It's Just a Name

Thought for the day: What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. [William Shakespeare]

[image courtesy of morguefile]

True, a name doesn't change the intrinsic nature of anything, but it sure can change our perception of it.

I mean... I'm sure Poopada Resorts is a perfectly... lovely place. I'm sure it smells like... a rose.

You can blame a newspaper article for this post. I'll tell you about the article in a little bit, but first I'm gonna take you on a journey through my convoluted mind, because the article got me to thinking about names, in general.

Did you ever have anyone or anything named after you? When I was a teenager, my younger cousin named all of his pets after me. The best one was a baby alligator named Susie. I'm pretty sure that thing hated me, because every time I went anywhere near it, it hissed at me.

[wikipedia]

However, contrary to what you might think, the impressive T. Rex Sue was NOT named for me. This largest, most extensive and well-preserved specimen, which was found in South Dakota in 1990, currently resides in the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago. For sure, some of my ways are a tad outdated, I'm getting to be as old as dirt, and I like to think I'm fairly well preserved, but this huge bag o' bones is actually named after the scientist Sue Hendrickson, who discovered her.

Lots of geographical places are named after people. Countries, cities large and small, and all kinds of street names are meant to honor real people. Here in Atlanta, it seems like street names change more often than some people change their underwear. I guess our politicians want to honor the most popular or notable people of the day... and then do their best to abolish all remnants of them when they're no longer P.C. or considered worth remembering. (All on our dime, of course.)

[morguefile]

When I saw this sign, I couldn't help but wonder... was it called the old church when it was new? Or was it named New Church Lane up until the time its roof sprung its first leak?

I could write a whole post on funny town names. (Maybe some other time...) But here in the U.S., we have places like Boring, Oregon... Accident, Maryland... and Big Arm, Montana. (I always thought of it as Big Sky country... I had no idea they had a big arm, too!)

[image: Arthur Chapman]

And then there's... Chicken, Alaska. (There's also an Unalaska, Alaska... maybe it's a little warmer there?)

And Pee Pee, Ohio. (Think they have more port-a-potties than other cities?)

[image: Daniell Walquist Lynch]

And let's not forget Hell, Michigan. I could show you a mundane road marker welcoming you to Hell, but I thought this image was funnier. But now that I know there's a town in Michigan named Hell, I finally understand that oxymoronic-sounding saying, as cold as hell. And I also know that Hell does, indeed, freeze over, and quite often.










Okay, last one. I can't write something about odd town names without mentioning the two-town duo in Pennsylvania that always cracks me up. There's good ol' Intercourse, of course. Then... about fifteen minutes away lies the town of Blue Ball. (I kid you not!) Too funny.

[morguefile]

[unsplash]

A rather romantic... but essentially meaningless... thing one can do is name a star after someone... even yourself. The cost can be as low as twenty bucks and as high as a hundred, and what you'll get in return is a gen-u-ine certificate, by golly, as well as a celestial map pinpointing your namesake.


Now... finally, to that article I mentioned. It was about a naming competition of sorts.

[wikipedia]

In honor of Valentine's Day, a zoo in Sydney, Australia, invited people to name one of their brown snakes, a species that happens to be one of the most venomous snakes in the world. Doesn't sound very romantic to you, you say? Well, um, it wasn't meant to be.

The zoo advertised: Is your ex a snake? If so, now is your opportunity to cement their 'snaky status'... by naming a brown snake after them at WILD LIFE Sydney Zoo.

To enter, participants had to provide the ex's name and the reason (s)he deserved to be called a snake, along with a dollar donation. The winner was supposed to have been named on Valentine's Day, but I haven't been able to find said winner's name. (Maybe the zoo is still trying to sort through a mountain of entries?)

[morguefile]

A zoo in El Paso, Texas, did something similar for Valentine's Day, only they invited people to name cockroaches after their exes.

Better yet? The newly-named cockroaches were fed to meerkats and other critters during a live stream. HA!

Ahhh... romance, eh?


Okay, so today's path was a wee bit convoluted, but I hope you enjoyed it, anyway.

                                Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

There Ya Gogh!

Thought for the day:   It's hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs, because they always take things literally. 

gullible me, second grade

I've always been gullible, but I'm in recovery stage. Used to be, I believed anything anyone cared to tell me. I mean, why would anyone lie to me, right? One fella we know turned out to be a pathological liar, and he used to tell me some reeeeeal whoppers about his so-called adventures. Smarticus knew he was full of it, and so did most of our friends, but this guy loved to corner me at parties so he could bend my ear with his outrageous tales, because I always swallowed his stories hook, line, and sinker. Periodically, he'd turn to his wife and say, "Ain't that right, babe?" to which she dutifully provided his desired, "Yes, dear" response. (If I'd paid closer attention, I might have noticed her eyes rolling...)

I eventually caught on to the improbability of the things this guy was telling me and learned to steer clear of him, but as a child, I was definitely fair game for the things various family members told me in jest, especially my mother and Aunt Myrtle.

Two jokes they got me with involved names on  mailboxes. The last name? Bean. As we drove past said Bean mailbox, which sat beside the road next to a farmer's field, my mother said, "I wonder how our old friend Lima is doing?" My aunt said, " I heard he and Pinto had a baby. Named her Navy." Me, wide-eyed in the back seat, said something like, " I didn't know you knew them..." Which, of course, spurred them to come up with more names.

The second name that inspired them to yank my chain was Road. Same thing, only this time we were walking in the Pocono Mountains area while on vacation. As I recall, they mentioned names like Tobacco and Dusty. To my credit, I caught on a little faster this time, and even added a couple names of my own.

Which may explain why they didn't pull that joke on me a third time.

Anyhow, I was reminded of those two memories by an email Smarticus sent me recently. It's a rather clever family tree list of names that I'm sure my mother and Aunt Myrt would have appreciated. I hope you do, too.

The fun family?

'Tis the hypothetical family tree of the great Vincent Van Gogh, pictured at right in his 1887 self-portrait.

By the way, you know why he was an artist?

(shhhh) I hear he needed the monet...

Talking about artists, (Weren't we?) what do you think Salvadore Dali's favorite breakfast was? A nice bowl of surreal, of course.

And what's a modern artist's favorite footwear? Sketchers!

Okay, I'll stop. Let's take a look at that whimsical family tree, shall we?

• First, there's his annoying brother... Please Gogh.
• His dizzy aunt... Verti Gogh.
• His prune-eating brother... Gotta Gogh
• His cousin who worked in a convenience store... Stop'n Gogh
• His Yugloslavian grandfather... U Gogh
• The distant cousin who bleached all of his clothes white... Hue Gogh
• The other cousin from Illinois... Chica Gogh
• His uncle, the magician... Wherediddy Gogh
• His Mexican cousin... Amee Gogh
• His Mexican cousin's American half-brother... Grin Gogh
• His nephew who drove a stagecoach... Wessfar Gogh
• His poor ol' constipated uncle... Cant Gogh (He should work something out with Gotta...)
• His ballroom-dancing aunt... Tan Gogh
• His bird-loving uncle... Flamin Gogh
• His psychoanalyst uncle... E Gogh
• The fruit-loving cousin... Man Gogh
• His postive-thinking aunt... Wayto Gogh
• His bouncy nephew... Po Gogh
• His disco-dancing sister... Go Gogh
• His niece who travels in an RV... Winnie Bay Gogh

                                       Can you think of any others to add?

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Call Me Ishmael

Thought for the day:  I always wanted to be somebody, but now I realize I should have been more specific. [Lily Tomlin]

[image from Morguefile]

No, of course, my name isn't Ishmael, but talk about a name that's known by most readers all over the world, right? Susan, on the other hand, is pretty darned generic. In fact, the last time I checked, a Google search turned up thirteen people named Susan Swiderski. Sheesh, talk about making a gal feel unique, eh?

It's been kinda fun picking and re-vamping some of my old blog posts. Hopefully, I didn't give you guys too many boogers. Just a few more, and then the summer re-runs will come to an end.

Today's oldie but not-a-booger originally appeared in June 2011 as The Name Game. I hope you enjoy it.








**********************



Thought for the day:  It was a matter of destiny: the streaker's name was Seymour Cheeks.

Gildersleeve, Gildersleeve, wherefore art thou, Gildersleeve?

The fair Juliet declared, What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Easy for her to say. Do you think she would've been half as cavalier about the irrelevance of a name if she'd been saddled with an onerous moniker like Bertha or Broomhilda? And I ask you, could even the great Shakespeare himself have waxed poetic about a damsel in distress if her name were Boobs Galore? (Sincere apologies to any readers named Bertha, Broomhilda, or Boobs.)

Gertrude Stein said, A rose is a rose is a rose, and even good ol' Popeye said, I yam what I yam. If things ARE what they ARE, does it really matter a rat's derriere what you choose to CALL them?

Well, yeah. I think so.

Would a bouquet of roses bestow the same romantic connotation if they were called ... fartflowers? Or suppose that lovely bunch of mums your beloved gave you were called ...  ugly mamas?

Ahhhh ... Smell the Fartflowers!

True, the name or description of an object can't actually alter its essential substance, but it can ... and does ... alter our perception of it. Intellectually, we may adhere to the adage, Never judge a book by its cover, but in reality, we tend to do just that.

Consider this:

You're exhausted, and judging by the crowd in the doctor's anteroom, a long wait stretches in front of you. Standing on your aching feet is not an attractive option, and there are only two empty seats in the room. One is beside a shabbily-dressed old gentleman with shaggy hair and scruffy beard, who is slumped in his chair, muttering to himself. The other is next to a clean-cut, GQ-looking young man, who looks right at you and smiles. (Or for you men, a shapely young woman with a sexy smile.) Where would you sit? Not gonna pull any made-up statistics out of my (ahem) ear, but where do you think most people would sit?

It's human nature. And understanding that tidbit of human nature puts potential power into our hot little pen-holding hands. When a writer (or speaker) understands the basic concept of perception, he can use it to his advantage and manipulate the crap out of it. 

Take the example of the waiting room. Before a writer brings that poor unsuspecting foot-sore patient into that room, suppose he fleshes out the people sitting beside those empty chairs. Suppose the shabby-looking fellow is a sweet, gentle, lonely soul who's grieving deeply for his wife, and Mr. G.Q. (or Ms. Luscious) is an evil Jeffrey Daumer wannabe. How's that going to change the reader's response when the innocent newcomer considers sitting beside the Daumer copycat?

Titles, names, and appearances DO matter. All of them evoke involuntary psychological  responses, and when we have an active awareness and anticipation of those responses, we wield some control over them through the power of our words. A great book title has the potential to attract a casual browser. Ditto a great-looking cover. Character names carry a certain weight. Names can be perceived as weak, strong, silly, or whatever. Descriptions can be used to reinforce a stereotype, or to mask something shocking and unexpected. Subtle nuances of word choice evoke a huge difference in both perception and reaction.  

Or not. On one hand, I think word choice and title choice can make a big difference. But on the other, if the following book titles have been published (and they have!) maybe titles don't matter at all. Consider:

Beats exploding, I suppose.

Okeydoke, then.

About a master debater?

The only game our cats play is hide and go sleep.

the perfect gift for the grandkids?

guess you have to be Catholic first, right?

  The author's name should be Lucy Bowels.

ewwwww

there's a reason it's a lost art

um, why bother?

stool softener helps

no comment

not cuddly anymore, huh?

And here's some more actual book titles to consider:

• The Pop-Up Book of Phobias
• Scouts in Bondage
• Be Bold With Bananas
• 101 Uses for Tampon Applicators
• Suture Self   (Now, I LIKE this one!)
• How to Make Love While Conscious
• Up Sh*t Creek: a collection of horrifying true wilderness toilet misadventures
• The History of Sh*t
• First You Take a Leek
• The Romance of Proctology
• Heave Ho: My Little Green Book of Seasickness
• More Balls Than Hands  (ahem ... about juggling)
• Postmortem Collectibles
• Knitting With Dog Hair
• Last Chance at Love: Terminal Romances
• The Book of Lesbian Horse Stories
• Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank and Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom

And finally, my own personal favorite:

• Get Your Tongue Out Of My Mouth, I'm Kissing You Good-Bye

How about you? Do you think titles matter? Come across any doozies lately?

                       Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

What's in a Name?

Time for a re-run. This post was first published as The Name Game in June of 2011, and I felt like being a lazy slob today think it'd be the perfect lead-in for my next planned post. Hope y'all find something here to make you smile.


Thought for the day:  It was a matter of destiny: the streaker's name was Seymour Cheeks.

Gildersleeve, Gildersleeve, wherefore art thou, Gildersleeve?

The fair Juliet declared, What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Easy for her to say. Do you think she would've been half as cavalier about the irrelevance of a name if she'd been saddled with an onerous moniker like Bertha or Broomhilda? And I ask you, could even the great Shakespeare himself have waxed poetic about a damsel in distress if her name were Boobs Galore? (Sincere apologies to any readers named Bertha, Broomhilda, or Boobs.)

Gertrude Stein said, A rose is a rose is a rose, and even good ol' Popeye said, I yam what I yam. If things ARE what they ARE, does it really matter a rat's derriere what you choose to CALL them?

Well, yeah. I think so.

Would a bouquet of roses bestow the same romantic connotation if they were called ... fartflowers? Or suppose that lovely bunch of Mums your beloved gave you were called ...  Ugly Mamas?

Ahhhh ... Smell the Fartflowers!

True, the name or description of an object can't actually alter its essential substance, but it can ... and does ... alter our perception of it. Intellectually, we may adhere to the adage, "Never judge a book by its cover," but in reality, we tend to do just that.

Consider this:

You're exhausted, and judging by the crowd in the doctor's anteroom, a long wait stretches in front of you. Standing on your aching feet is not an attractive option, and there are only two empty seats in the room. One is beside a shabbily-dressed old gentleman with shaggy hair and scruffy beard, who is slumped in his chair, muttering to himself. The other is next to a clean-cut, GQ-looking young man, who looks right at you and smiles. (Or for you men, a shapely young woman with a sexy smile.) Where would you sit? Not gonna pull any made-up statistics out of my (ahem) ear, but where do you think most people would sit?

It's human nature. And understanding that tidbit of human nature puts potential power into our hot little pen-holding hands. When a writer (or speaker) understands the basic concept of perception, he can use it to his advantage and manipulate the crap out of it. 

Take the example of the waiting room. Before a writer brings that poor unsuspecting foot-sore patient into that room, suppose he fleshes out the people sitting beside those empty chairs. Suppose the shabby-looking fellow is a sweet, gentle, lonely soul who's grieving deeply for his wife, and Mr. G.Q. (or Ms. Luscious) is an evil Jeffrey Daumer wannabe. How's that going to change the reader's response when the innocent newcomer considers sitting beside the Daumer copycat?

Titles, names, and appearances DO matter. All of them evoke involuntary psychological  responses, and when we have an active awareness and anticipation of those responses, we wield some control over them through the power of our words. A great book title has the potential to attract a casual browser. Ditto a great-looking cover. Character names carry a certain weight. Names can be perceived as weak, strong, silly, or whatever. Descriptions can be used to reinforce a stereotype, or to mask something shocking and unexpected. Subtle nuances of word choice evoke a huge difference in both perception and reaction.  

Or not. On one hand, I think word choice and title choice can make a big difference. But on the other, if the following book titles have been published (and they have!) maybe titles don't matter at all. Consider:

Beats exploding, I suppose.

Okeydoke, then.

About a master debater?

The only game our cats play is hide and go sleep.

the perfect gift for the grandkids?

guess you have to be Catholic first, right?

  The author's name should be Lucy Bowels.

ewwwww

there's a reason it's a lost art

um, why bother?

stool softener helps

no comment

not cuddly anymore, huh?

And here's some more actual book titles to consider:

• The Pop-Up Book of Phobias
• Scouts in Bondage
• Be Bold With Bananas
• 101 Uses for Tampon Applicators
• Suture Self   (Now, I LIKE this one!)
• How to Make Love While Conscious
• Up Sh*t Creek: a collection of horrifying true wilderness toilet misadventures
• The History of Sh*t
• First You Take a Leek
• The Romance of Proctology
• Heave Ho: My Little Green Book of Seasickness
• More Balls Than Hands  (ahem ... about juggling)
• Postmortem Collectibles
• Knitting With Dog Hair
• Last Chance at Love: Terminal Romances
• The Book of Lesbian Horse Stories
• Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank and Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom

And finally, my own personal favorite:

• Get Your Tongue Out Of My Mouth, I'm Kissing You Good-Bye

How about you? Do you think titles or names matter?  Come across any doozies lately? Would you feel comfortable visiting a proctologist named Benjamin... Ben for short... Dover? 

                          Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.