Call Me by My Name

As some of you may know, I had it pretty rough as a child.

You see, my parents made the dumbfounding decision to have alliterative offspring, meaning my brother, Michael and I were given names that started with the same letter.

Why a parent would do this to themselves is lost on me. Sometimes my parents would stare in silence, looking at me like I was the two remaining answers after using the 50/50 lifeline on the hit gameshow “Who Wants to be a Parent?” Then they would try to mask the amnesia with affection and just throw out nicknames like “sweetie” or “dear” or just collectively refer to us as their “M&Ms” but I knew what they were trying to pull!

I’ve heard from people who think my brother and I look exactly alike and their are others who are certain that one of us was picked up at “the store.” Personally, I don’t see where the confusion is. Michael played football and lacrosse and I played Xbox and Minesweeper so I have to imagine it wasn’t so it really comes down to asking yourself “did I have to move to the side when walking down the hallway or did I just feel a light breeze?” I feel like it wasn’t so much the look as it was the letter that was to blame. I haven’t made a whole lot of preemptive parenting decisions, but I have decided I am going name children by alternating between first and last letters of the alphabet. So my lineage lineup will look sound something like Adam, Zachary, Bryan and Yadon  or or Andrea, Zoey and Brianna (sorry, but definitely stopping at 3 girls. I’ve heard too many stories of people holding out hope for that boy and long story short, the dad now needs to make bathroom reservations a week in advance.)

Rise of the Machines

I’ve never been one of those “the machines are listening in and will one day rise up” people, but this was just weird. Yesterday while I was in the car, “Let me clear my throat” was on the radio and I got to a red light right at the part when he goes “FREEZE!” And today I was getting my “Uptown Funk” on in downtown Nashua and got to a red light at the part “Stop! Wait a minute.” Years ago, the car in front of us did the unthinkable and actually used their blinker while my radio was blasting “to the left, to the left...” I also find an inappropriate level of inspiration from the fact that when I’m coming up on a yellow light, My CRV, or Sir Fix-a-lot, tends to throw on “Don’t Stop Believin’”