A Dorothy By Any Other Name

What’s in a name, anyway? As someone who grew up with a name that I have yet to encounter another person sporting, I am quite accustomed to having my name questioned. People ask about the pronunciation (and then generally proceed to mispronounce it for the rest of our acquaintanceship); they ask about the origin; they ask where I am from… The fact that I have a name that has not been heard by their ears before seems to arouse either great suspicion or the inexplicable belief that they have suddenly obtained the right to pry into my entire family tree and history.

Really? They might ask, leaning forward. Why did your mother decide to give you that name? Do you have siblings, and what did she name them? Where did you grow up? Where are your parents from? Do you speak another language? Oh really? You’re American?

I can’t claim that I myself don’t pay undue attention to other people’s names. On the contrary, I’m quite interested in them. There are certain names that I carry around in my head with me, and reflect upon from time to time. The imagined sounds of these names, played over and over in my head, brings me enjoyment. It’s difficult to articulate the reason, but I believe that it has something to do with the appreciation that I feel for language in general. The way that a name rolls off of the tongue can bring with it a crisp aesthetic pleasure.

In the acquisition of names business, working in telemarketing for five years was by far the most brilliant action that I could have taken. During that time, I amassed the bulk of my favorite names. One such name is a jewel of such value that I could not have created it if I had tried: Mulebert Feast. Truly fascinating. I have so many questions that I wish that I could have asked Mulebert. Does he have siblings, and what would their names be? Where is he from? Why did his parents name him Mulebert? Did they despise him? Unfortunately, Mulebert was an incredibly disagreeable fellow who had no desire to talk. In fact, his sole desire appeared to be to accost the telemarketer that had dared call him in his home. No doubt the burden of shouldering the name Mulebert had taken its toll over the course of his lifetime, leaving a wizened and bitter shell. Had he but embraced it, perhaps even assuming the moniker of "MB" (which has quite a ring to it) his personality might have been entirely different.

Another type of name that ranks high on my list of memorable is the name that forms a sentence in and of itself. My favorite: Jared Showers. Well yes, I thought to myself when I read it, I certainly hope that he does. I then proceeded to snicker, glancing about the building for the ever-so-clean Mr. Showers. Even as I pitied the poor child that had borne a statement as a name, I filed it away for future enjoyment.

Over the years, a number of other names have made their way into my mental storage chamber. As the urge arises, I pull them out for a quick chortle or enjoyable review, depending upon the name. Richard Dick; Lisa Bends; Mickey McNamara; LeeLee Sobieski… Each of these names thrills me in a slightly different way.

So taken am I with names, and the naming of things, that each creature that holds my affection generally endures an ever-evolving series of nicknames throughout their lifetime. Juliet the canine has gone by many, many names: Pooh; Pooh Bear; WeeWee Sobieski; Pea; Peanut; Peanut Butter; Poobelah; Boo Banters… The list could go on for pages. Each of my pets has survived similar identity crises. Friends and family often suffer the same fate, although for their sake I try to tone it back a bit.

In my world, it’s not safe to assume that you’re only required to answer to your given name. If the given name doesn’t suit the current mood, or if I feel that it’s lacking a certain "pizzazz," I’ll likely improve upon it. Generally, however, I try to maintain the proper use of formal names with business colleagues and strangers. As a result, I have to take my joy where I can find it in these situations. This most often occurs when I am in the presence of an unfortunate soul who has difficulty remembering a) other people’s names or b) how to pronounce other people’s names.

Imagine my delight when, on a recent business trip, I found myself in the company of a co-worker, S, and a volunteer named Bill. Bill’s full name was William, which was printed on the table tent placed prominently before him at our table. The fact that his name was William/Bill was no doubt a factor in his failure to acknowledge my co-worker S, who repeatedly addressed him as "Bob" for the entire course of the two days that we were together. William/Bill/Not Bob did not respond a single time to any of the comments/questions that S directed his way, yet S merely assumed that William/Bill/Not Bob did not care for him and was deliberately ignoring him. This entire situation was a great source of entertainment to me, as I wondered at S’s mind and what would a) lead him to the first conclusion of "ignoring me = dislike for me" and b) how he could fail to notice the prominent display of the proper moniker and the fact that everyone else in our group regularly interacted with "Bill." I daresay, there is nothing like mixing business with pleasure…