Nicknamery Part 2: The Search Continues ...

Remember that one obnoxious asshole from middle school theater camp? The one who insisted -- all … summer … long -- that everyone call him “Puck?”

Of course you do. We all do. We all knew “that guy.” The one who thought his Hawaiian shirts, juggling skills and extensive experience as "Boy Who Gets Turkey" in a dinner theater production of A Christmas Carol would get him laid.

Well, kid. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you … but you cannot give yourself a nickname. Nope. No sir. Not ever.

I don’t care that you’ve memorized the piano dance from “Big” or that you know all the words to “Jesus Christ Superstar.” You cannot give yourself a nickname. So stop it.

Also you’re a douche.

But that’s off-topic.

Anyhow, it’s an ironclad rule of nicknamery. The only rule, really. And a rule that all the “Pucks” of the world need “explained” to them.

Energetically.

With fists.

“Call me Puck! Then punch me in my face as hard and as often as you can! Huzzah!”

But, all that said … as a fella who longs for a nickname of my own, I’m fervently hoping that, while I can’t apply a nickname to myself directly, maybe I can coerce people into giving me one. And if I'm lucky, maybe it’ll even be cool.

So what makes a good nickname? According to my research (by which I mean: “opinions I’ve pretty much pulled from my ass”) ... a good, solid nickname usually comes in one of three basic formats:

1) First Name + "The" + Adjective/Noun

2) First Name + Descriptor in “Quotes” + Last Name

3) The Free-Stander

In this post let’s examine the first of these.

First Name + "The" + Adjective/Noun

Historically, this is probably the oldest known form of the nickname. You can track it through thousands of years in recorded history.

And back in the day, they really knew how to hand out nicknames.

Ramses the Great, Richard the Lionhearted, Ivan the Terrible, Attila the Hun, Conan the Barbarian … that’s pure, Grade A bad ASS.

And the very best of the bunch? Mr. Tepes himself …

Vlad the goddamn Impaler.

“I will DRINK a muthafucka!” --Vlad the Impaler, 1474.

This nickname was so pants-crappingly awesome that Bram Stoker was blown away by it 420 years later! He was so impressed with this nickname that he used Vlad as a model for one of the literature’s baddest muthafuckas - Count Goddamn Dracula. Now THAT’s a successful nickname.

Suck on that one, Scooter Libby.

Just think how much lamer history (not to mention monster movies) would have been if he’d been stuck with a weak handle. Vlad the Irritable? Vladdy the Stabby? Chuckle-Time Jim?

Thank you, Vlad’s Friends, for tagging your brutal, bloodthirsty dictator buddy with history’s ultimate nickname. The world is richer for your efforts.

Also, sorry that he probably impaled you to death. That sucks.

Sorry about that, guys. But nice work ... you know ... before.

But this nickname format isn’t without it’s perils and pitfalls, though.

The Vikings, collectively some of history’s very best bad-asses, especially dug this construction. But they didn’t always knock it out of the park, execution-wise.

I’m speaking, of course, of one Mr. Ivar the Boneless.

Real guy. Honest. The Viking who conquered the city of York in England back in 866 AD. Seriously. Go ahead, look him up. I’ll wait.

Now just how Ivar came by the nickname “the Boneless” is not recorded in history. Some historians believe he may have had a genetic disorder that made his bones soft and rubbery. Other (way meaner) historians think he may have been impotent.

“My dingus may or may not work. Also, I might be squishy.” -- Ivar the Boneless, 870 AD.

But while the etymology of this nickname may be lost to history … today it makes poor Ivar sound cowardly at best, and at worst, like something off KFC’s Value Menu.

"I like my Ivar boneless. Kully-FOO-nee-yah style!"

Is it possible that the meaning of "Boneless" has changed over the centuries? That, back in Ivar's day it meant something really cool? Like "guy who rips the bones out of his enemies?" Maybe.

But I can't take that chance. It’s vital that, if my nickname eventually takes this form, the adjective/noun at the end should be crystal clear. It's important. I don't want bloggers 1200 years from now thinking my bones are squishy or that my dingus doesn't work.

That would make my ghost in the year 3209 very sad.

Next time we'll take a look at nickname construction #2:

First Name + Descriptor in “Quotes” + Last Name


Till next we meet ...

Nicknamery: Part 1

Nicknames.

Everybody wants one.

Everybody.

Including you.

Sure you do. Because you're part of "everybody." That's how that works.

Let me amend that ever so slightly. Everybody wants a COOL nickname. Like "Nails" or "Big Daddy" or "Ezekiel Thundercock."

Let's face it, nobody wants to be saddled for the rest of their life with an unfortunate handle like "Skeeter" or "Boner" or "Needle Dick, The Bug Fucker."

That's just common sense.

But you get my point.

“The name’s Rutherford T. Rothschild III, but my friends call me Scabs. I hate them so very much.”

To reiterate: Everybody wants a cool nickname.

That includes me. Because I'm part of "everybody," and that's how that works.

But unfortunately, it's not as easy as all that. I can want a cool nickname as hard as a person can want a thing .... but it won’t do me any good. See, ultimately it’s not up to me. Such is the inherent peril of nicknamery.

You can't give one to yourself.

That’s the first and only rule. A nickname must be earned. It must be bestowed upon you by others.

A nickname is a thing freely given. Like a Knighthood. Or sex from Tara Reid. Actually, come to think of it, both of those bestowals also come with their own nicknames. Nicknames like "Sir," "Dame" and "You’ve Tested Positive."

"Stay pozzzative, mmmuhtha-fukkkkahhzzzz!! Woooooo!! Party!!"

I digress.

Good nicknames used to run in my family. There's a rich Badlam tradition of ignoring your relative’s given name and saddling them with one that's utterly ridiculous ... but always evocative.

My paternal grandfather's name was Edward. But nobody actually knew that. In his 90+ years on the planet, it never really came up. He was known to everyone in town as "Hi." Except for the family. We knew him as "Monk." (Pronounced "Mawnk.") Though, in more formal situations this could be modified with an article, e.g.: "The Monk" or, alternately with the addition of an adjective, "The Old Monk".

PHOTO TO COME
The Old Monk. Gentleman, Patriot, Nicknamer of Men.

(One can also use “monk” in the lowercase as a more general term that can apply to anyone. As long as they're doing something stupid, amusing or embarrassing. e.g.: “What a monk!” or “That monk took a shit in the middle of the road.” Suffice to say, there have been many “monks” in my family.)

Again, I digress.

My grandfather’s brothers were also tagged with equally colorful monikers. His brother Richard was known to the family as "Moe." Yet to the rest of the town he was "Buttermilk." And his brother Hiram (who, unlike my grandfather, actually was named "Hi") was for some reason, known to the world at large as "Duck."

In his youth, my dad's given name -- John -- was quickly cast aside for the more colorful and I’m given to understand, largely random -- "Yacca." And so on, with all the assorted brothers, sisters, cousins, et al. You get the idea.

(NOTE: Mom's side of the family was never much for nicknames. Though my grandmother would call my grandfather a "prick-fucker." Daily. At ear-splitting volume. But I never quite got the impression it was a term of endearment.)

Anyhow, it's a sad fact that by the time my generation came waddling along, the Badlam family tradition of nicknaming had largely petered out. Imagine my disappointment.

Subsequently, I've never had a satisfying nickname. Over the years, the best any of my lazy, soft-headed friends could muster was: "Rob-buh-buh." Which was nothing more than an exaggerated pronunciation the extra "b" that I’ve stubbornly tacked to the end of my first name since I was an awkward, grease-soaked ‘tween with a desperate need for attention. But that feeble nickname attempt was, by definition, weak sauce.

What I want is a cool nickname. Something clever and kick-ass. But I can’t just give myself one. It’s like tickling yourself. Doesn’t work. It’s against Nature.

So ... what to do?

Well, I think the answer is simple. Put it to a vote.

In the coming days, I’ll dissect the pros and cons of the various forms of nicknames and then I’ll come up with ten or so possibilities. (Suggestions are always welcome). Then we’ll vote.

Since this blog probably has one, maybe two, readers tops, I’ll leave the polls open for, say, the month of September. Deal?

And on October 1st I shall, at long last, finally have my nickname. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for "Ezekiel Thundercock."

Till next we meet ...