But I am moved to make an exception in this case if only for the curious way in which the Beeb phrases the announcement. Gwyneth, you see gave birth to “a boy named Moses”. Well, how did they know his name was Moses? Did he pop out with it tattooed on his forehead? Or, strangely credible but no less disturbing, is there some sort of random name generator in a hardened bunker off Hollywood and Vine, churning out these slightly oddball monikers and assigning them willy-nilly to the blameless sprogs of actresses, rock stars, and short-arse Scientologists with brains the size of grapes? Perhaps it’s in the Academy’s bylaws as a condition of getting an Oscar nomination.
Whatever the origins of these names, they surely can’t be the result of any sort of choice on the part of the parents. I mean, I know Frank Zappa did a lot of drugs and all, but I don’t think there’s enough acid in the entire world to make Moon Unit seem like a good idea.
Exhibit A, yesterday. Perhaps she wants him to be a Rabbi?