You Can Call Me Al

First of all, have I mentioned the drunk homeless people living in the tent behind my house? Yes. Awesome. Vermont is fantastic, and by far one of the best places I’ve ever BEEN, much less lived, but it tends to attract the transient sort, which, while fine normally, is one of those elements I am not proud to admit that I don’t want in my backyard. And by that I mean literally. If I walk down to the river, which is technically still on our premises, I can see their tent. And twice now, they have approached me while wasted and been creepily interested in my baby.

“A BABY! Can I touch your baby?”

Yes, um, right. Actually, you can’t, although I give you major props for asking first. But that has less to do with you, and more to do with the fact that I have turned into one of those totally freaky people who gets upset when total strangers start touching my baby’s head and, on more than one occasion, have swooped in to KISS my baby, which: oh my fucking God, no. If you were ever wondering if it’s okay to kiss a stranger’s baby, I can tell you with near 100 percent certainty that it is not. And that goes double if you’re drunk and lurching towards my baby inappropriately.

Gah. I hate who I am saying that, like I’m some sort of unsympathetic ASSHOLE. I’m normally not, truly, it’s just that I don’t particularly enjoy walking Sam in the evenings and being afraid that some drunk person is going to leap out of the woods and ask if they can touch my baby. Which has happened twice now. I would like to HELP YOU, just please, if you don’t mind, step away from my baby. No, no, FARTHER THAN THAT. Thank you. I’d rather she not get wasted off of your fumes.

The whole thing, in all truth, is making me very sad and conflicted. And though I said I was calling the police, I haven’t done it yet, though I did tell the neighborhood busybody and I am SURE she has, which makes me feel like a jerk, though I am not sure why. As my friend Lee said, no one wants drunk homeless people in their backyard, so why does this make me feel GUILTY?

Onward! Can we talk about baby names for a second? I know, I know, Swistle’s got this covered, it’s just that I have so many FEELINGS on the topic that I cannot be contained. First off, Samantha is named Samantha in large part because it’s the only name Adam and I could agree on after more than ten years of debate. No, seriously. TEN YEARS. Our boy name was Samuel. This means if we have a son next, we are particularly fucked, because while announcing, “Sam! Dinner!” is efficient, it is not exactly kind to do to your children.

Samantha is named, in part, for Samuel Adams, and I’m not kidding there. He was a neat guy — a total rabble rouser, and consistently proved that you don’t have to be the smartest guy in the room, you just have to be the most persuasive and persistent. All good things. Brooke is for Adam’s grandma Bernyce, who I loved loved loved and did I mention loved? Loved.

Aside from that, I was surprised that I was most attracted to names that I wanted to have as a child: Samantha, Amanda, Alexandra, Caroline, Sarah and Sadie all figured prominently in my top choices. I even went through a hardcore Jessica phase. Apparently I am stuck in the ’70s and ’80s. I am a relic.

I’ll also tell you that as a Jonna, it was super-important to me that she have an actual name that people heard of. My primary criteria, lame as it sounds, was that she be able to buy one of those bicycle license plates with her name on it without having to do a custom order. I did NOT want her to be the only [Jonna] anyone had ever heard of.

And look, I KNOW the topic is so personal! So personal! And I remember Sundry once did a post on the topic before Dylan was born and people went fracking NUTS about the names they hated/loved, and I seem to recall a particularly violent reaction against … Keegan? Declan? I don’t even know, but I remember feeling very very sorry for the parents of Keegan.

And while I WANTED to use a classic name, I found that they all seemed too fussy for me, though beautiful for someone else. Juliet, for example, is gorgeous, as is Julia. Eva! Victoria! SO PRETTY. And yet, not remotely something I felt I could pull off. This reminds me, PS, of the time I mentioned to an acquaintance that I loved the name Victoria, and she replied via e-mail that she wasn’t a fan — she preferred more classic names, like Marsha.

Marsha. With an “sh.” Right up there with Elizabeth and Agnes for the ages, right? I mean nothing against Marsha, as it’s a fine name, but it doesn’t exactly scream “TIMELESS,” and … more classic than Victoria? Really? In the context of that conversation, it was so … well, I often wonder if she thought Victoria was a made-up name or something.

I’ve said this before, but I … well, Motherhood Uncensored says it best. I am tired of the abuse of Y. TIRED. And again, I’m not talking about Lyla or Alyson or Evelyn or Carolyn or anywhere that Y makes SENSE. As in once or maybe in very special occasions TWICE. But GAH, different spellings make me all EYE POKEY.

And, if you follow me on Twitter or know me outside of this space, you know that I have come in contact with people named the absolute worst in Y abuse:

Psymon

-AND-

Destynee

And now I have to ask: what are your children’s names, if you’re comfortable saying? And if you don’t have any, or don’t want to say, what are your favorite names? Because I LOVE this shit, and though I am thrilled to have my daughter here, I am sad I don’t have an imminent Naming Project. Although honestly, in many ways, this is easier to discuss when I don’t. Less pressure, I don’t know.

Happy Thursday!

*Paul Simon, off of an album that is squarely in my top three of all-time.

202 comments July 8th, 2009