Ironic that I should compose and publish that first post this morning after having picked up Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses last night. As is of course my way, I had no idea, at least not consciously, what I was getting into when I got into it. I was at Penn Station, my train was delayed, and I decided I really had to have a book at that very moment, even though I hate to spend the money when I know I can order it for a tenth of what it will cost at the book store. But there is some value in immediate satisfaction, so I went to the shelves and picked out what I wanted and proceeded up to the register to buy it. The guy took my charge card and casually reminisced about when he used to have to keep Rushdie's book hidden under the counter...I didn't get it, he tried to tell me about it, I still didn't really get it, but I nodded so as to seem less ignorant. I told him I remembered now...in fact, I probably have heard all about it before and have just folded- or perhaps more accurately, crumpled- up that piece of knowledge and tucked it away in some semi-conscious crevice in the strange labyrinth that is my brain...

But I did a little reading about Mr. Rushdie today in order to inform a more conscious and usable portion of my brain...

Talk about writing and words and ideas and consequences...

I think I may have more to say about this someday soon, or maybe just someday...