Pictures With Santa And Other Socially Acceptable Forms Of Child Abuse

This blog was originally posted December 2008.  I am on vacation… deal with it.

I don’t believe in Santa Claus.  I really never have.  We didn’t have a chimney in Pennsylvania (ironically, in Florida we did).  What we had was a piece or horrible furniture that looked like a chimney and where the mantle would be opened into a combination wet bar/phonograph where my father would store his apricot brandy and my mom’s Seals & Croft records.  The lit logs were plaster with circulating red and orange lights.  Because of this atrocity, this conversation ensued:

JIM: Dad, if we don’t have a chimney, how does Santa get into the house?

DAD: He has a key.

JIM: For everybody?

DAD: Yeah.  Everybody.  Now go to sleep.

JIM: Okay. (Pause)  Wait.  There are twenty-two houses on this block.

DAD: And he has twenty-two keys.

JIM: But that would mean on this side of the highway to eighth street he would have over one hundred and sixty keys.

DAD: It’s a really big key chain.  Go to sleep.

JIM: In this city alone there would thousands of keys.

DAD: (Frustrated).  You got me.  There is no Santa Claus.  Your mom and me buy all the stuff.

JIM: Really?  So there is no way I am getting that Star Wars Millennium Falcon for my Han Solo you said you’d never buy me?

DAD: No.  And you’re not getting a ColecoVision either.  You already have an Atari.

Two words, Dad: Skeleton Key.  But my father, God bless him, wasn’t know for his creativity.  This is the same guy who used to give unwrapped cartons of Menthol Kools to his friends for birthday gifts.  As you can tell, my father never really tried to sell the concept.    My brother wasn’t much different.  I can’t imagine I will be either.  I remember my father watching Walter Cronkite during the Great Cabbage Patch Scare of 1982 and commenting, “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I wake up at 4:00a and get my leg broken by a bunch of assholes* to get you boys some stupid toy.”  I learned very quickly there are things you do for yourself and things you do for your children.  My father had a very distinct line that separated these things.

I have one picture of me with Santa.  I was dressed in a red onesy (shut up, Spell Check, that isn’t even a real word) with a hood over my head and mittens.  I am not able to walk so I am completely trusting on my parents judgment of who I should have my picture taken with.  The point is I don’t know where I am nor do I care.  So why is this picture being taken?

For my mom.

I have come to the conclusion that parents will sometimes do things to their children that do not serve their best interest for the sake of a good photo op.  The difference is my mom is not a whack-a-nut.  If your kid, like me, sits on Santa’s lap with the same expression Humphrey Bogart has when someone points a gun at him, more power to you.  Enjoy your picture and fond memories.  If your kid reacts the way I would assume Richard Simmons would if someone pointed a gun at him, you ma’am, are a nut.

Exhibit A: The Moms.

crying_2499x374 kaya_mommy_santa500x682

I am going to assume this woman is from France or some European place where berets are still fashionable or I am going to hate this lady even more.  Look at her kid’s face.  Santa isn’t a jolly bringer of joy to that baby.  That is a fat man in fuzzy pajamas she doesn’t know.  And let me tell you something else.  Your kids hide behind your leg and refuse to talk to the people you work with.  What makes you think this guy is going to fare any better?  Now the kicker is look at the mother’s face.  This crazy chick is completely oblivious the the entire process or just doesn’t give a shit.

I know my baby is upset, terrified and crying… tell you what, let me hold her just long enough to get a picture.

Again, I am assuming that baby is a “she” which is the only thing preventing me from calling Child Services on this woman.  The second mom here looks like she actually had to sit on Santa’s lap in a failed attempt to calm her kid down.

Exhibit B: Singled Out.

ashton_santa500x754 crying_santa500x708

If you let some random stranger hold your kids while they screamed their heads off, begging for the secure embrace of their mother who is standing five feet away, anytime between January and November so you could take their picture, you’d be a psycho.  At Christmas, people line up and pay money to do this.

Exhibit C: Once, Twice, Three Times A Baby.

twinsanity_0 triplethreat_0 satan

And out of curiosity, under what circumstances would you expect anyone to ever hold more than one baby at the same time?  I am sure there are moms out there who do it but not willingly.  If someone, probably anyone, offered to hold one of those kids most moms would jump at the chance.  Most of these Santa’s look like kindly old men who make a little extra coin six weeks a year pretending to be Santa.  He’s retired.  He doesn’t need this shit.  Why don’t you just ask that poor old man to spray himself with pheromones have a knife fight in an elevator with a crack-addicted monkey?  Seriously, that one in the center with the three babies?  What the hell was that parent thinking?

What, you can’t hold three babies at the same time?  What kind of dime store half-ass Santa are you?

4a89212ec3f7fd009d6f632fd77354bf helpmesantaskillingme_0 wewantout!_0

Unless you’re Amish or a biker (or an Amish biker) how many people really have beards like that?  To a child, that’s just a masked stranger taking him from his mother who probably lured him to the Galleria with promises of toys and hot pretzels.  And at what point will anyone look at these pictures with fond memories of the event?  It isn’t like their crying is necessary like you’re getting your four-year-old daughter her Depo-Provera shot.  They are crying for your enjoyment.

Let’s make this clear, this is about you.

I worked with a very nice woman named Tara who had one son named Alec.  He was the Chosen Son.  The reason we haven’t all frozen and died is because the sun shines every morning out of his ass.  There were seven pictures on her desk, all of them of her son.  If you didn’t know you would assume she was a single mother since excluding Alec, there was no proof a husband existed (or maybe, just maybe, she conceived him herself… cue cherubic choir).  She once showed me a scrapbook she’d finished which was a four inch thick testament to Alec’s first three years… not a picture of his father to be found.  She once called me to show me she had finally put a picture of her husband on her desk and when I got there to bear witness, there was a picture of her husband… holding Alec.  I immediately disqualified the picture as invalid.  At three they decided it was time for Alec to go to Disney World and when her mother made the reservations… she cried on the telephone to the customer service rep.

Seriously… she cried.

Meanwhile Alec was somewhere minding his own business oblivious that his mother and grandmother were making memories for him that he wouldn’t recall a year from now and hoping that Mickey Mouse, a character reduced to corporate mascot that hasn’t appeared regularly in cartoons in sixty years, would fill him with glee and isn’t just a six-foot rat in a tuxedo.

There are people that will tell me, “Wait until you get kids,” to which I will kindly refer you to the first paragraph and my upcoming biography of my father, “I’ll Give You Something To Cry About: The Wit And Wisdom Of Edward Ford.”

I don’t cry in Santa pictures.  I knew better.

* My father seldom swore in my childhood and I am quite certain he didn’t at this occassion either.  That is my own colorful interpretation.  I don’t drink and smoke.  Please leave me and profanities alone.

Advertisements

The Parent Trap

Our friends Stephanie and Danny are in the process of adopting a baby.  I’ve seen people go through this, as well as artificial methods and it’s long, tedious, often heartbreaking and only cements my belief of how serious parenting is.

The real rub is knowing how many people have kids and don’t want them or rather, shouldn’t have them in the first place.  I was in the Wal-Mart last night…

I know, me again with the Wal-Mart.

…talking to a former co-worker when I watched a woman smack the hell out of her kid with a DVD.  Granted, the kid was screaming about something and she was way too old to behave like that (for that matter, too old to be pushed in a cart).  Did her behavior warrant getting clocked with a copy Madea Goes To Jail?  Maybe.  I’m not above clocking an unruly kid but keep in mind, I got hit twice as a kid.  Ever.  My father’s theory that if you have to hit a kid often, then you aren’t doing it right.  This is the same man who when children would come to visit he clearly explained to the parents, “I treat any kid in my house like my kid… they step out of line and I will pop them.”  It never came to this because unlike a lot of parents these weren’t threats… these were rules and rules have consequences.

So I was in Sam’s Club getting a pizza…

Shut up, I give a lot of money to the Sam Walton company and contribute to the downfall of America… but it’s close to my house, the pizza is tasty and socks are twelve for three dollars.

…and watched a two-year old play on the floor and scamper around repeatedly as the mother watched.  On occasion she would stand him upright only to have him on the floor two minutes later.  I watched waiting for someone to hit him with a cart of Brontosaurus steaks and gallon cans of black olives.

The floor… in a Sam’s Club.  If you don’t see what’s wrong with that then you probably have that kid that plays under the table in restaurants and in the clothing racks at department stores and brush it off with, “They aren’t hurting anyone.”

Years ago at the theatre my sister-in-law was getting her seat kicked by a kid.  She turned around and gave him a look.  A few minutes later he started in again.  She turned and politely asked him to stop kicking her chair.  The woman sitting next to him took notice.  A few minutes later he started again at which point Danielle turned and politely asked the woman if these were her children, the woman said, “Yes,” and Danielle told her, “You should be ashamed your children don’t know how to behave in public.”

She then watched the rest of her movie and her chair was never kicked again.  Nothing like someone calling you out on your parenting skills to shame you into doing what you should have been doing the whole time.  And Danielle, being one hundred and five pounds of born and bred New Yorker, is just the person to make that happen.  She’s here to watch Brendan Fraser fight mummies… not make friends.

It wasn’t until last year while we were watching Meet The Robinsons (and for two people without children we watching a lot of cartoons), Natalie told me there were no more orphanages.  They’ve been replaced with people’s private residences.  It was a process, like slaughterhouses and diamond mines I never really thought about it.  Like when Matt Lauer tells me a bunch of Pennsylvania miners are trapped in a shaft or a billion dollars is being used to give people with antennas the ability to watch The Bachelorette my reaction is always, “There are still miners?  And who is still watching TV with antennae?  Are they watching from 1975?”  If I had thought about it, I probably would have liked to have thought somewhere in town was a place where all the orphaned kids go and sleep in some kind of barrack configuration and maybe Carol Burnett does a drunken song and dance number bordering on genius.

Instead you’re put into someone’s home who watches you for cash.

Funny story, Annie is one of Natalie’s favorite movies.  She knows all the lyrics and watched the movie constantly in her youth.  As a child she wanted to be an orphan not understanding for that to happen her parents have to be dead.

It also bothers me the double standard that allows homosexuals to be foster parents but not be legal adoptive parents.  It really is the booty call of child welfare.

We’ll call you at two-thirty AM and hit that if nothing comes home with us from the club but I wouldn’t start picking out China patterns if I were you.

The fact that these dudes can’t adopt a kid…

ITALY ROME GAY PRIDE

…but this single unemployed woman can have fourteen is unfathomable.  Because nothing fills a gaping hole in your psyche like a baby.  And if the first one still leaves an empty spot in your life, go ahead and jam thirteen more babies in there.

octuplets

Then again, she’s straight.  Well at least that’s what she told us since all her kids came from a bottle.  I question her sanity just based on all of her last eight kids have the same middle name.  Then again, if I had to name fourteen kids somewhere around eight I would just start naming them after random things.

I’ll call you three Wendy, Krystal and Denny.  And you guys will be Hardee, Popeye and Quizno.  I’m tired.  daddy needs his rest.  Has anyone seen Chipotle?  That little scamp.

How many kids is fourteen?  They could play basketball against each other and still have two men each to ride the bench.  There are only nine dudes in the Wu Tang Clan.  If you have a 2000 square foot house and subtract non living areas (like porches, garages and kitchens) and fifteen people living in it means each person has about six square feet to call their own or something roughly this size.

alcatraz-cell

And let me call out another bunch of idiots.  This would be people have a litter of babies through artificial methods and thank God for the miracle of children.

No.  That would be a miracle of the Pfizer Corporation (NYSE: PFE) and a little thing we like to call science.  If you were paying attention you’d know God didn’t want you to have any babies.  For that matter, she was pretty cool with us living with Small Pox, Polio and probably wouldn’t care if we got rid of the Food And Drug Administration and just said a prayer over our unchecked pork and hoped for the best.

I’m not chastising people who have babies artificially.  I’m just saying you give credit where credit is due.

This brings me back to Stephanie and Danny who really want to be parents.  I wish them the best and hope it’s everything they ever wanted with full confidence they’ll be excellent at it…

…or at least better than these people.

strip

shopping cart

segway_stroller

seatbelt baby

parenting fail

parenting fail 2

parenting cart

diver

tricycle

fail-owned-motherly-fail

parenting-fail

Democratic Naming Conventions

Natalie’s mother called and told her she had a baby name.  Wait, come back here… put the cell phone down.  There is no baby, repeat: there is no baby.  Natalie’s mother is doing what I assume all future Mother-In-Law’s do which is they have a cart and then put the horse somewhere in front of it… let’s say Cleveland.

The baby name (for a girl) was Nima.  Natalie politely declined explaining we had a name, and no offense, her mother already had three shots at girl names, if she didn’t get what she wanted by now, that ship had sailed.

Apparently the name came from a Tyler Perry movie and while not a fan of Tyler Perry, I’m not above naming kids after movies.  Our Phantom Daughter is jokingly/seriously referred to as Ripley, after the Sigourney Weaver character is the Alien series (and before anybody writes me to tell me Ripley is the character’s last name and her first name is Ellen, I know that; this is not my first double feature).

The name gets used in conversation like, “I can’t wait to go on a vacation a few years from now with you me and Ripley,” or “you’re going to need a bigger car because Ripley’s kid seat is going to be tight in a Hyundai Accent.”  Then there is, “are you going to be mad at me if I show Ripley ‘Frankenstein’ when she’s five?”  If you couldn’t tell, that last one is mine which is followed by a lecture of age appropriateness and my argument that by the time you get past five, 1931 horror films will just be cheesy and unwatchable.

Attorney Mother versus Movie Nerd Father.  Irresistible Force, have you met Immovable Object?

I have rules for baby names.  I get a lot of shit for this because naming your kids, which I think is probably one of the most important things you do in your life and is a factor in their self-esteem and outward acceptance and perception, is usually done with an “if it feels good, do it” mentality.  If anybody knows me, you also know that’s not how I operate and none of this is surprising.

So this weekend we were at the home of a couple who, for the sake of their privacy, will be referred to as Nom and Ticole.  When the infamous Jim’s Baby Name Rules were brought up, Ticole asked what they were and because there are several, I decided it would be a blog.  So here they are.

1.  Never name a kid anything you don’t plan on calling them (or a nickname version of it).  People that are named Daniel but you call them Tyrell.  I know a woman who named her daughter Rebecca Reece  but called her Reece because that’s what she wanted to call her, but thought it didn’t sound professional enough so she threw the Rebecca in there.  If you want to call your kid Reece, then name your kid Reece.  This leads to:

2.  Give your kid the Supreme Court Justice name.  This is a name that sounds good with the words ‘Supreme Court Justice’ in front of it.  Brenda Saul’s son is named Dusty… not Dustin… Dusty.  Now say it with me, “Ladies and gentlemen and the Class of two thousand thirty six, Supreme Court Justice Dusty Sauls.”  It just hangs there in the throat, doesn’t it?  Jennifer Wiggington in her nineteen year-old naiveté wanted to name her daughter Diamond.  Great.  I’ll make sure for her eighteenth birthday I get her some shoes that won’t stuff the tabletops when she’s dancing.

3.  You can misspell a name.  A co-worker had taken a test and on her completion certificate they spelled her name ‘Bonnie’ and I heard her comment it was misspelled (hers was ‘Bonny’) and my immediate thought was “maybe you’re misspelling it.  As an experiment I Googled ‘Bonny’ and got eight million hits.  I Googled ‘Bonnie’ and got fifty one million.  I think that settles which is the more acceptable spelling.  Yvonne Turner has told me people constantly misspell and mispronounce Yvonne which I find odd since that name is about six hundred years old although I did see a Target cashier who spelled it Evon and she’s a troublemaker.  There is an illusion of individuality that because you spell ‘Angela’ with two ‘L’s it somehow makes it unique when in reality it probably just makes her  have to spell her name out for everybody.  Seriously, there are over six-billion people on the planet and odds are there is someone within sixty miles of where you’re sitting with the exact same name.  There are probably ten people with that name within ten square miles of Manhattan.  I knew another girl who named her daughter Ondraya (On DRAY ah) which I suppose is better than ‘Andrea’s insisting their names be pronounced that way.  This brings us to:

4.  Weird Syllable Emphasis.  In high school Carrie Guarcello insisted it be pronounced ‘KA ree’.  My sister-in-law Danielle’s sister is ‘Lo REN’ and not Lauren.  If I started asking people to pronounce ‘James’ as ‘Ja MES’ I’d be an idiot.

5.  Legacy names.  This is usually male ego at work here.  The only thing worse is having a super common name and naming your kid Peter Smith III which then relegates both you to Big Pete and Little Pete.  There and few things are sadder than fifty year old man being called Little Pete.  You have the opportunity to name a person and give them their own identity and you do this by giving them your name?  They’re already have your last name, they need your first name too?  What are you, Donald Trump?  You made a baby… do you have to sign it, too?  My good friend was born Emmett Louis Rhodes III and was immediately called Dusty.  I don’t know if this was an intentional reference to the wrestler or not.  Decades later he and his wife were buying a house and found he had a charged off credit card from Sears.  He told them he’d never had a Sears card, it must have been his fathers and they assured him it was his and were adamant about collecting the several thousand dollars they claimed he owed.  Eventually he asked when the card was issued and they told him, “1975.”  He asked what his birthdate was and they said, “1973.”  Oh you can get around it but then you violate Rule Number One where your kid’s named Pete but we call him Scooter.  And this leads to:

6.  Grown men with kids names.  This is a little off point but I have to bring this up.  The aforementioned Dusty hated the name Emmett growing up but the older he got, he just leaned in and took it (and for anyone who’s interested, his son’s name is Logan and thus a bullet dodged).  But once you get a business card or a career of prominence, dump the nicknames.  Scooter Libby?  Tommy Thompson (who’s parent’s actually named him Tommy violating Rule Two).  Was Bush putting together a cabinet or the He-Man Woman Haters Club?  There used to be a School Superintendent here named Skip Archibald and I kept thinking how far can this thing go?  Mayor Skip?  Governor Skip?  Would you really have faith in a President named Skip?

7.  Boys names should be masculine.  I’m probably going to have Natalie’s friends rain hell down on me for this double standard but I’m sticking by it.  I find often women name boys, not men.  Cutesy, warm names that are fine when you’re four, but not when you’re forty.  The top ten male baby names in America right now according to www.babynames.com are Aiden, Braden, Kaden, Ethan, Kaleb, Noah, Jaden, Connor, Landon and Jacob.  All male names should be able to be followed by the words, “is pissed and coming down here to kick your ass,” and suddenly, you want to be somewhere else.  Watch how this works: “Dude, you’re still here?  Bruce is pissed and he’s coming down here to kick your ass.”  Bruce sounds like a man who could beat me bloody.  Counterwise, “Dude, you’re still here?  Keyston is pissed and he’s coming down here to kick your ass.”  My response would be, “tell that fucker I’ll be here until seven because Ice Road Truckers is on at eight and I got shit to do.”  The good news is if you name your son Dawson he’ll probably never have a weight problem since he’ll never have any lunch money and will probably train himself to run very very fast.  In a fight, I’ll have Tony, Yuri and Joe watch my back before Landon, Kaden and Jaden.  Joe is the guy who fixes my car.  Tony is the guy who installed my cabinets.  I don’t want Tucker fixing my pluming… that’s what Carl does.  It is possible to go too far in the wrong direction.  Madonna’s son is named Rocco which is great if he wants to be a mob hitman or a bouncer at The Viper Room.  Sucks ass if he’s my accountant at H&R Block.  It’s rare but you can go wrong with too masculine girls names.  Brenda Sauls has a niece who I thought was named Raleigh which I assumed was like the city and thus cool and later realized it was ‘Rolly’ (ROL LEE).  Ewww.  She just went from hip girl with a city name to Lamont’s friend on SANFORD AND SON.

8.  Girls are no longer to have the middle names Ann, Katherine, Marie or Lynn.  People will tell you it goes with everything and that’s just lazy babynaming.  If you want flamboyance, here’s the place to do it.  You want your son to have your name, throw it in here.  Dusty probably would have had that credit scare had he been David Emmett Rhodes.  I knew a girl named Merrimmee, yeah, you read that right.  It’s pronounced “Mer REAM” but it sure as shit looked like “Marry Me.”  If her mom wanted to go wacky, the middle name is the place to do it.  Matt Damon‘s middle name is Paige and you didn’t know that until I told you.  I wanted my daughter’s middle name to be Moneypenny and needless to say, Natalie shot that down fast, real fast.  The good part about a middle name is a serves as a great backup name if you decide you don’t like being Skylar, your parents already picked out something else for you.  Unless your Matt Damon.

9.  You should never name your kids after things unless you actually like the name.  Dusty had a harpie of a girlfriend named Milmary but we all called her Vickie.  We probably could have called her Pitstain and it would have been an improvement.  Apparently she had an aunt Milmary but I’ll bet a paycheck had that aunt not existed, that name never would have gotten to the table.  I saw a guy who named his kids Darth and Anakin.  Really?  That guy must be such a STAR WARS nerd I’m surprised anyone had sex with him… unless she’s the rare but elusive STAR WARS girl nerd in which case that is inbreeding and shouldn’t be allowed.  Not to say if Natalie had twins I wouldn’t be tempted by Luke and Leia but I am pretty sure I’d have enough sense not to do it.  I would, however, push for the SamNEric.

10.  Naming your kids things that aren’t names.  This one is vague and you really have to feel it out.  City names sometimes work like Trenton, Cheyenne, Austin, Paris or Brooklyn.  I don’t think Hoboken, Pittsburg or Sacramento would bode as well.  It’s mostly aimed at celebrities who have their own special definition of crazy when they have babies.  Apple?  Really, Gwyneth?  I expect that from Steve Jobs but not from you.  Jason Lee‘s crazy ass named his baby Pilot Inspektor Riesgraf Lee because he blindly pointed into a dictionary twice and those were the words he landed on.  That’s nice.  You can do that same trick with a Baby Name book, ass-snack.  And on top of that he spelled Inspector wrong.  Jeanna Turner named her son Talon and Angela Harold named her daughter Nestle like the cocoa company and now she can spend the rest of her life pronouncing “Nes LEE” for people who think she wants to cuddle.  Pox, Maddox, Shiloh, Knox and Zaharra are the names of that Benetton ad Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have been making.  Great, your kid is named Pox… like the disease.  As batshit crazy as Tom Cruise is thought to be, he named his kid Suri and I could get behind that.

11.  Avoid trendy names.  Anything you saw in a movie or a pop culture event two years prior to your kid’s birth should immediately be void.  I like GOOD WILL HUNTING as much as the next guy but the only thing the world needs less than more girls named Skylar are boys named Skylar.  My good friends Joelle and Charlotte’s son is Tristan as so many other boys circa LEGENDS OF THE FALL.  It’s not that you can’t name your kids after stuff like that.  My girls names (both of which have given a motion denied) were Marnie and Sloan after the Hitchcock film and Mia Sara’s character in FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF.  Quick!  Name someone you know name Marnie or Sloan?  Exactly!  Easily spelled.  Easily pronounced.  Both named after movies that are over twenty years old.  Becky Wilson’s son is named Nico and I immediately said, “Like (Steven Segal’s character) Nico Toscane in ABOVE THE LAW.”  She was shocked I knew this but I am Jim and that movie is twenty years old.

12.  Natalie likes the name Olivia and she’ll tell you it’s from THE COLOR PURPLE but I know damn well it’s from Mariska Hargitay’s character on LAW & ORDER: SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT.  I told her it was too popular and we had to go to www.babynames.com where it is number eight and has been in the top ten since 1999 and the debut of LAW & ORDER: SVU… the defense rests.

13.  Making up names.  This is mostly for my brothers and sisters of color.  When the miniseries ROOTS aired in the late seventies there was this historical consciousness awakened among black people.  That’s all well and good.  What isn’t is it manifested itself by people wanting to give their children African names but they didn’t do this by researching African names but instead making up names that sound African and now we’re three decades into Rau’shee, Deontay, Taraje and Bershawns.  If you were interested where I got those from, they were all on the United States Olympic teams.  And white people do stupid thing all the time, fine, but as my father used to tell me, they aren’t my responsibility, I’m talking to you.  You can’t just throw ‘La’ and ‘De’ on the front of a name and ‘isha’ and ‘iqua’ on the end and expect it to work.  And that combining the parents name is ridiculous.  I met a girl named Cedricka once.  I hurt for days afterwards.  And so we’re clear, apostrophes have a purpose.  The Irish have last names like O’Connell and O’Malley because it was originally Jerry of the Connells and eventually he became Jerry O’Connell.  There is no difference between Rau’shee and Raushee or KeyShawn and Keyshawn.  Stop this.  If you want name kids with African sounding names, go to the library and find a book of African names.  Oh, a black girls names Ebony are totally unnecessary.  I’d pay good money to see a white girl named Ivory (although I seriously did meet a white girl named Lucretia at Spring Break).

14.  Hyphenated last names on children are stupid.  I am all for women keeping their last names, it’s a part of who you are.  You want to hyphen, that’s your business.  But when you have a kid, somebody needs to start making choices.  A kid with a moniker like Ashley Schmidt-Johnson looks like she’s been married twice and she’s six.  This is worse with boys because hyphenated names are generally used by married women and now their sons have this.  Herds of boys with married and maiden names.  Don’t ask me what they’re names should be.  I don’t know.  Flip a coin.  Armwrestle.  Rock, paper, scissor you way to an answer.  I don’t care.  Just don’t let it happen again.

And there you have it.  Jim Ford’s Fourteen Rules for Naming Children.  There are exceptions if the name is foreign, etc.  If I have insulted you because your named your child Tiberius or Kale, sorry.  I probably wouldn’t marry your wife or have bought the car you drive, either…

Unless you’re Jerry O’Connell in which case my wife would be Rebecca Romijn-Ford and I am pretty much betting he drives a better car than my 1998 Isuzu Rodeo that doesn’t start unless it’s in neutral.

less you’re Jerry O’Connell in which case my wife would be Rebecca Romijn-Ford and I am pretty much betting he drives a better car than my 1998 Isuzu Rodeo that doesn’t start unless it’s in neutral.