Name game

Today I've read two interesting articles about names and naming; the first in Slate (from last week) gives strange examples of people requesting legal changes and the latter in the NY Times visits the Ohio town of Knockemstiff (subject of an eponymous book). The former makes a Johnny Cash joke, and my favorite detail from the NYT story is that the online moniker for one of the interviewees is "Knockemstiffmom."

My favorite (English) professor was particularly into naming: here is his book. I got into it too, and continued writing papers about it, most appropriately for a Dickens class a few years later. Not that something like Hard Times is a very subtle book overall, but hello, school authorities named M'Choakumchild and Thomas Gradgrind. When applied to nonfiction, that is, actual people, good naming is a fine balance between creativity, snobbery, and absurdity. Forcing the name Talula Does the Hula From Hawaii on your kid is just unfair. Why not just Talula? Lulu? Cute! And then there are kids such as those in Robert Rodriguez's clan: Rocket, Racer, Rebel, and Rogue. I like your movies, RR, and love alliteration, but give me a break--like you did your daughter, Rhiannon. Or, for fairness's sake, why couldn't she be Rally or Roar or Relentless? To my 20-something, nonparent mind, it just reeks of forcing your own identity on your kid.

Place-naming doesn't seem to have to play by quite the same rules, because it's attached to something that doesn't have to go to school and get beat up after attendance is taken. At least, Americans have consistently given themselves more room to be literal. A quick Google search turned up Hot Coffee, Miss., Truth or Consequences, N.M, and Sugar Tit, S.C. The source of the first seems sort of obvious (some place with coffee), the New Mexico town renamed itself after a radio contest in 1950. As for Sugar Tit, apparently they want to give up the name (!). My hometown, Emmaus, Pa., has a straightforward Biblical origin, as do nearby Bethlehem, Nazareth, and Egypt. That does not, however, account for East Texas, Pa.

Television Have I Loved

Today I went to lunch at a cafeteria-style restaurant that used to be a Georgetown campus dining hall nicknamed "The Max" for its likeness to the hangout in Saved by the Bell. I can't in good conscience call it a cafeteria now, because it is so much nicer than it used to be. Gone are the 80s decor and, ooh, waffle machine; they've been replaced by giant salad bars, made-to-order food, and a really amazing array of gummy candies (Haribo + Kasugai).

Explaining the old dining hall's nickname to the two coworkers with me led to a discussion of Saved by the Bell and, subsequently, Clarissa Explains it All. I think besides my current fixation on 30 Rock and Project Runway (OK and a growing love of Gossip Girl...), I was most in love with TV when I was about 8 or 9. My parents only let me watch TV for about an hour a day, but I was undeniably influenced by Clarissa's fashion choices and had dreams about Zach. Granted Clarissa is rocking a pretty small outfit in the show's opening credits, but on the show it's refreshing to look at it and see a kid clearly looking like a kid.

Talking about Clarissa also brought up Matilda, another favorite girl character. Which also made me realize that those are two of my favorite names, the former also for literary ties. I blame my interest in names on one of my absolute favorite professors. Anddd speaking of professors, I ran into a preferred French professors at lunch.

RIP YSL

Yves Saint Laurent died, and while it's a pretty huge deal as far as French culture goes, I realized in reading the obit that his muse has what it is maybe the best name ever: Loulou de la Falaise. (I'm into fashion enough to know a thing or two about YSL but not so much that I'd heard of her before). A cute but insouciant first name. Last name indicates breeding, but literally means "of the cliff."

Initial it

For a brief period, I had a green backpack that featured my initials in white machine embroidery. I was one of those kids. The point of admitting to the monogram isn't to call out my nerdiness, which I think is fairly self-evident, but to talk about my initials themselves and their potential hazard.

My initials are KKR. When I had that backpack, a few people liked to point out if you covered up the top of the R with Sharpie, my bag would make me seem like an awful, racist person. This was generally followed by comments that I could never marry someone with a last name that began with K; my mom consoled me by saying I could take R as my middle initial. I've never even dated a Klein or Knauss, but the thought of marriage honestly comes up (in the vaguest terms possible!) whenever I see a K last name.

Like today, walking to work, I saw a nametag stuck to the sidewalk near Dupont Circle. If I remember correctly, dude's name was Drew Kleibrink. Thanks to the powers of Google, I concluded that he wouldn't have been a candidate anyway. (To be fair, belly and age aside, he has donated thousands of dollars to Obama and seems friendly.)

Then, after reading a Post article, I realized that its byline was shared by someone named Kimberly Kindy. Relevant disclosure: she and I have the same first name. This made me 1) wonder what her middle name was 2) if she was married 3) if she was as bubbly as her name.

My consolation? My brother's initials are MMR, which, I have noted since I was little and had to get shots, is the name of the vaccination against measles, mumps, and rubella.