Tuesday, April 11, 2006

A Rosemary Galadriel Moonchild by any other name

Gwyneth Paltrow has had a baby boy, the BBC informs us breathlessly. Normally we wouldn’t concern ourselves with the mating and breeding rituals of obscenely rich and pampered celebs, for this is a high-brow blog, not like the sad, shallow scribblings of some others I could mention. But won’t. Apart from Aunty M and her Brad Pitt fixation.

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?

15 comments:

Foot Eater said...

Frank Zappa didn't do a lot of drugs. In fact, he lived in mortal fear while touring that his band members would get busted and that he'd be drawn into the net. This is true.

R. Sherman said...

The Hollywood types are certainly special; very much more so than we mortals. Giving their kids goofy names makes their offspring really special, too.

Speaking of parents with no sense, in Columbia, MO there is a car dealer, last name "Head." Guess what his parents' choice for a first name was. You're right.

"Richard."

Cheers.

Desargues said...

Frank Zappa's offspring is manyfold and uniformly weird-named alright, but they all still have to beat Michael Hutchence and Paula Yates's Heavenly Hirani Tiger Lily. Take that, Ahmed Emuukha Rodan Zappa!

Ivan the Terrible said...

Well, Footie, perhaps if he'd dropped a tab and mellowed out for a change, he might have called his kid 'Norman'. See? Much better.

I knew a Richard Head at university. "Hi, my name is Richard", he'd say, with subtle emphasis on the Richard. "Hi, Dick!" was the unvarying response.
He really didn't like it when we called him Dick. Ah, happy days.

Des, Michael Hutchence and Paula Yates are what we in the trade call extreme outliers. We don't include them in the pool of the averagely and representatively rich-stupid-and-famous, as they tend to distort the results. I give you Hutchence's chosen method of departing this world, exampli gratis...

Aunty Marianne said...

When I was a kid I lived in a French speaking country. Where my given names constitute the equivalent of calling a French child Boadicea Ruts. As in rutting stags.

Not good. Not good at all.

Ivan the Terrible said...

You think you have it rough? Pity the poor Paddy who arrives in Paris with the name Conor...

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

My pal Fluffag commented in my last-but-one post that her mother-law-wants her to meet her very sweet friends Mike and Kay Hunt. FLuffag is serious - she wouldn't make jokes when her mother-in-law was concerned.

Mike Hunt must be a great bloke to have overcome such mammoth odds and convince any woman, far less a Kay, that she should marry him. Either that, or they have developed sophisticated inner voices to go lalalalaalal when itt appears to them people giggle at the name. Or they come just "as described".

This is one case where it's fair to say 'I blame the parents'.

I've got a soft spot for people called Murdo myself. It implies facility with a spade , a strong liver, a fondness for good books and the ability to hold forth on the issues of the day. A sort of Rennaissance man for the Hebrides.

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

That would be Renaissance man for the Hebrides. He must also be able to lower his standards for poor spellers.

Ivan the Terrible said...

Who cares about spelling on the Hebrides? It's all about child-bearing hips out there, and you know it.

More on Mike Hunt here, if you look hard enough...

Desargues said...

I forgot that you had started this blog before Hutton told us about it. Went back and read some of the older post. Good stuf...

Foot Eater said...

Michael Hunt once dived into the sea to save somebody from drowning. The reporter from the local TV station was at the scene, and she announced: "Mike Hunt is dripping wet and smells of fish."

Ivan the Terrible said...

Des, thank you - it's never too late!

Footie - I find that very improbable. More likely she was just talking about her vagina. You see, you might not have noticed, but if you say "Mike Hunt" quickly, it sounds a little like oh wait now I get it...

Aunty Marianne said...

There's a famous letter dated about 1944 from the British Embassy in Russia to the Foreign Minister. It goes something like "Reggie, we are living through dark days, and when a little ray of light comes into my life I savour it, and not being a selfish man, I share it."

"I have a new Turkish colleague by the name of Mustapha Kunt."

Anonymous said...

hey

The Wrath of Dawn said...

Locally, there is a family named Monster. Members of this clan listed in the phone book a few years ago included:

Harry
Frank
Stan

I had visions of Frank and Stan going into business together and naming it Fran & Stan Monster.