"Lessig, Hugh - Purple Politics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lessig Hugh)"Pardon me," I say. "I need to go outside and wait for the police." I find the nearest Metro stop and head back to Arlington and my hotel. Chances are no one will be able to describe me. Washingtonians are too busy looking you in the eye. * * * Once in the hotel room, I fire up my laptop and get on-line. In 15 minutes, I know that HJR 2225 stands for House Joint Resolution 2225 introduced in the House of Representatives just eight weeks ago. The bill is stuck in an Appropriations subcommittee, which means they're trying to find money for it. I read the text of the bill and my short hairs stand on end. The bill would require that something called the Purple Looseleaf be declared "a noxious weed." It would allow it to be cleaned up on public property, and it would "encourage" private property owners to do the same. The resolution is only three paragraphs - something about the Purple Looseleaf clogging up sidewalks and choking off other plants. The web page includes a photo of the Purple Looseleaf, It looks like the flower Monica handed me. Just a goofy bill. A goofy bill in a city where goofy bills are made law all the time and no one cares. I look up EDK Consultants on the web. They are an environmental-rights group. They've got links to the Sierra Club and Greenpeace, and their slogan says something about saving the future. You meet a woman in a bar. The woman wants to give you a tip. The woman is stabbed within shouting distance of you. The woman gives you a flower and points you toward a resolution that declares Official War on said flower. None of this makes sense. Except you like the dead woman. I turn off my computer and pull a Michelob from the honor bar that sits next to my bed. I finish that and pull out a Heineken. The tiny bottle of Absolut Citron talks me into introducing it to an orange juice. Then I order something called a southwestern pizza from room service with two more Heinekens. Before I know it, I am toasting the Belgian resistance and some chippy is on The Weather Channel talking about a tropical depression down by the Gulf. I think she looks like Monica - or more precisely, what Monica should have turned out to be - a perky and joyful thing with stiff hair and milk-fed skin. Someone who will never worry about saving their own future. I fall asleep to dream about anchorwomen with nipple rings. * * * The next morning, I am jacked on caffeine and positioned in downtown for the beginning of rush hour. EDK Consultants is on G Street several blocks from the White House. I enter to find a 20ish receptionist looking over a computer screen. The place is done in sea greens and blues. The receptionist does not wear makeup, but she doesn't need it. "Excuse me," I say. "I'm inquiring about Monica Birdsong." She does not look up. I count to 15 and ask again. She favors me with a slight glance and asks if I have an appointment. "An appointment with Monica?" "No. With Winston Churchill." Everyone is a pundit in this town. "No. I don't have an appointment." She heaves an audible sigh. |
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