March 24, 2010
dear clusterflock
What’s your nickname?
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- Joel Bernstein: I know right?
- Rick Neece: Being nice is a dainty way to put it.
- Rick Neece: Hey Cristopher? Who cried “uncle” first, at the end of your ten-year stand-off? To quote my...
- Michael Smith: Ours is the kitchen.
- Amy Mabli: That’s what happens when you give the dogs the bed.
- Deron Bauman: Sweet Jesus.
- Michael Smith: Don’t we all.
- Pam: I have a story coming out soon in a ‘little mag’, Chicago Quarterly Review. An old friend recently...
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- Christopher Walken: Hey Clusterflockers, Realize y’all are hurting. I’ve been a really close friend of my...
- Marco: This works pretty well in mobile, more so in iOS
- Michael Smith: It was not the intent of management to imply all sissies are “namby pamby”. Management was...
- Rick Neece: I take umbrage with the term “namby pamby.” Some sissies are fierce.
- Carole Corlew: Shelia. Happy no big deal day. I would start your very own post but this phone is in semi rebellion.
Rickroy
El Santiago.
well, there is only one person who calls me that and it was never really clear why.
the closest I ever had was D.
Amanda Mae, amae, maebo, Maestro, maefo.
Butter. It’s a long story.
Hmmm…does Mike count? In high school I ran cross-country and as the only Michael but the younger (smaller) of two Smith’s I was called, “little Smith,” until the original Smith graduated and the “little” was dropped.
In college, I went to work at the Rec Sports office on campus and one of my former teammates worked there as well. I was one of 3 Mikes in the office and at one point someone said, “one of you needs a new name!” My teammate suggest Smith and someone said Smitty, so I was Smitty for four years.
Now I’m Michael.
Also, Maefo is my favorite nickname ever.
D.
Sometimes Big D though i’m not sure that’s deserved.
“Long” Aaron Winslow
Big Doobz
Winslow (said in a half-assed English accent)
The Midnite Cocoa Butter
Hank Latherup
My nickname is sanjose. I am a fan of Porches.
LazyGit
Cinny
Cindita
Cindywindy
Cinderbear
Cindykins
Your Highness
Your Highness, do not think I”m about to compare you to a Pomeranian.
My friend has a dog named Cinnamon. While the dog is most often called Cinny, it is sometimes called :
gary sinese
tony
oksana baiul
ohana
sony
thin mints
simmon
gene simmons
hone-ee (prounounced HOE-KNEE)
tony-bear
cin
cin cin
Tony Orlando
whoops
potsie webber
The poor dog always thinks someone is talking to her.
I almost never call Nina by her name, instead choosing:
Chubby,
Poofball,
You Sleek (which sometimes slips out as You Sneak),
My fluffster,
Softie, or
Niners (which was Amanda Mae’s conception).
As for me, my best friend in college called me K-Rock (I miss him and that name so much). My parents called me Munch (short for Munchkin) until high school because I was clearly the runt. Aside from these two sticky names, I’ve been called Dork a lot — but mostly I think out of laziness to use the appropriate article in preface. Otherwise, Kels tends to be the most widely accepted.
When we brought Izabella to day care for the first time we had to fill out a form so the daycare provider could know important things, like what we call poop. I wrote the following under nicknames:
Izzy
Izzers
the Iz
Now we call her Izzy when we say it outloud but I almost always write, “the iz.”
Never had one that I was aware of and always try to never use one that another is known by.
I don’t think that “Chela” counts as a nickname, but that is how Mexicans address me.
Like Cindy?
Matt.
(because I passed out on a porch with a 100 pairs of shoes once in high school. You Never Live These Things Down.)
My brother has always been called Bebbs – I shudder at the thought. I have one friend who often calls me by it – she is sweet enough that I can shrug it off.
I’ve never really carried a nickname, save “faggot” or “queer” for any length of time, save Rickroy. My first week (in 1986) at Saks, there was an event, at the store, called “Riding High with SFA.” It was a Western themed, anniversary event. (Marking the fifth anniversary of Saks on the Plaza.) Our visual merchandising team, Michael, John and I instantly dubbed each other with nicknames for the week. There was Michael-Bob, John-boy, and when we came to me, Michael said, “Rickroy.” We set all the mannequins in the store in Western-ish attire (there was a fashion spasm in that direction at the time). We set piles of televisions stacked on top of each other with mannequins sitting on top of the piles in the windows. There were speakers installed in the canopies over the windows on the sidewalk. The TVs were threaded together to a VCR where we had John Wayne in The Cowboys playing 24-7. I remember, when we went outside to look at the “finished product” we were out there at the exact time in the movie where (was it John Wayne? or maybe one of the cohort of lost boys he had cobbled together to make the cattle-run from someplace south to someplace north.) Whomever it was, the scene was “Say it, say it.” The poor stuttering member of the lost group said, “F-f-f-f-f-FUCK!” to cheers all ’round from his compadres.
I think I said to Michael, “You know this idn’t gon’ fly.” Michael shrugged. We let it stand. I don’t remember anyone complaining.
Rickroy, it came to be a nickname my later Boss, Dennis (god rest his soul) got wind of. He called me that ever after. Danny came along about that time. He picked up on it too. He may well be the only one who calls me by that name now. When he does, I’m flooded with memories. Sometimes I can hardly stand the flow.
Alex Trebek.
Grandpa Hilen called me Kitten but he was so drunk most of the time I might as well have been known to him as “left shoe” or “ash tray”. World War II was hard on Grandpa.
My parents called me !!!KATHLEENLYNN!!! when I was in trouble.
MGS calls me Kathy. Andrew calls me Mom.
I’m comfortable with those last two.
“Danoman.” Kaari was the waitress-wannabe I was training at TGI Fridays, 22 years ago. I’m cringing on so many levels right now. She was the one who said “Would you BORROW me a pen?” Apparently, in Minnesota the verbs “to borrow” and “to loan” are quite oft confused (sigh). Needless to say, I borrowed her a pen … and she was the only one to take on the calling of my new moniker.
A lovely, lovely story, Rick. And I know what you mean about sometimes hardly being able to stand the flow. Get me in a crowd these days and I go all analog and unstuck in time.
I don’t particularly care for being called Davie. Mom’s family calls me “Davito” to differentiate from my father who was also David. Dad’s mom called me Davidadam for the same reason. I feel like I’ve been over this. She was the only one who could do so without making me cringe.
I can’t think of any others that lasted for any particular length of time. I’m more of a giver than a receiver of nicknames. My lady companion is “Beebee” or “Bamy” or “Bame” more often than Amy. The list of names for the dog goes on and on and includes any variation on “poopmonster.”
Has and probably always will be Range. I got it when I was about 6 and it’s followed me through 2 different continents and 3 different countries when I was a kid.
Captain Crunk
Don’t have one (well my name is technically a nickname, but… that’s boring.) I’m oddly mesmerized by the idea of people calling me “Coach.” Especially since I work in a distinctly non-sports world.
Libby, I will call you Coach.
“If her name is AMY I’ll call her BLAME-Y!”
Anyone? anyone?
When my mother was considering naming me after my grandmother, she asked if it was a good name. Grandma assured her that it was and mentioned approvingly that there were no nicknames for “India.”
HA.
When I was a kid, I got called everything except my name, and I answered to anything that even vaguely rhymed with it, because people were always mispronouncing it, thinking they must be reading it wrong. Nowadays, though, most people who are not ooooooold friends or family call me by my actual name.
That said, my best friend from high school calls me Indy, spelled like that, which I think is ugly, but I love her, so it’s okay. My best friends from college both call me Indie, though one sometimes expands it to Indie-Pindie. My second-best boy friend calls me Belindia or Melindia; I’m not sure which, now that I think of it. My best boy friend just calls me by my name. My friend Monsieur Le Jean calls me Mademoiselle L’Indie. My godmother’s sister, who really has been much more like a godmother than my actual godmother, calls me India Pindia. My brother calls me Ind, or Bind. Mom doesn’t usually address me by my name; she just says, “Yo!” and I, in turn, address her as, “Yo Mama!”