Graves: It sounds good, but what’s in a name?

Dan Graves

There’s an old military saying that goes, "If it moves, shoot it. If it doesn’t move, paint it gray." Maybe they should do like everyone else and just give it a name.

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For some unknown reason people seem to feel a need to apply a proper name to almost everything any more. Cars, boats, housing additions, pets of course, medicines, and even airplanes are given names. Some are accurately descriptive while others seem downright foolish.

For instance, developers must sit up late at night trying to dream up flowery names for their housing additions. I’ve seen the main entrance into clusters of new homes sitting in the middle of what used to be a flat corn field with a fancy stone or brick column engraved with "Rolling Hills Estates." You could drop a bowling ball anywhere on the property and it wouldn’t roll anywhere.

Another favorite is "Forest Meadows Estates". A beaver walking across the grounds would be hard pressed to find a tree to chew on anywhere within five miles of the place. Why not call a spade a spade? Wouldn’t "Flat As A Pancake Estates" or "Clear Cut Meadows Estates" be more appropriate?

Marketing experts will tell you that the most important aspect to selling anything is to first make it sound attractive and then to convince the buyer that a house sitting in a flood plain is ideal for growing rice in the lawn instead of grass. This especially applies to the automotive market.

Years ago, anyone who wanted a new car had a choice between a Model T, a Model A, or some other Model followed by a letter of the alphabet. Then a shrewd marketing expert came up with a brilliant idea. Since anyone who was asked, "what ‘ya drivin’ these days?" would answer "a T," or "an A," he decided to start applying fancy names to various models of cars. Names were chosen that would eventually reflect the financial and status level of the driver. The Chevrolet Impala owner would be a step up the social and financial ladder from the Chevrolet Biscayne driver but a couple of rungs below a Cadillac El Dorado. If you owned a Lincoln Continental you were breathing up the tailpipe of a Rolls Royce. In other words, the name of your transportation would soon be a symbol of your station in life.

As time passed, in order to spur the market even further, it became necessary to expand on names by tacking on a string of letters and numbers. Now, instead of just a plain "Humungus Astro Van", it’s a "MZ-1500-XB Humungus Astro Van.’

My little red four-wheeled tomato can is known as a Mazda Miata MX-5. I can understand giving such a cute little car a trendy name such as "Miata", but what does MX-5 signify?

Most of names of their other models are also followed by a jumble of indecipherable characters. Is this a Japanese plot to drive Americans crazy by trying to figure out what all those letters and numbers mean, just because they lost a little war?

In spite of applying names to inanimate objects as a marketing ploy, there is one area where names are a necessity.

Anyone who watches television more than five minutes a day is bombarded with commercials for various medicines. Ingrown toenails or hair loss? Do you suffer from upset stomach or migraines? After watching someone turn from a miserable zombie into a vibrant picture of health after using a certain product, the announcer tells us to ask our doctor about Malacor for our rheumatism. They have to give the stuff a name because a doctor couldn’t write the ingredients and a pharmacist couldn’t read it.

For instance, Nexium, a prescription drug for the treatment for acid reflux disease is actually "esomeprazole magnesium". Try saying that five times, real fast.

Next we have Caduet for the person with high cholesterol. Wanna know what you’re really taking? Try "amlodipine besylate/atorvastatin calcium". Then we have Plavix which is really "clopidogrel bisulfate". Now you can understand why it’s necessary to apply simple pronounceable names to common medicinal products. Most of the ingredients in today’s chemical wonders would leave even an alchemist tongue-tied.

When I was a kid, we named everything. If it was capable of walking under its own power, it got a handle. Mom even named my first car, an old Model A.

However, if you’ve ever watched a dog show on TV., you’ll notice that naming the pooches is apparently getting out of hand. Imagine having to go through life or living in a kennel with a handle like "Lord Fauntleroy of Harrows Kent". Just once I’d like to see a Blue Tic on one of these shows named "Leroy" or "Bubba".

I’m even beginning to fall under the spell of naming things. I refer to one of our vehicles as Big Blackie and the other as Little Red. I’m even referring to one of my motorcycles as U Piece a Junk. Heaven help me.

Now ain’t that something.

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Watch for Dan Graves’ column Wednesdays in the Rushville Republican. Add a comment at www.rushvillerepublican.com.

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