(no subject)

[katallison]

From time to time someone will rant a fine sulphurous rant about the goofy-ass names that people give their babies nowadays (this website often being referenced.) Should you ever feel such a rant coming on, my advice is to go to the Social Security Administration's list of top baby names throughout the decades, go to "Most Popular Names of the 1910's," and go down toward the bottom of the list. I mean, my lord; back in the sedate sane decade of 1910-20, people were naming children things like Exie, Emogene, Ozella, Delfina, Romaine (for girls), or Furman, Garnet, Waldemar, Pershing, Junious, Laurel (for boys). There's a wonderful assortment of non-Anglo names to be found, reflecting the fact that a century ago the US was still very much a nation of recent immigrants. Anyone looking to find unusual names, whether for a child or a character, might do worse than to scan these lists.

I am in general fascinated by the naming of things, and a wonderful website, if you share this interest, is here, one of those glorious weirdness of the web that allows us all to benefit from one person's obsession. Italian Profession Names, Natural Phenomena Named After Frank Zappa, Norway Farm Names, Quilt Block Names, Scottish Given Names of the 13th Century, Naming Your Homeschool, Subway Line Names, all these and a gazillion more.

Comments

[caille.livejournal.com]

It's a mystery. (Heh...MysTereigh)

There's a salesclerk in a nearby store, who's bright, pretty...and whose parents named her Latrina. Latrina. It's right on her nametag.

I know a family with a tradition of exotic names for the girls, and plain ones for the boys. Stormie, Paradise. (And Bob or Jim or whatever.)

My great-aunt was named "Jacquetta" after a character in a popular novel her mother had been reading. She was always called simply "Jack" (well, "Aunt Jack" to me).

When I was little, one of my mom's closest friends in the neighborhood was named "Arbutus". A woman across the street (the one who tortured me with Toni Home Perms) was "Theresa", but it was always reduced to two syllables, TREE-suh. A few years ago I might a young woman named Therese who was so tired of hearing her name mangled into TREESE or TREE-suh that she started spelling it "Trez".

If I'd remembered to have children, I'd have ordered twins and named them Chardonnay and Zinfandel. Neat, huh?