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| Adventures
in Poetry |
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| by
Dr. Wes Browning |
Sometimes
Today I want to use words to talk about names.
What's in a name? Willy Shakespeare answered
with something to the effect that a rose by
any other name would smell as swell. A lot
of people think that's the ultimate answer.
Balderdash! In the first place, the question
was, "What's in a name?" - not "What's a rose?"
In another place, Willy himself knew perfectly
well there was more to it than that. He went
right on ahead in the same play to make a
case for the opposition. He clearly indicated
that he was inclined to believe that, while
sweet smelliness sticks permanently to roses
however named, if a Romeo Montague were to
change his name to, say, Watson Whittaker,
he'd get beat up by his cousins whether he
married that girl or not. Names do so matter.
It has been demonstrated scientifically that
even when collected into conferences and given
little individual cards to pin on their shirts,
and an indelible marker, scientists can't
completely explain why names, such as "Montague,"
are different from words, such as "rose."
But I believe the answer may involve the reptilian
brain, the difference between the sacred and
the profane, and Dicks Nixon, Clark, Cheney,
etc.
Whatever the difference, it is now known that
there is one. If your first pet dog was Blacky
and you go around calling all dogs Blacky,
people will call you Dingy. And rightly so.
Once we understand that names and words are
different, we begin to understand why people
might like to change names on occasion. For
example, Amazon. com might want to change
its name to Prosperity.com or Cornucopia.
com or Nodotcom.com, on the theory that people
might forget that unfortunate NASDAQ turn
of events.
What the hell is a Verizon?
When you ask that kind of question you betray
ignorance of the difference I am picking at.
Verizon is just the new improved name of GTE,
a name that escapes all the ugly associations
that the old name has, like the association
that everybody had learned to think "corporate
weasels" when they heard "GTE". But you don't
think "corporate weasels" when you hear "Verizon."
Not yet. Instead you think, "What the hell
is a Verizon?"
Similarly, the name US West served the function
of a name, not a word. It helped the rest
of us to identify that specific thing that
screwed up our phone billing all the time.
If the Internet connection went down exactly
in the middle of our composing of our 500-page
treatise on the relationship of the fluctuations
in the perfume market to the practice of personal
bathing in Europe, we could relieve our tension
by uttering a curse upon the house of US West,
a particular corporation, a legal body, near-person,
and receptacle of a name.
US West heard those curses. Thats why they
are no longer US West, but the as yet not-so-cursed
Qwest.
Here we arrive at a crucial distinction between
names and words. Names can be cursed. Names
accumulate curses. Names attach to persons
and to entities perceived as persons, and
they collect the feelings we have for those
entities.
How cursed can a name become? Ask Seattle
Housing Authority. But don't call them that
when you ask them. Call them PorchLight. Or
don't ask them. Ask anybody else. Typical
reaction to hearing the name "Seattle Housing
Authority" - "Boo." Typical reaction to hearing
the name "PorchLight" - "Huh?"
It's part of the American Way. The accursed
change their names and they expect everyone
to forget the old names. And we do, because
we want to reserve the same right for ourselves.
We want to be able to declare bankruptcy if
necessary, change names, get all new credit
cards, move to the next great "growth center"
(Houston, the last I heard), and start a new
career, or as we put it, "Make a new life
for ourselves."
It's only possible if everyone agrees to let
it be possible. So it has to be part of the
social contract.
What I'm getting at is, some day I could put
©Doctor Wes Browning away and start calling
myself something like Flash Weston or the
Artist Formerly Known as Wes, and this being
America I could probably pull it off, even
without incorporating. And rightly so.
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