The Business of Baby Naming

I really do think I missed my calling. I should've been a professional baby namer. I'd show up at the expectant couple's home, light some candles, burn some incense, spread maple syrup on the prego belly, while chanting some nonsense words I got from a Steve Martin movie. All that voodoo uhuhmulmahey crap would just be for show, of course, because I've got this whole baby-naming business down to a science.

When I was pregnant, my husband and I made a list of possible baby names that adhered to a strict set of rules:

1. No cross-gender names.
That meant names like Chris, Bobby and Billy Jo were right out.

2. No hard to spell or pronounce names.
I didn't want my daughter correcting people for the rest of her life, I'm sure she will have better things to do on her way to becoming the first Olympic-medal-winning doctor turned rock-star to be elected President.

3. No names in the Top 50 Baby Names.
My kid was not going to be Emma #6 or Izzy #12 in her kindergarten class.

When it came time to actually give birth to this politically-blessed medical and musical genius, we brought the list to the hospital. We looked at our gorgeous girl. She had big cheeks, a small chin and a perfect bow of a mouth. "She looks like a 1920's beauty queen!" I exclaimed. Sadly, none of the names on our list fit that description. I quickly added Betty, Daisy and Alma to the list. But...did they fit my rules? I wasn't sure. I was still in an epidural haze, and a bit shell shocked from the whole perfectly-healthy-baby with a cleft palate thing.

There was pressure. The people down at City Hall were calling. What was her name? We still didn't know. I told my sister, "I need a 1920's name." She blurted out, "Like Zelda." Yes, just like that...only that was a name that had been left off the list because it was too close to the name of a popular video game that her father and I liked to play. Namely, Nintendo's The Legend of Zelda. Still, it fit. It fit the rules and my brand new little flapper's amazingly beautiful face. (Beautiful, but not perfect...she was born with little red stork bites, one of them right above her lip that looked oddly like a little red Hitler mustache.)

So, on the day we were leaving, breast-pumps were being brought in. The scare of jaundice, and our week long NICU stay and subsequent Pierre Robin diagnosis (the small Betty-Boop chin would be part of THAT) was hanging there...just in the distance, like a cloud of dust kicked up by a rival motorcycle gang. So, there we were, in the cramped, cluttered hospital room...hoping to go home...not sure if we could...and City Hall called. Had we come up with a name? I glanced at my husband, who was on his cell phone with my mother. "Yes," I said. "We're naming her Zelda."

"What?!" My husband said. (I don't know what he was complaining about. He's lucky she wasn't a boy. I might have said, Adolf.)

And the rest is history. So. Maybe it isn't a science. And maybe my rules aren't all that. How did you come up with your favorite baby name?

Pinhead is Hilarious

Many of you who know me, know that one of my comedic obsessions is Pinhead. Specifically, how funny it would be if he wasn't immortal, and we could see him age because I think Pinhead with a comb-over could possibly be the best visual gag based on a horror movie ever! I almost did it when I was writing animated shorts for comedy world (dot com), but they went under before it could see the light of day (or light of over-produced Flash animation is more like it). Well, I finally used this obsession for good, with this comment I left on SFGate's parenting blog, The Poop:

Whoa! Hold on. I'm sorry, but there are no drinks that are better than Jack Daniels on the rocks, it is a cold, golden splash of heaven bourboning with bourbony goodness. If you really feel that way you should stop ordering it just to look cool in front of your namby-pamby writer friends. My god man, save some for those of us who appreciate it! (I assume there is a great shortage of Jack Daniels because of all the San Francisco bars that pour Jim into empty Jack bottles...Hockey Haven, I'm looking at you!)

Also, Motley Crue did not just drink Jack Daniels, they shot it up, mostly because they were so drunk, they didn't realize how stupid it is to shoot up Jack Daniels when you could just drink it.

Thirdly, although Cocktail has a seriously ridiculous tagline, is it really more ridiculous than Hellraiser 2: He will tear your soul apart...again! (It's the "dot dot dot again" that gets me.)

Additionally, might I just restate how evil it is to serve Jim to someone who has ordered a Jack? If I ask for Jack, I not only know the difference between Jack and Jim, but I also do not like Jim. Yeesh.

I need a drink.

Oh and PS: my mother's drink of choice is way cooler than a Jack on the rocks: She always orders a boilermaker usually a shot of Jack with a beer back. I can't really keep up with her.
Posted By: snappyssidekick December 16 2008 at 11:53 PM

Seems that my innocent assertion about the hilarity of the Hellraiser tagline inspired this hilarious article by Peter Hartlaub about sublime, stupid and ridiculous taglines as well as this equally funny Poop post. You'll not that Hartlaub graciously, facetiously admits to "stealing" my idea. Not true...unless he decides to write an expose on bars that pour Jim into Jack bottles or a slice of life vignette detailing the life of a grandma with taste boilermakers, but as a semi-retired writer, I always appreciate a credit, no matter how obviously undeserved.

Watch this blog for the adventures of Super Snappy (someone got a cape for xmas), and watch the next Bitter Show for a shame-faced Dave or Spiegs shoved into a badly-made old man Pinhead costume. Hee hee.

Snappy Math

I debated telling this rather embarrassing (em-BARE-ASS-ing!) story, but then I figured...what the heck! It's Christmas. The other morning, I opened up my bathroom cabinet, and, it being crammed tighter that a N Judah at the Powell Stop at 5:30, a bunch of crap fell out, spilling onto the floor. It was as I bent over to pick it up that felt I felt two little hands: one on each cheek. "That's Mommy's bum!" I exclaimed.

Snappy was overjoyed. "Mommy's bum! Mommy's bum!" She squealed as she paddled my butt with the same fervor that I often do to her cute little tushie. Too be fair, I'm not often naked...even in front of myself, so this might have been the first time she realized Mommy even had a bum. I glanced over at her as I was returning to my naturally clothed state. The look on her face confirmed my suspicions...she working out a very complicated mathmatical equation in her head. Mommy + Bum =... She almost had it. Suddenly, eyes gleeful in her Eureeka moment, she blurted out, "Mommy poops!"

Merry Christmas. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Mini Phases

Everyone always says, "It's just a phase", but Snappy has many adorable phases that I hope never go away. Like her complete obsession with her 13 month old cousin, her 2 year old BFF and her fat cat. (I admit I took advantage of her stalkerish love for that silly cat this morning, yelling "Ralphie, come watch. Snappy is going to poopie in the big girl potty!" It nearly worked.)

I feel I must start chronicling these phases because it occurs to me that they aren't going to last forever. For example, the "animal" phase where she had to sleep with, be with and carry an armload of stuffed animals at all times, is petering out. I can't say that I'll really miss that phase all that much because it was hard to get her out of the house since she couldn't hold all her treasures and walk down the stairs at the same time. Still, it made me laugh and I got some cute pictures.

Sigh. Oh well. Thankfully, she still sleeps with them:




Not pictured, but all, somehow also crammed in the crib with her: Peacock, baseball teddy bear, Janice, Big Dora, Little Dora, Sonic, Ming Ming, Other Ming Ming, sheep who wears a jacket, hula Spongebob, Mister Crabs, Gary, Hello Kitty, The Pigeon Book and the trio of multi-culti baby dolls that sleep at the foot of the crib.

Christmas Miracles...Bah Humbug! (Warning: Shmaltz)

I've been thinking about Christmas Miracles lately. Glide ran out of food bags for the first time ever yesterday. Innocent children are getting sick...and staying sick. An old lady died in an apartment fire on Nob Hill the other morning. It seems that if you really, really need a miracle, tough shit, you won't get one. (Unless by "miracle" you mean "dead ticket", then you can get all you need...in 1990.)I don't dare hope for miracles anymore. I've developed a painful, paranoid faux-Buddhist need to live in the moment lest I spend every moment worrying about the possibility of not outliving Snappy. The upside is that I've developed a faux-Buddhist appreciation for "The Moment".

Okay, this is going to sound like something I made up for shmaltz sake, but I didn't. I swear. My favorite Christmas present ever was a hairdryer. I was 12 or 13, and I was just getting into stuff like that. I really wanted a hairdryer, but I didn't say anything. I'm not sure why, but we didn't ask for gifts, but just hoped for the best. When it came to clothes, my mom was sure to by the ugliest thing to ever hang on a sale rack, but with everything else she was spot on...buying lots of fun toys when we were little and make-up for my sister and I and rock magazines for my brother when we were teens. I didn't ask for a hair dryer, but all my friends had them, they made lots of noise and provided big, fluffy hair that was the style at the time. After I had opened my presents, I eyed the beautiful Con-air 3 speed and said, "we got a lot of stuff this year." I don't remember, maybe we did, maybe we didn't, but I got a hairdryer, so, in my mind, I made out. My mother said, "no, I only spent about 25 bucks on each of you." I was floored. I was sure hairdryer alone must be worth at least 50 bucks. I didn't believe her.

Now, of course, I realize that it was our poorest Christmas ever. My mom was single and waiting tables at a Chinese restaurant. She had no money, no husband, a mortgaged house with a failing furnace, 3 kids, a bunch of cats and dogs and then, one 9.99 hairdryer bought at CVS had hit a homerun and became the best Christmas present ever. If that isn't a Christmas miracle, I don't know what is.

More on the Cuteness

Runner ups:

Whoa, dude!

Oh dear! Oh my!

No cymbal crashes.

Oh mommy.

And, this is not so much a runner-up as it is an alternate number 1, everytime I wash her face or do something else she doesn't want me to do she says, "Help me Spiderman! Sling some webs.".

More Cute Stuff Snaps Does

Now that she's talking, the top ten cute things Snappy says has been compiled by a crack team of scientists.

10. Don't worry, unicorn.

9. Where's my Grouchy Monster?

8. The puma eats a snack.

7. Hello Jackhammer. I want to talk to you!

6. Weee! Woo hoo!

5. Don't swear.

4. I'm swearing!

3. Silly coffee maker/vacuum cleaner! What are you doing here?
(it must be noted that Snaps is terrified of the vacuum cleaner and the coffee maker.)

2. Don't cry anymore, Hello Kitty.

1. Hello.

Yeah. That's right. Hello. No, you don't understand, see, whenever Snappy is caught doing something she ought not to, she dances over to me and, doing an amazingly accurate imatation of a Monty Python housewife, says "Hellooooooooooo! Hi mum!"

Next up: the runner ups.