Author: Emily Carter

He didn’t want to strike me from the rolls,” says twenty-nine-year-old Becca Cillian of her father. “But he sort of had to … he was the bishop.” She’s a solidly built young woman with a wolf-like grin and curly hair that tumbles in an exuberant cascade down to her shoulders. The fact that her own…

My blood is just slightly tainted. I’ve never tried to hide my HIV-positive status, and I am, if anything, a little embarrassed by how useful I’ve found it. In my defense, one works with what is at hand—it’s not as if I sero-converted simply to get some good material. But then what? What can I…

Never mind those thin-lipped, controlling dog ladies with their utterly bizarre fashion sense. Alexander Vyatkin is the most serious trainer you are likely to come across in this overfed, underworked nation. He has no time or tolerance for people who let their dogs in the driver’s seat. Today for example, up at Red Star Kennel…

It’s become apparent that our little Metro Transit system isn’t exactly a municipal moneymaker. “Dismantle it!” come a hundred basso-profundo bellows from the radio’s right end. What good is it? It drains the city coffers, has no effect on congestion, and some are now claiming, in the wake of the bus strike, that crime actually…

My neighbor Venus is the front person for a band called All the Pretty Horses. He or she sports a lovely pair of partridge-sized breasts that peek out over a leather bustier, a talent for fearsome guitar licks, and a vocal apparatus that effortlessly blends the power of Diamanda Galas with the decadence of David…

The Fringe Festival arrives again, this year with more corporate sponsors than ever, and I’m feeling the same sense of anticipation and obligation. So many options, so much creativity, so many challenging theatrical experiences to seek out. As always, it’s the seeking that intimidates. Must I really drag my sporadically employed butt out of the…