The new animal kingdom

Howdy, folks, and welcome yet again to another word-filled edition of UOPTA. I won't be so bold as to assume it's "fun-filled," but you can't really argue about it having words. Now I know I've said this a couple of times in the past, but I really mean it this time: When I made a list of potential blog topics about a year ago, one item was near the very top of the list and still remains unscratched out because I felt it would take too long to write up. Today, I shall finally get to it and hopefully do it justice.

It should be no news flash that my circle of friends and I are strange individuals. Sometimes without much rhyme or reason, we attach ourselves to things and spin them a little out of control. Well, gentle readers, this is one of those situations. I'll attempt to start at a starting point.

When my homey Rockabye and I started our college careers at UCSB, we shared an eight-by-nothing room in good ole San Nicolas Residence Hall. The day our parents dropped us off, we transformed into meerkats with the widest-eyed looks you can imagine. Why's that? The possibilities, man! While neither of us came from households that mandated our every action, this was a new level of freedom: absolute freedom. (I don't believe that corrupts absolutely, for the record.) Within a week, we had a banner up in our room that read, "Because We Can." Burger King at 2am? Because we can. A weekly basketball league that starts at 11pm? Because we can. Why does a Doberman lick his own balls? Oh wait, I got sidetracked.

The first task was decorating. As a teen, I put up pictures of friends from graduation and all that crap. The real question though was what we were going to put on the whiteboard adorning our "front door." I thought about a quote from the British band called Half Man Half Biscuit: "You can lead a horse to water but a pencil must be Lead." That didn't work out though. Instead, we went with nicknames. Rockabye (who wasn't "Rockabye" to me yet) had worked at a camp in which everyone had nicknames. His was Spud, so we thought that sticking to a food theme wasn't the worst idea in the world. "What do I like eating that also sounds ok?" I wondered. Boom - got it: Corndog. And so our door was set. Room 6214, Corndog and Spud. I did a pretty good impression of a corndog as well, which came in handy. It was pretty much just putting my hands at my side, raising one leg, and making a blank expression, but it got the point across.

A couple of weeks passed, and it didn't really catch on. I tried just going by "C-Dog" for a little, but that didn't help the cause. So, I finally gave in and gave up on that idea. (I never gave out or gave down on it though.)

Let's fast-forward a bit, shall we? It was near the end of that year that our friend Greg continued a fun tradition that he, Dusty, and I had begun earlier that year: the drunken email. After a night on the town, we got back to our respective residence hall rooms, and I got an email from him telling me, "You is da dawg of dem all." Quite a compliment, if you ask me. It was not intentionally related to the whole Corndog incident, but I think there may have been some subconscious connection. We didn't make too much of it, but we laughed about it with friends and it stayed in the back of our minds.

The following year, while chilling in our sophomore-year pad on Camino del Sur, my friend Jon started to freestyle rap for some reason that nobody knows. He kept repeating this: "Who is da dawg, da dawg of dem all? P-Dawg! Who is da dawg, da dawg of dem all? P-Dawg!" Fast-forward a little bit more, and my friends were all calling me Dawg now. I didn't mind one bit, for I love dogs more than the average human, and let's be honest, it was much cooler nickname than a skinny white boy from the Valley deserved.

Time passed, and the name stuck more and more. When Dusty came and lived with us for a quarter, he picked it up right away. And then something magical happened. Greg and I got ourselves a little whiteboard for outside of our room, and we wanted to put our names up. "Dawg and...hmmm." Greg was an absolute slob back in the day, so the answer was clear: Pig. There was one problem though: Dawg was not spelled like the animal, so Pig shouldn't be either. Naturally, we added a silent H to the end, and Greg became The Pigh.

Now things were catching on, and we turned to our roommates to start figuring out their misspelled animal names as well. Dusty, while technically at UCSB for a quarter to do research, generally just laid around and did nothing. After some back and forth, we agreed on Slug. "Should we add another G?" we wondered. Nope, we found a better way to do it, and Tslug was born.

With our sample size at three, we noticed something. Not only did we have misspelled animal names as nicknames, but they were also all monosyllabic and not rhyming with one another. We wanted to keep those parameters in effect, even if that raised the degree of difficulty a little. We turned to our roommate Dave. He had a shirt that said "Byrd" on it, so that was very easy. He didn't really like that one too much though, and quickly became Toade instead. He bought a stuffed animal of a toad and it was cemented. Our roommate Jason was probably the easiest name to come up with. He was a huge fan of the band Phish, but that misspelling was already taken. Therefore, we huddled and came out with Fisch. For reasons I don't recall, Rockabye/Spud became Krab. It might have been because of his bony elbows, but that's the closest I can come to anything resembling logic with that one. Ben, who spent a lot of time scrunching his nose and being hunched over his computer, had the distinct pleasure of being named Wrat. I like that spelling quite a bit, I must say. Jon was a bit of a problem. After a good amount of healthy debate, we decided that the ox should be his animal namesake. But how to spell it? I'm actually not positive, but I think we settled on Auks for him. Years later, he petitioned to switch to Ramb, which was granted by the committee. My bro got involved as well. First, since his butt is a lot bigger than mine (which is more a reflection of my lack of ass than his large one), I suggested that he be Asss. I even created a slogan for him: "The Extra S for the Extra Ass." He didn't like that one, and I can't really blame him, so we gladly moved him over to a much cooler-sounding Snayke.

And then the ladies got involved. It was fun coming up with these and toying with ways to spell them, so we took it all very seriously. My lovely wife became Deare, which allowed me the comfort of saying "Yes Deare" without sounding like I was putting her off. Dusty still greets her with "Hey Deare," and that's obviously fine with me since that's her name and all. Dusty's girlfriend, known to us as The Mills, was really the first to secure a less common animal. She is, and has been consistently since the day it was decided, known as The Minque to us. When it came to Twilight, we agreed upon Fox even though it rhymed with Auks. Jon had never used his name at all and ended up switching it anyway, so we didn't feel bad doubling up on that sound. After some deliberation, Faux (pronounced "fox" still) was born. One of my favorite nicknames was for an ex of one of the boys. She was kind of small in stature, and so Maus (complete with umlauts over the U and everything) was perfect for her.

About a year ago, our friends Lisa and Paul realized that they had never been given names. Lisa had a kid (and now has two), so some variation of Hen seemed to be appropriate. I suggest Chen, pronounced all throaty and Yiddish-like, but that didn't gain enough approval of the group. After much deliberation, we decided that Gen, with a Spanish pronunciation in a nod to her half-Mexican status, made the most sense. We tried making her Caulk, but she managed to wiggle out of that one. Lisa told us that she sometimes referred to Paul as "her bear." As a Midwestern boy, he says that animal name more like "Bayer," and poof - his name was born.

And then there's the problem with Ceil. Greg's girlfriend Ceil already has a monosyllabic misspelled animal name, but it happens to be her real name already, so that's a no-no. Most often, I call her "Foca," which is "seal" in Spanish, but that doesn't fit the bill. To date, she's still nameless. I don't like that, but I can't come up with an adequate solution. She could be Chark, Hock, Whirm, or any other great name just sitting out there, but nothing seems right.

In the category of "Possibly Too Much Information," I think my lovely wife and I have the animal names that would look the least silly trying to mate. A dog could definitely manage with a dear, don't you think? A slug might have a hard time with a mink, as would a toad with a fox or a bear with a poor little hen. A pig and a seal would be second, but once again, that's her real name. Grrrr.

But oh, my friends, the story doesn't end there. You see, over the years, these nicknames have become just as used - or more - as our real names. Therefore, we've since adopted nicknames for the nicknames. This confuses the hell out of most people, by the way. For example, I may refer to Greg as "The Ghlit" (pronounced "Glit") from time to time. Naturally, that's short for Pighlet, and he responds to it accordingly. Krab is sometimes "K-Rab," or even "K-Rab the A-Rab," even though he isn't of Arab descent. It's just catchy, and catchiness trumps true ethnicity in my book. (My book, by the way, is called "What Beats What: Beyond the Holy Triumvirate of Rock, Paper, and Scissors.")

There are two more bizarre nicknames of nicknames though. I'll go with Dusty's story first because I expect it to be briefer. He has a bunch of nicknames, come to think of his. I'll call him "Tsluggywuggs" or "The Tslug Monstrosity" for time to time, but that's amazingly not the bizarre nickname of which I spake. Here goes: I was hanging out the Toade, Tsulg, and Pigh one evening and playing a drinking game that involved throwing bottle caps into a glass. Actually, that's pretty much the whole game. Anyway, The Pigh had just been telling us about someone he worked with whose Korean name was something like "Sukmo." I don't know the spelling or even if I have the right phonemes for sure, but that's what I'm going with. In any case, Greg started making a face and saying, "Sukmo!" right as we'd toss the cap in an effort to distract us. It worked reasonably well, I'll have you know. By the end of the night though, Dusty was no longer just Tslug, he was also Tslugmo. To this day, The Minque almost exclusively calls him "Mo," and it all came from that night.

In the early Os, the phenomenon of Pokemon was alive and well. My friends and I were briefly infatuated with it for obvious reasons. The most compelling aspect of that cartoon was the fact that the creatures could only say their names or variations thereof. Pikachu, the most popular one by far, would say, "Pika pika, Pikachu!" sometimes, for example. (Oh, to be a script writer on that show!) Even though we were in our 20s and gainfully employed, we still thought it would be a good idea to give ourselves Pokemon-style names. Mine ended up being Dawgazar, because that's what obviously made the most sense to us at the time. To this day, Dusty will call me "Gazar." This has led to some very interesting conversations. "What did you just call him?" someone will ask upon overhearing that greeting. "Gazar," he'll reply, knowing full well that he hadn't answered their true question. "What's that?" "Short for 'Dawgazar,'" he'll say matter-of-factly. "And what's that?" "Ya know, the Pokemon name for his monosyllabic misspelled non-rhyming animal nickname." That usually clears things up.

All of this has now been going on for a decade, and that blows my mind. Looking back on the entire animal name thing, I can only find two regrets. First, I wish that we had referred to our apartment or our collective group as something like "The Farm" or "The Barn." Second, I really wish we'd decided on some ceremonial words or gestures that went along with bestowing a name upon someone. A whole anointing ceremony may have been a bit much, but I would've liked something more than, "How about this name? Cool."

I'm still hung up on Ceil though, and I'd like suggestions on what we should do. Should she: A, have another spelling of "seal" to really confuse things; B, be granted a different monosyllabic misspelled animal; or C, be granted a reprieve from this ridiculous ritual? I will see her on New Year's Eve, along with The Pigh, Tslug, Minque, Toade, Faux, Gen, Bayer, and my lovely Deare, so comment away with your thoughts on this highly important matter. Please vote in the poll at the top right of the page. It'll be up until next Friday. If you vote for B, I'm taking suggestions in the comments section.

And with that, I shall end this naming segment and move on to the wond'rous joy that is the Car Watch. Once again, this will be comprised solely of items I've received from my homey Rockabye and myself, because I guess the rest of you either don't see interesting things on the road or you just like keeping them to yourselves. Remember, sharing is caring.

First off, Rockabye saw a bumper sticker that read, "A day without sunshine, is like, the night." Without the commas, I might think that this person was serious and trying to be deep in some way. With them though, they're just being silly. I approve of the silliness, even though I feel like I'm missing any larger joke that may be there.

He also saw a plate that said, "RRRIFLE." He pointed out that just having a type of gun on your plate is probably enough on its own. To that point, I said that this one is just way more fun to say. He agreed. Go ahead folks: say it. See? It adds a little frustration or anger to it rather than just leaving the deadly weapon there by itself. I don't know exactly what that driver is going for, but I wouldn't feel totally comfortable driving next to him or her.

Lastly for the Rockabye section, he was behind a van labeled "All Valley Electrical Works." The plate? "LITU UP." I approve wholeheartedly.

My turn! I saw a plate-and-frame combo that I thought was worth reporting. First, the frame: "Life's more fun between the sheets." The plate in the middle of that frame read, "YLD STRK." The young lady driving the car looked nice enough, but she's being very clear with her message: "I may look ordinary, but make no mistake: I like to have fun and I'm in touch with my sexuality." No problem here with that. I wonder though how many guys (or gals, depending on her preference) have gone out to her car with her after meeting in a club or bar, spied that frame, and then mentally high-fived themselves.

Next, I saw a plate on my way into work that read, "KOBE 8Y1." Granted, I'm in Los Angeles. Also granted, Kobe scoring 81 points against the Raptors was one of the greatest individual NBA performances of all time. If I had been there at that game, I would want to talk about it very often. That said, I have a hard time making the leap from watching that game (either live or on tv) to wanting it for a license plate. Still, it's fathomable. But when he saw that "KOBE 81" was already taken by another die-hard fan, he opted to distort it to a way that doesn't really make sense instead of thinking, "Oh, that's too bad that someone already thought of that. Oh well, maybe I'll get something else then." That's where I have the problem. He may as well have gone with "COB 8EE1."

Lastly, I saw a plate that read, "PHOTGRP." No, no, no! How many times do I have to say this, people? If you can't put what you want in a way that makes sense, then choose another idea. All I can get from that plate is that the driver wants us to know that s/he likes or works somehow with either photography or photographers. I doubt that's all the driver wanted us to take away from that statement, and it really angers me. Let me be perfectly clear: I love personalized plates, but if you're going to get one, at least run it by a small sampling of people first to see if they pick it what you're putting down. If it's not an overwhelming majority, maybe try mixing it up a little. "PHOTGRP." Honestly.

Ok folks. Thanks for letting me get that long and retardiculous story of our animal names off my chest. It would've taken a week to tell in my old daily format rather than...well, I guess it took a week in this format also. Depending on how you felt about this, it'll either be good news or bad news that I think I'll be switching to the more disjointed posts of things I've thought about and little stories. We'll see, I guess. In the meantime, please vote in the poll, comment away on any reactions to this post, and email ptklein@gmail.com with Car Watch items, thoughts, questions, jokes, love letters, hate mail, puns, song lyrics, recipes, book suggestions, movie quotes, or dirty words in foreign languages. Until then my friends, have a great weekend and week.

(Between now and next Friday, we'll be skipping over the birthdays of my favorite brother, my great friend Jon, and my lovely wife's bestest friend Riley, so I want to wish them all very happy ones here and now. Raise a glass for them all, gentle readers.)