Page 48 - The Myth and the Moment

Afternoon

and the government. You know, distorting the facts with euphemism
and oxymoron. Like 1984 and the Ministry of Truth. I had read about
some tobacco companies who were establishing trademarks on
various slang terms for marijuana cigarettes: they thought pot was on
the verge of being legalized again, and they wanted to have their
brand names lined up in advance. So it dawned on me: if I could
anticipate all the terrible phrases likely to be coined in the near future,
I could copyright them myself and effectively pre-empt their use.
Who knows what sort of nasty products could be kept from market
because the only names available were truthful ones like ‘sludge’ and
‘slaughterhouse sweepings’ instead of ‘dermafluff’ or ‘slimcrisp’?
Well, I couldn’t stop the government from saying `pacification’ when
it meant ‘internment’, or, nowadays, ‘constructive engagement’ when
it means ‘cop-out’, but I could use the power of government to block
the corporations, by means of cornering the trademarks. Or so I
thought. I spent a lot of time making a list of the two hundred most
likely candidates, based on the type of destructive products I saw
coming out on the market. Then I found out what it cost to get each
one registered in my name. So I had to give it up. Why have we
stopped?”
“Because, Mr. Evangelino, we have arrived. The Nataraja Arms. I’ll
announce you.”
Boy, he’s fast off the mark for such a large man. Where’s the door
handle? There. Where am I? Corner of Montague and Barbossa.
Watch out there, Nate; don’t get killed crossing the damned street!
Where’d he go? Eyes aren’t adjusting to the glare. Ah! About seven
stories, fairly new apartments. Lobby with mailboxes and elevator
behind plate glass door. Ham at the intercom, sweet-talking a metal
grill.
“Yes, here he comes, huffing and puffing, the one, the only, Nate
Evangelino! How’s that for an intro, Nate baby?”
“Great, great. Allison—I mean, Aestheria: Ham thought it might
be a good idea for me to talk with you about a problem I have. That
is, well, I can’t really go into it down here.”
What the hell did he tell her before I got here?
“Come on, Ham, are you pulling my leg? Is she really in this—”
“Nate? I’ll buzz you in. Apartment 205. Just knock.”

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