you to get to see where I live. 

Warning: This footage was taken on a 2006 Nikon Coolpix with very little effort, so if you get seasick easily proceed with caution. I'm looking at you, dad. 

Onwards and upwards!
Emily
p.s. As soon as you're settled give me your address. I have a challenge in mind that requires something to be sent through the mail.

Almost to Tech Week and Other Silly Accomplishments

Dear Victoria,

I have made it to tech week.
Almost.
Technically (see what I did there? Technically?) tech week starts on Friday and it is currently Tuesday. But, since I have just begun the calendar week that is part of tech week, I'm going to go ahead and count it.

Come to think of it, I've only been here about three weeks, and already I've done a lot of things that, while I would never have celebrated doing them at home, are actually huge accomplishments when coming to a new place. Here's a list of some of the non-accomplishments that I am proud of:

1. I moved in.
I don't mean that I brought my suitcases in and sort of managed to function by living on top of the apartment, I mean I moved in. My clothes are in drawers. My desk is arranged, not how I want it to look if I'm having a skype interview with that magazine Martha Stewart runs, but in a way that is useful and practical and I'm not afraid of messing up.

2. I've cleaned.
I don't know whether you remember, but when you and I left our last apartment, we scoured the place. Granted, that was mostly out of fear of our crazy landlady, but I also thought it was just nice for whoever was going to live there next not to be walking on a carpet that is covered with our hair. Whoever lived in this apartment before me did not have that same sense of courtesy. The first time I walked through the kitchen barefoot, the bottoms of my feet turned black. But Julianne and I scrubbed it, and now I feel comfortable observing the five second rule like a normal person.

3. I did laundry.
Speaking as a recent college grad, I know that laundry can be a trial for many people. It's easy to keep going until you run out of underwear. By the time that happens (depending on the amount of underwear you have) you can have a mountain of dirty clothes that will take all day and a small fortune to cycle through. This unwillingness to launder clothes before it is absolutely necessary is exacerbated by moving to a new place. Especially here, instead of quarters, there's a confusing card system where you have to recharge it with cash. I mean, if you're going to accept cards, why not just accept regular credit or debit cards? Why does it have to be a laundry-specific credit card? How much sense does that make?

4. I know where stuff is.
I've been grocery shopping. I found the mall. I know where the bank is. I've walked through downtown enough to have a pretty good idea how to find what I need, even if it requires a bit of wandering to get there. I am, if not confident, at least capable of getting around Portland.

5. I turned on my oven. And toaster. And microwave. And the shower. And pretty much everything. But not at the same time. That would be stupid. It's always an adventure using that stuff for the first time since you never know what's going to happen. The toaster oven was smelly, and we still haven't figured out how to set the clock on the microwave, but otherwise it all went down without incident.

So those are my silly accomplishments over the last few weeks. For all of those reading this (That's realistically Victoria, my mom, and maybe Erika) I would invite you to take a moment and celebrate your silly accomplishments this week. Did you plan ahead and buy something you weren't quite out of? Get something out of the way that you were dreading? Take a shower before your 8am class? Go ahead, feel good about yourself. You earned it.

And then get back to work because your clothes are just going to get dirty again.

Onward and upward!
Emily

THE FOLLOWING BLOG IS A LIE!

Dear Victoria,

Okay, so it isn't a lie per se. It all happened to me, it just isn't the sort of thing that I would have written down with the express purpose of sending to you. Since this blog is supposed to be us writing letters back and forth, it seems dishonest to publish it here. But, I have been forced under penalty of being slightly-less-apreciated to write the following to be posted on the Portland Stage intern blog and I'm certainly not writing two separate blog entries tonight. Nothing could be worth that. (Incidentally, I just misspelled "worth" as "wroth" and there wasn't a squiggly red line underneath. I just looked it up and it's totally a word. It means angry. The example sentence on google is "Sir Leicester is majestically wroth." Using it.)

Now onto the actual blog post:

Hello and welcome to Portland Stage’s 41^st season! With so much happening as we prepare for our first production, Brighton Beach Memoirs, it’s easy to forget that the intern company has only been in town for two weeks. Already I’ve come to regard the theater as a sort of second home, as I spend nearly as much time there as I do in my apartment.

As the Directing and Dramaturgy intern assigned to the first production, I’ve jumped headfirst into the rehearsal process, both aiding the cast and director in the rehearsal room, and contributing to the written Playnotes guide that can help the audience get to know a little more about the play. As you can imagine, these dual roles have kept me plenty busy. As a dramaturg I’ve had the chance to learn all I can about the world of 1937 Brooklyn so that I am well equipped to answer any questions the actors might have about the time and culture. Some of what I’ve found out has been fun and unexpected, and I thought I’d share the three most interesting pieces of information I’ve learned while working on the show.

• ·      The inflation from the Great Depression to the present was more than you think it was. Whatever your guess is, double it. You could rent a three bedroom apartment for only $30 a month and gas was twenty cents a gallon. Of course, a full-time salary could be as little as $15 a week, so it’s all relative. 
• ·      Families who couldn’t afford to pay rent often snuck out of their apartments on the last day of the month carrying everything they owned. They would then find a new apartment, and repeat the cycle 30 days later.
• ·      Many families had recently purchased cars shortly before the depression started. Once they could no longer afford gas, they stripped the car of its heavy engine and strapped it to the family horse or mule.

Part of why I enjoy the role of dramaturg so much is because I get to learn facts like that about so many completely different settings. In a few months, when I go into production for The Whipping Man, I’ll get to do it all over again, except about the culture and history of Jewish, Southern slaveholders immediately following the Civil War.

I’ve been having a rollicking time as the Assistant Director as well. Probably the most unexpected turn so far was when I was asked to stand in for the two young ladies sharing the role of Laurie in the mornings while they’re at school. It just goes to show that an Assistant Director does whatever the show demands of her, even if that means embarrassing herself trying to act alongside the phenomenal talent that makes up the Brighton Beach cast.

Well, orientation is over, and the season has begun. As Brighton Beach’s hero, Eugene would say, “Onwards and upwards!”

...Did I sound professional? I was going for smart but not so smart that you don't want to be friends with me, which was also my goal through all of college. And if you're wondering why I used the "er" spelling of theatre when you know I prefer the "re" it's because that's how Portland Stage makes you do it. How disgustingly American of them. I should rebel. Although, in the context of the above blog, it's referencing the building rather than the collective art form, so it's technically supposed to be "er" anyway. That's the rule, right? 

Two weeks to Spain!

Emily

Maine for Realz or Our Digital Dependency

Dear Victoria,
I want to begin this letter with an apology. When we were first discussing the idea of maintaining an epistolary blog this year, my immediate reaction was to impose a timeline. It was my idea that we would each be obligated to write at least once a week, and more often if events encouraged it. However, I, so early in our exploits, have violated that. But I would like you to know that I have a very good reason for it.
As you may know, I have recently moved into my new apartment in Maine. The apartment itself is enormous, and much nicer than Alex's, (her words, not mine, although I certainly agree with the sentiment.) Of course this has been tremendous fun for all involved, and between cleaning the apartment and getting all of my preliminary dramaturgical work done for our first production, I have certainly had my hands full. But that's not why I haven't posted.

I didn't have the internet.

Actually, I still don't. I'm at a Starbucks right now. It's like I never left Seattle.  I'm kind of embarrassed to admit that during my first weekend in such a wonderful little city I'm choosing to sit in a chain coffee shop, but the first two cute, independent places I passed weren't open on Sunday and, as previously stated, I don't have any means of looking up where to go.
Still, there's something strangely comforting about spending time in a place that is such a tremendously known quantity. I know that if I go to Starbucks it may be the clinical definition of mediocre, but it is consistently and air-conditionedly mediocre. There are also chairs and wifi, and this morning that was really what I needed.
Up until now I've always considered myself to be one of the less internet-dependent members of my generation, but being without it for a week has shown me just how much I really do use it for. Since I don't own a smart phone, I use my computer to look up directions, which is especially relevant immediately after moving to a new city, since I don't even know how to get to the grocery store yet. My entire recipe book equivalent is a list of urls that lead me to various food blogs.
Perhaps most uncomfortable since beginning my new job is that I cannot do any internet research from my apartment, which means that I spend a lot more time planning ahead and looking up facts at work, and then doing more of the writing and editing around those facts at home.
I've also started getting the shakes and these massive pounding headaches in the evenings. It's not that I need the internet. If I could just get a taste, you know? Just one cute cat v

I'm not even making this up, but halfway through writing that sentence the Starbucks I'm in lost internet. This is getting real, y'all.

Okay, I managed to connect to the wifi that is inexplicably supplied to the park across the street. A field of uninhabited grass has internet and I don't. I'm lower on the technological totem pole than a ground covering. But the joke's on it because grass can't own a laptop. Suck it, empty park.

I may have a problem.

Major props go to my roommate, Julianne, who's been letting me borrow her phone in the evenings to check my email and look stuff up.
Speaking of Julianne, the time has come for me to revisit that list of good roommate criteria I made all those weeks ago.
In case you forgot, this was the list:

1. You have a netflix account.

2. You'll eat anything that I cook for you and act like it's the greatest thing anyone's ever cooked ever. 

3. You joke with me over the summer about how we should build a blanket fort in our apartment. You then proceed to bring a stack of sheets adorned with various cartoon characters with you to college.

4. You actually build a blanket fort with me. 

5. You care about the things I care about to the degree that I care about them, or at least close enough that we make it work.

I will now address these points one by one and then give her a rank accordingly. 

1. As you might imagine, this has been a bit of a sore subject for us so we haven't actually discussed it yet. As a result, I'm forced to give Julianne a preliminary score of "0". 

2. I haven't cooked anything specifically designed for sharing yet, but things are looking good. Last week she gave me a tremendous amount of praise when I added gardenburger and veggies to my Annie's mac and cheese. I plan to make muffins this afternoon to confirm this, but as of right now my best guess is a "9".

3. We could totally do this. We have a giant living room and a bunch of random extra furniture. I'm going to suggest it to her when I get home. I'll give her a hopeful "8". 

4. This has yet to be seen, but I wouldn't rule it out. "5".

5. This is where Julianne really shines. We spent our Friday night deep cleaning our kitchen floor... I don't even know that you would have done that with me. "10". 

So now, if I remember my maths correctly, to find an average I just have to take every number and multiply it by 100. That gives me a percentage which I can divide by ten, then I just add all the numbers together and divide by 50 because there are 50 states in the union, discounting Puerto Rico. 

Math was never my strength.

Okay, with a zero in the netflix category she gets a combined average of 6.4 out of 10. A solid "D", which incidentally would be a great nickname for my poops. 

But I digress. 

Ignoring the netflix category entirely she gets an 8, which sounds much more accurate. 

Keep in mind that when we first started living together you wouldn't eat fish, so you only scored a 7.3.

Oh, and for those of you who get this reference, she does not love dolphins. I repeat: No dolphin teeshirts are worn by her. 

I honestly can't wait until she discovers this blog and realizes I'm a crazy person. I'll know she's read it if she starts locking her door at night. 

I should probably just go ahead and post this before the field realizes it should set a password. 

Talk to you later,

Emily

If I Never Find Love...

Dear Emily,

I greatly enjoyed your last letter and refuse to think about how we grow farther and farther apart with each passing hour. Physical distance, of course; our psychic connection continues to grow stronger each and every day. Your left foot just felt a little itchy, but now that I've pointed it out, you're trying really hard not to scratch it.

As soon as you mentioned all the weird banks in that fake town, I thought, "THE TRUMAN SHOW!!" and was already formulating a response in my head. I'm sure you can imagine the pure glee I felt when I continued to read your development of everything I was thinking and more.

Remember that one time we were talking about The Truman Show and then "fake" checked our apartment for cameras?

Here's a picture of my cat. (See figure c.at_3)

figure c.at_3

I'm not going back to Spain until September 22nd, so I've got a little over a month here in Gresham/Portland before my life gets objectively interesting again.

As a placeholder for interesting international stories, here are 7 funny/random things that have happened, are happening, or will happen to me recently, currently, and futurely.


1)  While I was waiting at a MAX stop to go to Portland, a old bald guy with glasses (who looked quite a bit like actor Joe Pantoliano, but with less hair) stepped considerably into my space bubble and said, "If I gave you my name and number, would you like to go out sometime?"

I looked up from my new smartphone, which I still have no idea how to use, and said, "Um. No. Sorry."
And he said, "Ok," and walked away.

If I never find love, this may be the moment I always look back on and ask myself, 'what if...?'



2)  I got my very first smartphone ever and I have never felt less intelligent.
Although I haven't had much time to play around with it yet, you'll be proud to know I figured out how to place a telephone call all by myself.



3)  My little brother's computer got a bunch of malware on it and pretty much stopped working. After spending a considerable amount of time on it, I fixed it without having to reformat the entire thing and celebrated by using it to listen to the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack on YouTube.



4)  I saw Guardians of the Galaxy and it's the only movie I've ever gone to see twice in theatres. Given, the first time I went on $5 Tuesday, and the second time had a free pass... But still.

I'm just sayin', if Chris Pratt came up to me at a MAX stop, I'd be telling a different story. (See Image _beautiful.7)

Image _beautiful.7

5)  My friend Alex and I went on a short trip up to Seattle to visit a friend, and right before we got on the freeway on our way home, his brakes went out. We were able to pull over pretty quickly and he took off the tire and bled the brakes to get them to work again, but during the almost two hours that we were pulled over on a very busy street corner with the hood up and the right rear tire off, not one single person offered to help us!

When Alex left to go to a hardware store to buy a specific wrench he needed, I figured maybe someone would stop and offer to help if they saw a young woman in distress, standing by herself next to an obviously out of commission car. Actually... I just wanted it to happen because it would be a funny story to tell.

Nothing.

A police officer came by on a segway, glanced briefly at the tire on the ground, and rolled right on by. Seattle lost points on that one.

I bet Chris Pratt would have stopped.



6)  Also on the MAX, a sixteen-year-old boy tried to impress his friends by hitting on me.

I gave him the death stare until he giggled nervously and avoided eye contact for the rest of the ride.



7)  I'm currently searching for a new pet rock.
Her name is Edna.
She can't just be any old rock, I'll know her when I see her.



There's a tiny spider named Ricardo chillin' in the corner by my bed. He hasn't moved in three days, but I don't think he's dead.

I'll just leave you with this:

PS: Remember how you said you'd be writing for SNL in the future? Apparently I'm more suited for Buzzfeed.

Madison, WI Doesn't Exist (And I Can Prove It.)

Dear Victoria,
I've passed the halfway point between Seattle and Maine, traveling through eight states in three days. I have seen such wonders as the boyhood home of Meredith Willson, lyricist of The Music Man, and a vending machine outside of a Walmart in Iowa that systematically distributes off-brand sugary beverages when water is requested. It would have been a fun allegory for what's wrong with middle America if I hadn't been so thirsty.

But it hasn't all been fun and games. We've had our scary moments too, like when we found the spider you'll see pictured in Figure 8. I tried to get my mom to put her hand next to it for a size comparison, but she wouldn't put it close enough so you can blame her for the awkward fingers in the foreground. Since her hand is actually several inches off the wall it makes the spider appear smaller than it actually was. Trust me. It was huge.

Figure 8, as in a spider almost 8 me.

But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about today. I wanted to let you know that I've arrived in the first fictional town of my journey. Actually that's not true because Meredith Willson's boyhood home contained a replica of River City Iowa, but this is the first fictional town that bothered to try and fool everybody. I am in Madison, Wisconsin, which I've discovered does not actually exist. 

I only have one piece of evidence for this, but I think you'll find it compelling.

My mom went to college at the University of Wisconsin, Madison and hasn't visited once in the intervening decades. We spent the evening walking around town and I started noticing a pattern. A disturbing, disconcerting pattern. 

There are no bank chains. No bank of America, no Wells Fargo, no Chase. Instead they have Wisconsin Bank and Trust, Wisconsin Community Bank, and Mid America Bank. At first I figured it was a regional thing. After all, the odds that I would encounter such geographically specific establishments, having never previously been to the Midwest, are negligible. 

Then it got weirder. 

Johnson Bank, Capitol Bank, Associated Bank.

Bank Mutual. 

Just let that sink in for a minute. Keep in mind, I did not seek these out, nor do I pay any special attention to bank names as a rule. 

Being a 90's baby, The Truman Show came into my life while I was still at a profoundly impressionable age. As a result, I have always been on the lookout for signs that elements of my life have been constructed for the entertainment of others. It has become clear to me that Madison, Wisconsin has been created as a television set in order to film a long-form documentary on one specific individual for the span on his entire life. No actual banks agreed to sponsor the project, meaning that they had to fabricate generic bank names for copyright reasons. 

My logic is sound. 

Seriously, though. Bank Mutual? I bet the Mayor of Madison uses his Bank Mutual Card to buy Let's Potato Chips before his flight on Oceanic Airlines. Figure 2 is the Mayor of Madison. You try to tell me that he doesn't look way more like a documentary filmmaker than a mayor. 

Figure 2 as in "I wonder how long I will have 2 live this fiction."

Well, that's it for now. Remind me when you go back to Spain. Wisconsin/Gresham is not what our adoring readers signed up for. 

For now I'll leave you with this image of the breakfast menu left in my room at a Best Western that got a little too big for its britches. 

Really? I can have my choice of any kind of milk in my five dollar cereal? Seriously? How do I warrant such luxury? 

I am Tina Fey

Dear Victoria,

Leaving town by car is a strange thing. A flight seems formal and final and definitive. But, at eight this morning when I was sitting in Seattle traffic ten minutes from my house, it was difficult to register the fact that, although I was geographically so close, I wouldn't see my dog again for several months. With a face like he has I'm surprised I ever leave the house. See Figure Toby for an idea of what I'm talking about.

Figure Toby

Yes, that entire first paragraph was a longwinded excuse to brag about what a cute dog I have. What can I say? Doting grandmother runs in my veins. 

But you didn't start this blog so I could backdoor brag about Toby, you started it so we could write profound, informative, riveting letters to one another on a public forum. Your last post, for instance, had me absolutely enthralled. Seriously, it was a masterpiece. You've ruined me for all other written correspondence because now my expectations are just too high. I'll try my best to live up to your standards. 

In that ilk I'm now going to write about something profoundly vital to both of our lives: Tina Fey.

I spent the day driving all of my worldly possessions from Seattle to Butte, Montana. I chose this location for the night both because of its convenient position nine hours from my starting point, and because the name makes me giggle. During those nine hours I listened to the entirety of Tina Fey's self-narrated audiobook, Bossypants. 

A few things struck me about it. The first you'll think is really funny but it involves something embarrassing about both of us so remind me and I'll tell you about it later by less public means. 

The second is the fact that shortly after graduating from school she applied for several entry-level jobs including one as a box office worker at a Chicago theatre. She went to the interview and everything was going well until the interviewer said something along the lines of "we like to think ours is the most innovative theatre in Chicago" to which the hilarious Fey replied "well, I like to think I'm the most beautiful woman in the world." She did not get the job.

Anyway, this reminded me of a moment from my job interview at a day care. I was describing an obstacle I had to overcome while working at a children's theatre. I talked about parents complaining when their children were not given the leading role in the play and how it was tough to navigate those conversations because every parent thinks their kid is a star. At this my interviewer's face completely dropped and she replied, utterly aghast, "they all are stars."I promptly back-peddled, insisted what I meant was that they just can't all have the lead, and managed to get the job anyway. 

The moral of the story is that this time next year I'll probably be writing for SNL.

Good Intentions

Dear Emily,

Sorry for showing you Cookie Clicker.

Love,

Victoria

A Brief History of Elephant Crushing

Dear Victoria,
Hello! Thank you for your warm introduction and the brief exposition you included, which allowed me to better recall where our friendship currently stands. I'm sure it helped the folks at home, too. That's right, I know you're reading this. See that fourth wall? I break those for dinner.

Since I will soon be setting out on my epic trek across this fine country of ours, I am currently buried under a pile of my own materialism. This is not a figurative statement. This is literally true. And I mean literally as in actually literally, not literally as in figuratively. I'm talking true, true. Like happening in the real world. (Side note: I wish people would stop abusing that word so I wouldn't have to qualify it so much. It's common courtesy.)

In the interest of building trust between our two blog entries, I've included a photo as evidence (See figure 3.14)

Figure 3.14

Please note the look of terror on my face as the weight of the stuff I have yet to deal with slowly crushes my ribs, a process that will presumably lead to my eventual suffocation. The risk of my imminent demise has proven to be a moderately effective incentive to speed up the packing process. 

Side note: Did you know that one of the most popular methods of capital punishment in India and Asia up to the 19th century was via elephant stomping? (See figure 28.38).

Figure 28.38

The things you learn when googling "crushing to death" for a blog entry. Amiright? If there was ever a time and place to be executed, I'm thinking that's it. I mean, I'm sure it hurts and all, but there are worse ways to go. Your heart may be popping like a cherry tomato, but you've got an elephant trunk cradling your leg.

But back to things we care about--

I find that as I prepare to begin my new life at Portland Stage, my greatest anxiety is surrounding having a brand new roommate for the first time in three years. In case you've forgotten, here are the things that make you an exceptional roommate:

1. You have a netflix account.

2. You'll eat anything that I cook for you and act like it's the greatest thing anyone's ever cooked ever. 

3. You joke with me over the summer about how we should build a blanket fort in our apartment. You then proceed to bring a stack of sheets adorned with various cartoon characters with you to college.

4. You actually build a blanket fort with me. 

5. You care about the things I care about to the degree that I care about them, or at least close enough that we make it work.

You're also a great person or whatever, but I consider the above list to be the important ones. Let's call them the Big Five.

Upon meeting my new roommate I will repost this list with detailed explanations of how exactly she fails at living up to your standard. (Side note: Julianne, if you're reading this, just remember that I wrote it before I met you and I hope by this time you've discovered that my good-natured, humorous insults are just part of my charm. If not, let me know and I'll bake you cookies to make up for it.)

I am so pleased that our places of residence are aurally appealing so that we can be friends again. If any readers are planning to move to Bahrain, Ukraine or Great Britain (and you have some sort of weird accent that causes you to pronounce it with an "ane" sound) then feel free to join in the rhyming fun.

Golden out.

And so it Begins...

Dearest Emily,

In case you need some quick exposition on where our friendship currently stands, we were once the most epic roommates on the face of the planet who accomplished many an adventure in our time, including but not limited to: thriving for an entire year in an apartment with no furniture, marathoning several notable TV shows during our regularly scheduled dinner time, super-couponing for about three weeks, figuring out how to rename our WIFI 'Gryffindor', and building a suspension blanket fort in our living room using only yarn, safety pins, and a pole from the closet (see Figure 1.2).

Figure 1.2

See? Look how cute we were:

@intheblanketfort

Everyone knows that apple juice tastes sweetest when consumed in a blanket fort.

Also, in case you are suffering from a case of temporary amnesia, I am soon returning to my job in Spain, where I teach bilingual courses to young adults aged 12-18, and you will be traveling to Maine where you will be a kickass directing/dramaturgical intern at Portland Stage, directing and dramaturging like no other.

[Sidenote: I hope you don't really have amnesia.]

It has come to my attention that we were very lukewarm penpals last year. Mostly because I wrote you a postcard and then took five months to buy stamps.

That is probably because Seattle/Spain just doesn't have the same ring to it, so our correspondence was naturally strained. Now that you and I are going to be living in Maine/Spain respectively, a public record of our letters to one another is clearly a must.

[Sidenote: I know you don't really have amnesia. I was just providing some casual and completely natural exposition for our guests.]

One of the funny things about writing this to you is that I know Erika is totally going to want credit for coming up with this idea, but I'm not going to give it to her. So HA.

I can't wait to tell you about random happenings in Spain and greatly look forward to hearing about your hilarious mishaps in the mysterious land of Maine in our next episode of Maine/Spain.

I don't think we're in the Pacific Northwest anymore, Toto.

[Sidenote: That was a reference. I know your name isn't really Toto.]

Love, Victoria