I think I spent more time agonizing over the name of my boat than I did over the names of my children. The kids were actually pretty easy-- Though it was tempting to just make stuff up ("La Velveeta"), the Trophy Wife put the kibosh on anything too insane. We ended up stringing various combinations of family names together to come up with kid labels that won't cause the children to sue our pants off when they turn 18. So our kids have distinctive names that reflect family history, and stand out in a sea of Madisons and Jacobs in the school classrooms. And they don't cause snickers amongst immature people like me.
The process had its ups and downs (Wife: "We are not naming this child Samson Bookum, you idiot."), but we always wrapped it up well before the anticipated delivery date. Having twins did throw a bit of a curve in the deliberations, I'll admit. It's bad enough coming up with a name for one kid-- Try it for two. (Or ye gods, imagine being Octomom!). I for one probably enjoyed the process more than I should have:
SWEETIE: [sigh]
ME: Search and Destroy? They're boys, they'll think those names are awesome!
SWEETIE: Are you feeling alright?
ME: Hunter and Killer? No wait-- Hunter and CATALINA!
SWEETIE: I can't believe I mated with you.
So The Wife moderated my loonier nomenclature urges, and the children probably won't end up in therapy, or starring in a Woody Allen movie. Sometimes I don't appreciate the woman enough.
Anyway, the birth of my boat was almost as exciting as the arrival of my offspring. It was certainly a cleaner process, and there were not as many frightening noises involved. But once I had this big shiny white blob sitting in my backyard, the task of naming her hit me like a breaking sea. Right off the bat, The Wife categorically vetoed any name that referenced her: "I don't want my name plastered on the sides of this thing when you run it up on the rocks," she explained, fixing me with a steely glare. She was not thrilled with my counter-offer to use a random ex-girlfriend's name, either, for some reason.
I solicited names from my relatives, which produced many interesting suggestions, the rejection of which caused sporadic eruptions of hurt feelings across the nation. Imagine explaining to you mother in law why you rejected her third cousin's fourth daughter's middle name: "Kudzu is a fine middle name, for sure, but I don't think it will fit my boat's personality, thank you very much."
I figured I could go hit the interwebs for a boat name. After all, there are pet name generators (now I know that somewhere out there are ferrets named Angel Poof, and Weazle Beans), and baby name generators (Maximus Jasper, Bucephalus, Mbelisame, Blade); there had to be a boat name generator. Sure enough, I found a bunch of those. Some of them even showed what your chosen name would look like plastered across an unsuspecting transom, so you could try it on for size:
As cool as that was, when I randomly generated names, most of them were pretty stupid, even by my standards. Wet Dream? Puh-lease. After a while I bailed on the Boat Name Generator approach. I was beginning to feel kind of dirty, and felt the boat deserved better than to be saddled with a name like Aquaholic or Fuddle Duck. My next tactic, searching the internet for lists of boat names, was kind of depressing, because I found that all the imaginative, unique names I came up with were already assigned to thousands of lesser boats. Kismet-- What a great word, and perfect name for my boat. Unfortunately, it's a perfect name for other people's boats too. Including powerboats.
I was not going to sully my boat with a name favored by stinkpots, dammit. No Kismet, Obsession, or Money Pit. No Second Mortgage, even. None of that.
As the maiden voyage weekend approached, I was starting to become desperate. Being a loyal (and appropriately superstitious) subject of King Neptune, a shellback no less, there was no way was I going to sea in an unnamed boat. If I had to name the thing Weazle Beans, I would. I figured that worst case, I could rename the boat when I finally came up with a decent name. To see what was involved in that process, I googled the renaming ceremony. The steps varied, but for the most part it didn't look too bad, except for the part where you either toss a glass of champagne to Old Neptune, or have some virgin pee on the front of your boat. What? Who came up with that? It's bad enough if someone (virgin or not) barfs on my boat; I'm not going to let somebody take a whiz all over the foredeck just to complete a stupid renaming ceremony! And as for wasting good booze, shame on you.
Inspiration struck in the middle of the night. I have a bunch of sailing books, of course-- Why not pick a name from the famous boats that I admire? Not original, I'll admit, but oozing history and meaning. I leapt out of bed and started dragging books off the shelf. Boat names flew by: Trekka, Gypsy Moth, Dove, Tillikum, Spray, Seraphyn. Nice names, all of them, but none hit the sweet spot. The last book I picked up was Desperate Voyage, by John Caldwell. There it was! Pagan. A perfect name for my boat. Short and sweet. Kind of mysterious, exotic even. And I was getting pretty Desperate to take a Voyage, to be sure.
But The Wife vetoed Pagan. No amount of whining would get her to change her mind. And since I was lobbying for the funds to put the boat in a wet slip at the lake, I felt I had little choice but to accommodate her. Liberdade, the name of Joshua Slocum's junk-rigged boat, was also summarily dismissed. Grumbling, I retreated to the man-cave to lick my wounds. While licking, I fantasized that I was out on the water, sailing my anonymous little plastic boat. That would make me happy. Happy... Happiness... Felicidade! The name just kind of poured over me like warm honey. The Portuguese spelling of happiness-- Slightly exotic, and meaningful. To my relief, The name was approved by The Admiral.
The name Felicidade has worked out pretty well. Being on the boat certainly promotes happiness for me, and The Wife is rid of me for a few hours, which seems to improve her mood. It's a fairly unique name, and if I stretch a little I can almost tie it back to Slocum's Liberdade. So I am happy with it, even if it wasn't my first choice.
But if we have another kid, I'm immediately sneaking downstairs to the hospital office and christening the little cherub Pagan. Then I'll flee the country in Felicidade before The Wife finds out. Ha!
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:-))