Monday, February 23, 2009


This week, we have another fictitious installment in my fictitious newspaper column.

In The Knew
Observations for the young and the young at heart
By S.T. Peterson


A long time ago in a gated community far, far away, a very plausible naked girl, on the advice of a very persuasive snake, partook of some mind-altering, modesty-enhancing fruit, in commemoration of which, to this day, apples are customarily made a tasty reminder to educators that they traffic in original sin.

I, for one, approve of Eve's taste in verboten vegetation. Were it not for her "bite heard 'round creation," you and I would probably be chilling in paradise right now, fucking each other. No thank you. I can have nudity, organic food and casual sex any Tuesday of the week. But there is one necessity paradise cannot provide: my newspaper column. Without it, I am just some pathetic no-newspaper-column-having loser. Like you. Unless you are Garrison Keillor. Hi Garrison!

Which brings me to the topic of today's column: Love. I get mail all the time, let me tell you, all the time, asking for advice on love. Whom to love. When to love them. When to stop loving them. And I have these answers. Oh yes, I do. What I do not have is time enough to tell you all each individually what the blind baby has in store. As a compromise, I am going to reveal the single most important secret in the Book of Love. I am violating a number of Non-Disclosure Agreements to bring you this wisdom so if anyone asks, you heard it from a snake.

Whoever you are, whatever the circumstance, no matter the details, the following Truth supersedes all else: there is one and only one true love of your life. That love is New York City. You may think some boy or girl means more to you than the Big Apple. You may even leave Manhattan and chase this person around the world, dreaming of happily-ever-afters. WRONG! You have stupidly forgot the Golden Rule: "I ♥ NY."

Rule #2: New York does not love you back. It is a harsh mistress. It will toy with, tease, and use you up only to leave your half-conscious ass on the mutherfucking F train to Queens in a puddle of unfamiliar vomit. And for this, you will love it all the more. You cannot escape. You cannot forget. You do, have always, and always will, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, 'till death do you die, love the Big Apple. And now you are...

In The Knew!