Family intervention

I'm in total agreement with my brother-in-law when it comes to naming children and he insists "You have to have a theme" and his choice of one--begining with vowel letters in alphabetical order--isn't bad. But something must be done to prevent my sister from going with her choice of a name that is:

1. Different from his older brother's name by only one segment (i.e. /ð/)
2. Horribly trendy (ranked 68 in the USA last year compared to 156th most popular when we were born)

At yesterday's barbecue, I pressed my case that since gentle persuasion has failed--Isidore ("Patron saint of the Internet!"), Ignatius Loyola ("He'd get into the Jesuit college of his choice--FOR FREE!"), Immanuel, and Ichabod have all ended up on the trash heap--the time has come for concerted unilateral action: We need to form a consensus on a nickname now and begin employing it exactly as if his parents' choice were a figment of someone's imagination.

My model for a successful nicknaming is my mother's baby brother. When I was an adolescent, I couldn't figure out why all my cousins called him "Butch" when Mom had told me he was named "Vincent". The family story is that he was a very pretty baby. When his older sisters took him out for a ride in the buggy, passers-by were forever asking, "She's so beautiful, what's her name?" Someone (no one can agree who) started replying "Butch" and it stuck--boy, did it stick.

We tossed around dozens of possibilities without coming to any agreement. Here's an incomplete list:

• Slim
• Sly
• Slimer
• Tad(pole)
• Dale [requires renaming older brother "Chip"]
• Ion
• iBaby
• Ivan [from his stepmother by phone]
• Killer

Hmm--they seemed better in a post-prandial caipirinha haze. Do any of them look like they might have legs? Further suggestions?

The weekend that was

Friday: Velvet Goldmine with monshu, whose enjoyment was fatally dulled by the double-barrel handicap of (1) having no real nostalgia for glam or any of the musical movements it inspired and (2) finding not one of the Anglo-Celtic Hotness Trio of Bale, MacGregor, and Rhys-Meyers sufficiently stunning to justify the investment of time. princeofcairo was dead on about my enjoyment of it, however.

Saturday: Brunch at Tweet with the charming, intelligent, entertaining across-the-hall neighbour, who we succeed in dragging along on a shopping trip to Home Element and Chinese antiquarians Chen & Chen. Hours of valuable time wasted on TDC and its killer jellyfish, squid, and sea snakes.

Sunday: Brunch at M. Henry with our upstairs resident Jewish banker cum Euroslut followed by a pleasant stroll on the beach. Apartment cleaning in the afternoon followed by a plea for company from bunj resulting in saltimbocca with him, e., and my father.

Monday: Scrubbing and mopping and some laying about until an afternoon rendezvous with Dad at the Chicago Botanic Garden. Dinner at Colombian-Cuban mash-up (no real fusion going on) Col-Ubas on Clark. "Da Bhangra Code" at Smart Bar with across-the-hall neighbour and a sticky night of little sleep.

Tuesday: Home-roasted coffee with Dad and Nuphy on his rooftop deck in "Unidorf". Lamb feast at Leclaire Manor followed by a wrenching defeat for Germany on TiVoed TV with florid Mexican colour commentary. Key lime pie and then fireworks from the roof of my condo.

All in all, not much I'd change if I were to do it again. (Except, of course, victory for the undeserving Azzuri.)