In 2005, I received a stack of found, hand-written letters between two (stupid?) young women and their (long-suffering?) landlord. That gift would send me on a fifteen-year search for the truth. It was a comedic investigation that demanded some pretty complex interrogation: Who owns a story? How honest is our nostalgia? What does it mean to be a difficult woman? How do we engage in sexism and patriarchal gender roles? And, of course, does gas smell like avocados? And are allegations made by alligators?
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In 2005, I received a stack of found, hand-written letters between two (stupid?) young women and their (long-suffering?) landlord. That gift would send me on a fifteen-year search for the truth. It was a comedic investigation that demanded some pretty complex interrogation: Who owns a story? How honest is our nostalgia? What does it mean to be a difficult woman? How do we engage in sexism and patriarchal gender roles? And, of course, does gas smell like avocados? And are allegations made by alligators?
WARNING: This contains mild general spoilers about the scope of the Karen & Ellen Letters story. We talk around how the investigation ends, without giving away exact or detailed information.
Charlie Worroll (Crimelines; Crimelines and Consequences) has history with The Karen & Ellen Letters going back to its days as a blog (c. 2012). Years later, we met through podcasting. In the inaugural Karen & Ellen Conversations, we discuss how the letters have changed and how we have changed over time, propriety in storytelling, ethics in found and historical documents, social blunders, being stupid teenagers, and how Karen & Ellen is so much more than just letters.
Tidbits: Charlie embarrasses herself in a train car in Seattle. Why Josh stopped using video for the original After Shows.
This is a Studio BOTH/AND production: www.truecrimebullshit.com / www.bothand.fyi For an ad-free experience: www.patreon.com/studiobothand
The Karen & Ellen Letters
In 2005, I received a stack of found, hand-written letters between two (stupid?) young women and their (long-suffering?) landlord. That gift would send me on a fifteen-year search for the truth. It was a comedic investigation that demanded some pretty complex interrogation: Who owns a story? How honest is our nostalgia? What does it mean to be a difficult woman? How do we engage in sexism and patriarchal gender roles? And, of course, does gas smell like avocados? And are allegations made by alligators?
