Essays

Creative nonfiction essays

Channel Your Ambition

One of the most interesting things I have discovered since losing my job is that TBS shows four back-to-back reruns of the television show Dawson's Creek every morning from 8am to noon. Today, unfortunately, there was a conflicting event: a "Women For Hire" job fair was held in downtown Boston. Being a woman for hire […]

Silver Balloons

In my search for employment, I overtalked, confessing to anyone who would listen that for six years I had been silent. I was proud of the length of my suffering.

Loose Lips Sink Ships

The classified ad in San Francisco's Bay Guardian was straight out of a doper's dream: Marijuana Research Subjects Wanted. Sure, why not?! In those days—late 1975—it seemed surprising that the U.S. government was still trying to figure out the physiological effects of cannabis, but if they were willing to pay folks to smoke their Mississippi-grown

The Wild, Wild West Side

Located in the basement of 20 W. 20th Street since 1965, West Side advertises itself as the “friendliest range in town.” It’s also the only range in town.

Life on Earth Deserves to be Lived in Vegas

I was sinning in the shower this morning, thinking about the six Tony nominations this past season for Arthur Miller's revival of The Crucible on Broadway. What is there about America that craves witch-hunts? Damned if I know. And I was wishing I was in Las Vegas, "the city that has re-discovered Sin," according to

Undecorated Dad

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day." --Henry V, iv, iii He considered going over to kill Hitler or Hirohito or somebody, but Uncle Sam had no boots or uniforms anywhere near his size. So they put him in Military Intelligence and sent

New Wave Knitters

Until recently, knitting only sparked my interest once before. I was six years old, stuffed on whole milk and liverwurst sandwiches, and waiting on my grandmother's couch for my mother to come pick me up. The room was shadowed with nightfall, blue with television (the evening news), and oppressively boring — the violent clicking of

Marching Towards Nelson

When I was running away from the army in Swaziland I came across Nelson Mandela's book, No Easy Walk to Freedom. It was a time when I had difficulty with any literature except pornography and Doris Lessing. All the devils of the military were on my tail and it was hard to concentrate. But I

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