I've always been bad with names, probably as a result of spending my early years in Navy housing where all the girls my age were named Debbie. Then I moved here, and found that virtually all the women my age or older were named Helen or Jane, which didn't help any. I tend to use nicknames for intimate friends (particularly those I wrote about) and endearments such as Sweetie, Honey, and Dearest with my students (largely because I have NO CLUE what their "English" name is.)
I write most frequently about my sister Sissy, my daughter Lulu, and the dogs. Only the dogs' names are correct. Sissy is a nickname for my sister because as a child she despised the character of Cissy on Family Affair so deeply that it was fun to torment her by calling her that. (Note: if you tend to overact, small horrid brothers and sisters will quickly hone in on that fact and dance around like imps taunting you for it.) The last thing she'd want is to outed on a blog as being My Big Sister, hence the moniker. Lulu is Lulu: she always was and always will be a Lulu, only sometimes I spell it Lou Lou after the perfume I work in college. It's also her milk name in Chinese. A milk name is the name given an infant, usually a play on their name, like a baby name in the West: it is often abandoned about the time they're weaned or by first grade, whatever comes first. The Rose, aka The Irish Rose, is my drinking buddy: he's from Ireland, and the first piece I memorized for the piano was "My Wild Irish Rose," so there's that. In fact, my cell phone doesn't list his name--just "The Rose." "The Rose" was also a terrific movie starring Better Midler, and there's enough of that character in him to warrant the name. Mr. Magic really uses the name Mr. Magic in daily life, although I shorten it to Magic or even Madge, which I hope doesn't feminize him. Did you ever see Barbie's ugly friend Madge? Not an intentional commentary on my part, just a coincidence. There are a handful of other characters floating around with equally impossible nicknames,such as Howard the Duck, Rosie Oh, Totsy, Little Man, Mose, Oh Julien, Chinese Oprah, and Little Dummy. While I use these terms in daily conversation, I seldom write about them (except maybe Totsy, my maternal grandmother and the cheapest person on the planet.) However, a conversation with The Rose a few days ago went like this:
Me: Are Oh Julian and Coco back yet?
The Rose: I don't think so. I had to record with Mose.
Me: Is he coming to Mr. Magic's? I hear Howard the Duck will be there.
The Rose: I don't think so. Shit! I dropped my Dirty Snowcone! Is Chinese Oprah coming over or do you have to clean it up?
Me: (Heavy sigh.) Just shut up and let me clean it up before the dogs get drunk off the Limoncello.
As for the second part of the post--The Truth-- you won't get it. Or rather, you won't get the version of the truth my mother calls "The Truth." For example, the Christmas Carol post: the deafening silence on my family's part implied disapproval for a) criticizing Mom by suggesting her disapproval of Silent Night is in any way a character flaw and b) for perhaps artfully staging the "Fall On Your Knees" incident for the ease of the reader. Basically, stories only happen to people who can tell them, as my old English professor Mr. Sewell used to say, and most writers just flip the facts around to suit their purpose. Emily Hahn put it best when she wrote that writers are liars and "they can't help it."
However, the nicknames are real and in use and they are there to protect the far-less-than-innocent (not to mention to save me from asshats who think they've been vilified and wish to sue.)
Dirty Snowcones: Crush some ice quite fine and put it into a Martini glass. Drizzle Limoncello in one spot to look as if someone has peed in the snow. Serve. You can also make this drink even stronger by blending the ice chips briefly with a shot of vodka, then staining with the Limoncello. I can't write my name in this snow but my friend Art can, using an eye dropper. Disgusting, but good.
I write most frequently about my sister Sissy, my daughter Lulu, and the dogs. Only the dogs' names are correct. Sissy is a nickname for my sister because as a child she despised the character of Cissy on Family Affair so deeply that it was fun to torment her by calling her that. (Note: if you tend to overact, small horrid brothers and sisters will quickly hone in on that fact and dance around like imps taunting you for it.) The last thing she'd want is to outed on a blog as being My Big Sister, hence the moniker. Lulu is Lulu: she always was and always will be a Lulu, only sometimes I spell it Lou Lou after the perfume I work in college. It's also her milk name in Chinese. A milk name is the name given an infant, usually a play on their name, like a baby name in the West: it is often abandoned about the time they're weaned or by first grade, whatever comes first. The Rose, aka The Irish Rose, is my drinking buddy: he's from Ireland, and the first piece I memorized for the piano was "My Wild Irish Rose," so there's that. In fact, my cell phone doesn't list his name--just "The Rose." "The Rose" was also a terrific movie starring Better Midler, and there's enough of that character in him to warrant the name. Mr. Magic really uses the name Mr. Magic in daily life, although I shorten it to Magic or even Madge, which I hope doesn't feminize him. Did you ever see Barbie's ugly friend Madge? Not an intentional commentary on my part, just a coincidence. There are a handful of other characters floating around with equally impossible nicknames,such as Howard the Duck, Rosie Oh, Totsy, Little Man, Mose, Oh Julien, Chinese Oprah, and Little Dummy. While I use these terms in daily conversation, I seldom write about them (except maybe Totsy, my maternal grandmother and the cheapest person on the planet.) However, a conversation with The Rose a few days ago went like this:
Me: Are Oh Julian and Coco back yet?
The Rose: I don't think so. I had to record with Mose.
Me: Is he coming to Mr. Magic's? I hear Howard the Duck will be there.
The Rose: I don't think so. Shit! I dropped my Dirty Snowcone! Is Chinese Oprah coming over or do you have to clean it up?
Me: (Heavy sigh.) Just shut up and let me clean it up before the dogs get drunk off the Limoncello.
As for the second part of the post--The Truth-- you won't get it. Or rather, you won't get the version of the truth my mother calls "The Truth." For example, the Christmas Carol post: the deafening silence on my family's part implied disapproval for a) criticizing Mom by suggesting her disapproval of Silent Night is in any way a character flaw and b) for perhaps artfully staging the "Fall On Your Knees" incident for the ease of the reader. Basically, stories only happen to people who can tell them, as my old English professor Mr. Sewell used to say, and most writers just flip the facts around to suit their purpose. Emily Hahn put it best when she wrote that writers are liars and "they can't help it."
However, the nicknames are real and in use and they are there to protect the far-less-than-innocent (not to mention to save me from asshats who think they've been vilified and wish to sue.)
Dirty Snowcones: Crush some ice quite fine and put it into a Martini glass. Drizzle Limoncello in one spot to look as if someone has peed in the snow. Serve. You can also make this drink even stronger by blending the ice chips briefly with a shot of vodka, then staining with the Limoncello. I can't write my name in this snow but my friend Art can, using an eye dropper. Disgusting, but good.
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