Not surprisingly, the dear wife and I have been tossing around potential names for the zygote when he/she/whatever (get with the times, people: it's all about the mutable continuum of gender identity) finally hatches from his/her/whatever's nice cozy amnion. And although I will not disclose, no matter how much you may give me for Christmas (and by the way, my Amazon wishlist is here if you're curious), said discussions, I don't think it would violate any unspoken yet binding (unless I want to sleep on the couch for the next eight months) contract to discuss some of the more notable points of conversation.
First, let me steer you to a really cool little site, which displays graphically every name that has been in the top 1000 most popular baby names of the past century. It basically has the same information that the Social Security Administration website has, but with a much sexier interface.
After all, you need a sexy interface to ponder why, oh why Ethel, the eighth most popular girl's name in 1900, fell to #240 by 1950, and didn't even make the top 1000 after 1970 (when it was #921). Or how Braeden, not even a name 10 years ago, managed to make #324 in 2004.
I realize #324 may not seem high on the list, but consider this: Gary was #327, Roger was #416, and Roy was #470. Now granted, these are not very fashionable names these days, but at least they weren't made up by someone who:
- wrote down half a dozen names on slips of paper
- placed said slips of paper in the food processor
- turned on said processor (not even pulsed it, mind you)
- went off to watch an infomercial
- thought that 57 knives plus the free car chamois for three easy payments of $49.95 was a REALLY good deal
- bought the knives and chamois on impulse
- ran back to the kitchen to turn off the forgotten food processor
- dumped out the bits of paper onto the floor
and then looked down to see what the bits spelled. Seriously. I wouldn't be surprised. I mean, come on, people. Braeden?
Oh, but it gets better. A friend who will, per her request, remain anonymous, came across a woman who was naming her unborn daughter Braelynn Krystale.
Where do I even begin? Braelynn freakin' Krystale?
OK, time for a take-home message. Are you listening? Here. I'll wait a moment for you to get something to write this down. OK? OK. Here goes:
Substituting vowels and adding additional consenants does not make your child's name special. It simply guarantees a certain "reputation" on the schoolyard, followed by years of painful, expensive therapy after which your child will never speak to you again.
Is that clear enough?
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