I was driving on I-17 the other day and passed a billboard for the U.S. Border Patrol and there was a big picture of a guy we’ll call, Ernesto Guevera. Under aliases, it listed “The Axe,” “Spike” and “Che.” Guys have nicknames, women usually do not.
Sure, there are some folks we see in those Hollywood upper-crust movies where the women are Bitsy, Mitzie, and Muffy but that’s not real life. Usually.
My sister-in-law Lori is Lori, niece Lisa is Lisa, and my mother-in-law Joan is..well, Joan. But I’m The Klugs or BK, Jim is Jimbo, Marshall is The Guru and Steve is Moose. I once worked with a guy we called Skip, but he didn’t know why until we told him: the family smarts seem to have skipped a generation.
Leonard Di Caprio is Leo, but Margot Robbie is still Margot.
I asked my wife Hope early on in our marriage if she had a nickname growing up and she said No. She said, “It’s not feminine.” I suspect that she believes guys need a touch of masculinity added to their personas and if anyone ever called her Blondie, she’d eye them suspiciously and say, “Excuse Me?!” And that’s because back then, one week she was blonde, the next auburn, and the next, strawberry.
I always admired mob figures where guys were called Tony Two Ducks, Jimmy Blue Eyes, and Vinny the Chin. Male/female duos are always called The Honeymoon Killers, Bennifer or something romantic like that, but the women always get away with maintaining their genteelness and escaping labels and I don’t think it’s fair.
There was Machine Gun Kelly, but Ma Barker?. Where’s the imagination in that? She was someone’s mother.
Except for Bono and Elvis, most men don’t have one-word names like women do but they do have legendary monikers; Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, Blind Willie McTell, T-Bone Walker, Lonesome Sundown, Blind Lemon Jefferson, and Lead Belly.
There’s Madonna, Cher, Rhianna, Beyonce’ and Shakira but those are unusual names.
In sports, we honor The Hebrew Hammer, The Round Mound of Rebound, Dr. Dunkenstein, The Worm, and The Hick from French Lick. With women athletes, it’s still Megan, Simone, or Coco. Someone snuck in a Venus but that’s a planet, not a name.
Frank was Ol’ Blue Eyes. But we still have Meryl, not The Streeper and except for a Babs now and then, it’s still Barbra. Liza is a whole other story.
My friend, Meryl is sometimes Mer, but Les is Garman, Bob is Bobby Vee, and John is Shakes.
Maybe men have a problem because familiarity breeds something.. and I for one, don’t know what it is. But when we’re being yelled at by our mothers, we are called by our first, middle, and last names such as: “Barry David Kluger! Come here right now!
Whenever I hang out at my cigar joint, I go through the humidor and look at the boxes: There are names like Doctor Roy, Stand Up Jim, and the Maestro. Because I write, I have alternated between The Poet, The Scribe, and my latest, Robusto de Corona.
When Hope calls me ‘Bar,’ I know it’s out of affection. But when she intones ‘Barry,’ I know she thinks I did something wrong. And she’s usually right. I once spied her across a crowded reception one evening and to help her locate where I was, I yelled “Ho!. Over Here!”
That was the last time I did that.
My mother’s brothers were: Beefy (Frank), Bubby (Anthony), Sudgi )Joseph). And other Uncles had similar “names.” I think I was in my teens before I knew their real names! I’m convinced it was to distinguish them from all the others in our family with the same name. lol. Thanks for the memories ❤️
Cute!