What's in a Name?

My friend Scam Likely says nobody answers his calls anymore. 

What’s that, Pretty Boy? (My amiable nemesis Tommy Humphrey, aka Pretty Boy has a comment.)

"I said that's extremely UNlikely."

You mean, that my friend's name is Scam Likely?

"No; I mean, that you have a friend."

You have cut me to the quick, Thomas. But thankfully, my quick is surrounded by layers of fat, so ‘tis a mere flesh wound.  Now why would you think me friendless?

"Well, Rusty, you don't fish, hunt or ride a motorcycle; you don't golf, bowl or play tennis. You don't camp, kayak or shoot skeet. What would you do with a friend, sit and read together?"

 Converse; we'd converse. 

"You'd wear high-top sneakers together? 

 Not CONverse, conVERSE.  As you may know, I'm a scintillating conversationalist.

“I think you’d better double-check your Readers’ Digest vocabulary quiz, Rusty.  Scintillating does not mean sleep inducing. You know I've heard you preach."

Your dozing off in church is easily explained, Tommy. I suspect your body is programmed to nap after every meal, and you eat a hearty breakfast before church.  Maybe you should take a nap now, so I can get back to my story.

“So, you call these 'Dry Breads' stories?  I would call them Rusty Ramblings.”

 You are inadvertently making my point about names, Tommy.

 “Oh----you have a point now?”

Drink some coffee and follow along, Pretty Boy:

“What’s in a name?” asked Shakespeare’s Juliet, lamenting the fact that Romeo was from the Montague family, her family’s rivals. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”  

She was quite right of course, but how many would pause to smell a rose if the plant had been named “Stinky Prickly Bush.” 

In an age of Caller I.D., someone with the name Scam Likely is not going to get many of his calls answered.  The same goes for a fellow named Bill Collector, or a gal named Charity Call.

History on Wry: Captain Smith and Pocahontas Part 2. We Found Pocahontas

In our first (more or less) exciting episode, Captain John Smith sailed from England to the shore of Virginia.  He and his landing party, searching for fresh water and a fast-food place that would take British currency, were soon set upon by several hatchet-wielding men with painted faces and what Smith would later describe as “inappropriate attire for gentlemen.” With grunts and gestures the natives made it known that they were to be accompanied, and they led the men to a village where they were greeted by Chief Powhatan.

“Welcome, strangers,” said the chief.

A shocked Smith responded, “You speak English? How can this be? Am I not the first Englishman to set foot here?”

“No, no. 
Big British invasion last year, four mop-heads from Liverpool.  Chief Sullivan of Seneca Nation introduce them. Loud concert at Squaw Stadium---really big show.  Maidens went wild.  Screaming and crying.  Many tribes came. They shook it up, baby---twisted and shouted.  Beethoven rolled over.  Our village has never been the same.”  He lifted up the flap of a wigwam and Smith heard a snippet of ‘A Hard Day’s Night.’ *

“Where are these Liverpudlians now?

“Mopheads returned to England.  Listen, do you want to know a secret?  Do you promise not to tell? Closer. Let me whisper in your ear. My youngest daughter Poca was there. She was just seventeen----you know what I mean. Now she says she’ll never dance with another, after she saw John standing there.”

“John?”

“John one of British invaders---three others too, but Poca fall hard for John.  She started what she call ‘Fanatic Club.’ Every day she write letter to John.  Always signs, ‘P.S. I love you--- love me do.’”

“How does she send letters to England?”

“Poca puts letters in soda bottles she gets from local Dollar General.  She throw them into the sea. I warn her, bottles could go anywhere.  Singing John from Liverpool will not find.  She not listen.  Now Poca has seen 18 winters with no husband.  She say, ‘No brave good enough.’  Say will marry no one but John.  This mean Powhatan have no grandchildren.  When I’m 64, I will have no Vera, Chuck and Dave on my knee.”