Is your name condemning you to a low-brow existence?

Is your child’s name condemning him or her to a low-brow existence?

The last time I visited my parents’ house I made the mistake of opening the Province. On the inside cover (you know where they put the index and incredibly stupid stories no one needs to read) sure enough, there was an article about names. According to the “article” some names are considered high-end and some low-end. Apparently, when parents name their high-end parents certain names, these names then become high-end and low-end parents start using them for their low-end babies. Presumably in an attempt to make them seem high end.

One of the names mentioned was Clementine. Apparently, this is a popular name among high-end parents and thus, in a few years time the world will be littered with little Clementines. Of course, once the name is used for low-end babies, high-end parents abandon it.

So does this mean that in ten years we will see an increase in the number of Cocos and Apples in the world?

I sure hope not.

I found this very brief bit of drabble quite amusing and disturbing. The concept of high-end and low-end babies would be hilarious if it weren’t so true. Anyone who has read even a little Bourdieu knows that we are marked from infancy on either end of the high-low spectrum. Why shouldn’t our names reflect that? Actually, when you think about it, it makes perfect sense. This way, teachers, employers, society in general can look at a person’s name an immediately know what class of society they are in. So all you Leroys and Barts out there beware. You will never gain respect in this world.

If this system is to work of course, we will have to place some controls on who can name their baby what. So if you have your heart set on naming your daughter Clementine, you will have to provide proof of income, societal status etc before filling out the birth certificate. Likewise, if you are a low-end parent, you will be given a list of suitable names. Naturally there will be penalties for attempting to name your baby above his or her status.

Additionally, people will not be able to change their names to something high-brow later in life, regardless of whether or not they eventually become high-brow. This is so that everyone will know whether or not they were born high-brow or whether they moved up in life. As we know, it is better to be high-brow from birth and this distinction cannot be ignored.

It all seems kind of silly but at least to a certain extent it’s true. Your name is often the first impression people get of you and it’s usually at least second. People will make assumptions about you based on your name and some of those may well be about your social class. For example, when you hear the name Beauregard Hunter Richmond III, you probably don’t think trailer trash. Likewise, Billy Bob doesn’t drum up visions of country clubs and 5 star dining.

I’ll refrain from using a certain Shakespearean cliché but the fact is that a name isn’t just a name. It tells people a lot about who you are and where you came from and most of us didn’t have much choice in the matter. So please, think about this if you ever feel the urge to name your child Barty Hogg or Peggy Sue Hayroller.

When did I stop loving the things I used to?

You'll have to make do with this for now Pat

There’s a picture in my baby book that is probably one of my favorite pictures of me. I’m eight months old and I’m sitting at a little white plastic table in a little kid chair. My hair is curly and I have a crayon in my hand. The caption my mother wrote next to the picture reads “your love affair with crafts began at eight months and went on and on and on…”

I’ve always loved that picture because I thought it so completely captured me, who I was then and who I’ve always been. I’ve been drawing longer than I’ve been walking, and just about as long as I’ve been talking. A lot of things have changed about me in 23 years but I’ve always been an artist.

For the first time in my life I’m questioning that. I haven’t picked up a paintbrush or drawing pencil in 3 years. When I packed up my room to move I left the box with all my art supplies and my easel behind. I told myself I just didn’t have room but the truth is I don’t feel like making room. When the art draught started I blamed it on the mess at UCFV. The experience I had during my last semester had just been so stressful, so soul crushing that I wanted to leave everything about it behind, including all art related activities. I embraced the identity of the academic whole heartedly, blissfully setting aside my conte crayons and prismacolours in favour of McLuhan and Marx and Bourdieu and forgot about the artist that had lived there for 20 years.

I can’t blame UCFV anymore. That story is long since over but I’m left wondering where the intense need to paint and draw or just scribble has gone and if I’ll ever get it back. I did bring my portfolio with me to Burnaby. Looking through it, I remember the girl who created these things, the girl who spent nearly 20 hours painting individual stitches to depict a pair of wool kilt socks, the same one who’s head was filled with so many images it was always a matter of just choosing one.

I can’t draw anymore. The ability is still there yes but when I open my old, long neglected sketchbook, pen in hand, I am met with apathy and frustration. The blank pages that used to be filled with promise are now just empty.

When did drawing stop being cathartic? When did I stop turning to my expensive box of fancy crayons whenever I was in a bad mood? And how do I start loving it again?