Sunday, January 11, 2009

Not enough names (spammity #2)

Also (implying I've had other thoughts besides this one), it's come to my attention that there simply are not enough names in the world. While I have every bit of malice for sadists naming their children some cluster of consonants without any thought for vowels, also those who string together a random assortment of phonemes and dance around merrily as if they're so original at their neo-renaissance faires, it does add a much-needed influx of more names.

There are Jesse Watsons in the world, quite a few of them. I know, because I'm one, and we're like rabbit turds: where there's one, there's bound to be a damn stinking cluster. There are Jesse Dylans, too, one a famous director of popular smut masquerading as great American wholesome culture, as American, indeed, as apple Pie; and Dylan Watsons, one of whom is on my Facebook simply because we like to super poke the hell out of each other. I may be the only Jesse Dylan Watson, but it becomes cumbersome and self-important to use all of one's names. I can't think of many who've done it without coming off as a bit of a prig, but then again, maybe that's what I'm going for. (Top ten words Jesse uses all the time but knows not the meaning of, entry #4, "prig". #2, "ostensibly". #7, "phoneme".)

I was watching the local PBS, and a man for an antique show came on and said, "I'm Mark Wahlberg." My first thought was, well, no, you're not, but then I realized, just because I already know a Mark Wahlberg, I guess from that old Sega CD game, that doesn't mean he's the only one with rights to the name.

Not him!
And we can't rightly well live in a society where if someone else has our name, we attack them in the street and force them to change it, or place a "1, 2, 3" or "A, B, C" after it ("I'm Mark Wahlberg #2, and this is Antique Road Show"), so I suppose we'll all just have to deal, and make sure to name our children Crmlsf or Goimfall or Dremsing, as if they're an army of dwarves from the bowels of Mount Mine and Smith.

We'll just have to make do with our excesses of Matthew Johnsons and John Matthesons (thankfully I didn't say "Jack Thompson," that lawyer who God disbarred), and, apparently, Mark Wahlbergs, as Japan has to deal with all their Ryuu Tanakas and Koji Hondas, or whatever other popular names there are.

Strangely, the women seem less susceptible. Maybe they just slay each other in the dead of night when they find a duplicate name, stringing the entrails about as a warning to anyone else who'd dare challenge their title. You don't think they'd let it slide, do you? Watch two women encounter each other at a party, both wearing the same dress. You know as well as I do that one of them has to leave.

And before anyone asks, no, this has little to do with video games, where, if someone so much as makes a fart that sounds the least like "Mario," their pants are sued clean off their intellectual property, their flatulent sphincter exposed for all to abhor, faster than they can say, "It'sa me!".


Jesse Dylan Watson gets cranky with lots of snow and lack of sun.

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