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A Very Special April Column
Erik Seadale

 

Something is definitely in the air, and even a grumpy, crusty old columnist who professes to prefer fall any other season has to admit to a certain spring in his step as he saunters out and about in the Village. But enough tip-toeing excuses, let me be blunt: this is a quicky column. I want to finish up and get out of here.

So rather than bore my gentle readers with any searing insights into the black hole that is our collective soul, I will merely present a few random, quickly written, and just as quickly forgotten, musings. Other columnists call these columns, "notes on the passing scene," or some such horse-shit.

Some people pick their noses with more care than they do their friends.

Not everything is going down hill these days--dogs are a lot smarter than when I was a kid.

"The guest who brings beer is more welcome than the guest who does not."—me.

Mini-skirts or hot pants are not ½ as sexy as those long skirts with the long slits.

Contrary to what your teachers told you, there is such a thing as a stupid question; they’d just rather lie than crush your confidence.

If you go out with someone you don’t care about, you don’t have to worry about getting hurt when you’re dumped.

People and politicians like to "get tough" with problems they’ve had no personal experience with.

The other day, I saw a guy with a stud that looked like a silver booger in his nose.

If you don’t do something you like because it’s pretentious--you’re pretentious.

Be wary of people who say they’re honest and don’t play games; they’re invariably self-absorbed and deluded. And if someone says "I don’t hold grudges"—run.

Why can’t someone invent a decent diaper for monkeys?

Known liars make the best company.

Lately I’ve been meeting a lot of people who are wacky and crazy on the outside and deeply conventional on the inside.

Why are weathermen so gosh-darn entertaining these days?

How come needy people never hook up with other needy people?

If I owned a talking parrot, I’d teach him to keep his goddamn beak shut.

Well that’s it for this month. I hope you’ve learned a thing or two; I know I have <huh? --editor’s note> .  

A Few Words on the Title

The name "Silent City" has no particular connection to the contents of the column. The name simply popped into my head one night and I knew immediately it was the right name. I thought it sounded cool, and it also reminded me of a description of an eerie, ancient Egyptian necropolis as written by a writer of old school pulp fiction (doubly cool). But, as is so often the case, I felt I needed justification for what I had done after the fact. Why name it "Silent City"? Well, maybe the idea is to create a voice for those in the city whose voices are unheard, silent even? No, I certainly wouldn’t trust anyone who made that lofty a claim, and I am generous enough to concede that city’s press is already diverse enough to cover a wide range of views. Perhaps the title is not merely an ironic name for New York, but actually a metaphor for the individual who, within herself, contains a multitude of silenced voices (imagine a quiet schizophrenic). Readers will doubtless recall the Biblical demon who when asked to identify himself said "my name is Legion: for we are many."

Finally I came to my senses and realized that a name is a name is a name; it’s a nice sounding title and I’m leaving it at that.

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