Arriving in Nantucket was as charming as homemade apple pie. The airport looked more like a country club with a certain quaintness one never associates with the hustle and bustle of travel. Driving through the island, every house, coffee shop and dog salon was built in the same style, with smokey grey slates and white shutters. It was the WASPy dollhouse I always wished I had. Arriving at the Dreamland Theater I picked up my press badge, which read “Mebecca Beckport”— close enough. I had made it. That’s what mattered.