Name the boy, and you name the man

Maus and I are four months from the Big Day, and paraphernalia is already starting to pop up around the house — booties, onesies, little plastic spoons, books about fish (as my friend Clark would say, all the quintessential infantile accoutrements).

I'm still in hammer-and-haul mode, coping with impending fatherhood by reconfiguring the house, moving piles of junk out of the baby's way, installing safety features, basically clearing a wide path for a kid who won't even be walking for a year.

Naturally, the subject of names comes up a lot around here. Maus and I already have a shortlist that we're holding close to the vest, but I still greatly enjoy a spirited and creative baby-naming forum, so we encourage our friends (and heck, strangers on the street) to keep lobbing ideas our way.

Some memorable suggestions include Jeff's Oort C., Obi W., and Buster K.; and Heather, Emily, and John's collaborative Seussism Squishy-Squashy Dixie-Doxie Mini-Mausie. As a filmbuff, I'm drawn to Orson Fairbanks. And Peck Lancaster. And Dashiell Bogart. The comics lover in me likes Flash Lantern and Darwyn Kirby and Oliver Zan Gotham. Maus, a big fan of the movie Giant, is partial to Bick Benedict. She's also convinced he'll grow up to be a rockstar if we name him Jettison Caecilius.

In that vein: Over the weekend I rented Mystery Science Theater 3000's viewing of the fantastically dreadful Space Mutiny (for my money, MST3K is still the best there is in comfort television — with the possible exception of a Ken Burns documentary). I won't go into all the glorious ugly details of Space Mutiny (that's a whole other dissertation), but it can summed up thus:

The “spaceship” is a basement with a concrete floor and brick-and-mortar walls; the “chase scenes” involve these tiny, wedge-shaped bumper cars that top out at about 2; and the “hero” is super-beefy Reb Brown (aka Yor, the Hunter from the Future), who shrieks and squeals like a JV cheerleader when he gets fightin' mad. Oh yeah, and all the space battle scenes are recycled footage from Battlestar Galactica...

The high points of Mike, Crow, and Tom's commentary involve them shouting out scores of manly new names for this overmuscled hunk of Rascal-drivin' action. I cite but a few of their finest samples here:

“Slab Bulkhead!” · “Flint Ironstag!”
“Vault Vanderhuge!” · “Blast Hardcheese!”
“Stump Beefknob!” · “Think McRunfast!”
“Slam Squatthrust!” · “Reef Blastbody!”
“Dirk Hardpeck!” · “Hunt Speedchunk!”
“Punch Rockgroin!” · “Meat Punchbeef!”
“Rip Steakface!” · “Slate Fistcrunch!”
“Smoke McManmuscle!” · “Lump Beefbroth!”
“Buck Plankchest!” · “Smash Slamjaw!”
“Fridge Largebeef!” · “Butch Deadlift!”
“Buff Drinklots!” · “Grod Bonemeal!”

and my personal favorite:
“Big McLargehuge!”

I'll have to float some of these past Maus. I don't think she'll go for Beef or Smash, but I might be able to sell her on Vault or Reef. Or we could just go with Grod, and tell people it's a family name.