When my friend Chuck asked me if I wanted to go hear “Solomon Rushdie” I hesitated the briefest moment out of literary shame. Not for Chuck’s hacking of Mr. Rushdie’s name, but because I have never read any of his ahem, “work.”
I have tried, believe me. You can’t get more than two English Majors together without someone claiming his work to be the sub-continental expression of Marquez. At the least it is known to be provocative and compelling, or whatever. That and a buck fifty gets you a bag of donuts.
Still, a chance to get the lint roller out and clean the cat hair off the black turtleneck sounds like fun, especially with all of this highbrow Northwest weather blowing around. Yeah, I’ll ride this weekend-shut it!
So here is what I know about ole Solomon.
He wrote a book that made some Muslims mad. The Ahyatolla Khomeini himself declared a fatwa- or death sentence on his ass. Remember the Ahyatolla? We were really scared of him, but now he seems like Charlie Brown under a ghost sheet compared to Dick Cheney. Mr. Rushdie’s book sold like hotcakes at a Kiwanis breakfast. Good for him.
He was briefly married to that gorgeous and classy woman from the reality television show Top Chef. It seems that fatwa business does not hurt a man’s chances with the ladies, because he is not a handsome man. Good for him.
We will prepare for this great literary event at the obvious gathering point for the intelligentsia- you know where! Barnacle Bill’s on North Monroe.
We will then take our seats in the balcony and begin the chanting of- Sol-o-Mon! Sol-o-Mon!