Behind The Scenes Of An Ill Conceived Blog PostPosted: July 26, 2013
The frenzy generated by the British Royal Family here in the US seems odd. I don’t mind that the Brits love them – they’re their royal family, not ours. The Royal Family are probably very nice, but why the British Royal Family? Why not the Danish monarchy, or the Andorran? All three nations are great; their royal families equally regal. Probably equally nice.
Media hype tends to drive me from things. A few years ago, I blogged my boycott of the British royal wedding because I was sick of seeing newscasters telling me how excited I was and helping me prepare for the wedding.
When those crazy married royal kids were approaching parenthood, someone asked if I would be boycotting the royal baby. That was a hard question. In the end, I could not boycott a baby. Babies are fine people. I planned to just ignore the event, until the moment I heard the baby was born and hadn’t been named.
Here Is Where Things Started To Go Wrong
I thought it was silly that anyone with 9 months to consider their child’s name would be unready to name their little boy. But there they were, taking The Boy Windsor home with nothing to call him but Hey You.”
My solution, because it is my place to come up with a solution, was to take on naming HRH Hey You on Will and Kate’s behalf. This would express my indignation about the mishandling of the naming of this baby. Your guess is as good as mine as to why this is something that makes me indignant.
I started by declaring that the royal baby’s name was Shecky, then adding that I would give the baby a new name every half hour until the Prince and Duchess got around to handling the matter themselves.
Now, when I said every half hour, I thought that perhaps I’d get two hours of names in before the bundle of regal joy heard his name for the first time. That wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. The boy’s father is a prince. He is like the co-pilot of a nation, at worst, the navigator. Either way, he’s a responsible dude. It seemed certain that he’d put things right in short order.
As it turns out, it wasn’t so certain.
Shecky was the first of the names I gave the baby who might be king. “Start strong”, I thought, “if they settle on a name quickly you’ll be sorry if you miss the chance to call him Shecky.” Shecky, followed by Attila.
But then it appeared things would drag on. I posted my first baby name at 9 a.m.. At 2:30 I added the comment that a “smart man wouldn’t have committed to every half hour”. At 3:30 p.m. I realized that I’d begun shifting the blame for my predicament to the royal couple. That feeling began to color my attitude toward my idea and the world.
The consequences of my need to mock them for not being able to agree on the simplest part of being parents became their fault. If they’d just named this poor innocent, I would not be in the situation I was. My resentment grew as the day dragged on.
Yes, the day did drag on. It dragged because they were slack about naming their son and because I had a blog idea. It was an idea that I was too hard-headed to give up on.
Thirty Minutes. Thirty Minutes. Thirty Minutes.
My day became an endless series of thirty minute segments. The baby name thing became intrusive. It was all I was doing: post the name, enjoy a moment’s relief, think of the next name. post the next name…over and over.
Despite knowing how insignificant my opinion is to Mr. & Mrs. Co-pilot, the repetitive task of naming their child took a toll on me and made me angry with them. Why wouldn’t they give their child a name? Perhaps just to spite me. Delusional? Yup.
I wasn’t delusional very long though, because thirty minutes was a very short deadline. There wasn’t time to dwell on the matter, there were silly names to be thought of. Over and over and over, every thirty minutes.
At 9:30 p.m. I hung it up for day one. When I started, I’d never considered there could be a day two. Always consider that there might be a day two.
My first thought in the morning was about this goofy name blog project. My alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.. By 4:35 I’d reset the alarm and shot a video of me waking and announcing a name. This was becoming all-consuming.
And then I learned that William had remained nameless for a week. And then I learned one week was fast for his ilk. You know how whenever you speak of someone’s ilk, you’re pissed off? I’m like you, I was pissed. I blame the prince and his ilk.
On and on, I fired names out. I was too stubborn to stop. Stubborn and committed. Committed enough that I felt bad that I forgot to post names while I attended the retirement luncheon of an old friend. I have a lot of old friends.
And then, relief. A great friend who isn’t so old at all sent me a message “George Alexander Lewis, and you are off the hook.” In that instant, I was free. No more thirty minute deadlines. No more thinking of silly names.
But really, what sort of person doesn’t know what their baby’s name is?
Don’t answer that. That’s the question that got me into this mess.
There was one sequence that I really enjoyed.
Near the end of day one I was getting tired and giddy. I decided that having a dolphin name the baby would be funny, so I posted a video of a dolphin vocalizing. Then I thought about Chewbacca, from Star Wars, naming the baby. What’s the next logical step to follow dolphin and Chewbacca? A Tibetan throat singer, of course. While I looked thru videos of singing Tibetans I found this – the greatest, most confusing video ever made:
Why did this man do this?
Why was he underwater?
Where was he walking off to at the end?
I don’t know the answers to any of those questions. I just know I’m afraid of lakes now.