Thursday, April 25, 2013

I know, it's none of my business….

I think I'm decently tolerant of some of the very bizarre names of people I don't know.

I think I might not be thrilled to meet the self-indulgent parents of people who are stuck with names like "LaJarra" and "Christmas" and "Moon Unit," but usually I lie down and let the feeling go away….

 I just wasn't able to force myself to avoid commenting on a name I spotted in the most recent issue of Oxford American Magazine….among its offerings is a rather spasmodic and indifferently written piece on an apparently not exceptionally obscure writer named Breece Dexter John Pancake, AKA Breece D'J Pancake.

The mangled middle initials first showed up as a typo in The Atlantic Monthly, and Mr. Pancake decided to adopt them.

Sorry, I can't help myself, I refuse to wonder in silence about how to pronounce "D'J" and I ease my conscience about writing this tepid, tentative diatribe by imagining that you very likely feel the same way….

There, I said it, I'm done with Mr. Pancake.

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