A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell Like Ass. ASS, I TELL YOU!

Or certain recreational drugs you find in the back parking lot in fourth period. Because clearly, some recently-initiated parents were under the influence of something.
Scooby-Snacks. Sentiment. Stupidity. Something.
Have you SEEN what those psycho witches (and one unfortunate walking ego with even more unfortunate hairplugs) in Hollywood are doing to their children?
Nicholas Cage: I loved you in City of Angels, but-- Kal-El Coppola Cage? Come ON! I cannot understand why your trophy wife didn't have the cajones to stand up to you on that one after she gave BIRTH to the kid. (Maybe she didn't understand the implications as English is perhaps her second language? Perhaps Kal-El means something beautiful in Korea as well as on planet Krypton?)
Ms. Paltrow (Mrs. Martin?): I am sorry I can never remember how to spell your first name exactly. And I'm so happy for you about the guy from Coldplay, as his music is nice and he looks like a sweetie and everytime that music video for The Scientist comes on MuchMusic I watch it in open-mouthed fascination as the tape runs backwards. BACKWARDS. But seriously: Apple? And if the rumours circulating re: your bun (FRUITcake?) in the oven are true, then can we expect a baby brother Orange to make an appearance sometime in the next year?
Shannyn Sossamon: I cannot believe I just spelled your name right on my first try. Perhaps it is being difficulty named yourself (see above,) which leads you to name your child Audio Science. Audio. Science. I know you DJ now in LA where everything is cool and hip; and I live in the woods, my parents vote Conservative, and I still think that white socks with black shoes are okay for casual outings, but honestly? I think you mixed up the birth certificate and the record label brainstorming sheet when you were filling out that pile of forms.
Julia Roberts: [Get a snack, kids, this tabulation will take a while to sort out in my brain.] Okay, you have my pity and undying confusion. You have been romantically linked with any number of decent (and not-so-decent) men. Most have either raw appeal or classic good looks of some sort going for them. If not one, then the other. Dylan McDermott is a certifiable hottie who looks delicious when slightly unshaven. Daniel Day-Lewis, while reportedly a jerk to some of his lady-loves, was in some good movies, and it never fails to crack me up watching him trying to scrape off the slutty leech that is Winona Ryder's Abigail Williams in The Crucible. You lived with Liam Neeson. I don't know if that involved sex, or if y'all just ate pizza and watched re-runs of The Honeymooners. In any case--good for you. He's got a delightful speaking voice, and seems an interesting person. You dated Matthew Perry--who, if I recall correctly, was in Friends. Now, personally, I never bothered to follow that show since I wasn't *cough*mysister*cough* all too hooked on it. But he was adorable in Fools Rush In, and Selma Hayek beats Penelope Cruz's Latin little butt. (We only need one of them in Hollywood. Having them stand too close together at any awards show looks bad, somehow.) Next on my list: Keifer Sutherland. My boy is Canadian, his dad is Donald Sutherland, and Keifer is admittedly hot in an I-just-fell-out-the-back-of-the-cutie-car-and-I-can't-find-my-pants-will-you-help-me? kind of way. Then: Benjamin Bratt. His last name irks me for obvious reasons. And his hair is a little too oily. But, who among us hasn't gotten a nasty bout of the flu and, due to the inability to remove oneself from the sheltering embrace of the duvet, shirked the shower for a day or two and gotten a wee bit "natural" in the process? His problem seems more chronic, is all I'm saying.
Then there was Lyle. Lyle Lovett. Whose very name sounds like the preppy boy with iron-creased slacks that the Sandra Dee character falls in love with. Lyle Lovatt looks like his face was ironed. And his personality seems not all that dissimilar. WHY did you do this? WHY? You could have had any one of those men on the preceding list. (Did I forget Brad Pitt? Did I forget that you were ENGAGED to BRAD PITT?) Oh Lyle. No. Lyle is the bastard slimeball from George in the Jungle--he is Brendan Fraser's un-loinclothed nemesis with effeminate hair and weird lips. THAT is only an EXAMPLE of people named Lyle.
Okay, so I get that you moved on and are now married to a nice camera operator (whose relative anonymity ensures that I cannot figure out what he looks like or any aspects of his personality according to someone other than yourself.)
So you had twins. Great. Boy-girl twins. I am a twin myself, of the same kind. I have a twin brother. Twins run on both sides of my family (ohsweetmotherofmercy--I'm told it skips a generation *fingers crossed*)
So. Twins. You are given a golden oppourtunity. Two chances at naming two children. If you fuck up, there's always zygote numero dos to make things a little less self-condemning. (I was zygote number two--trust me, we're better!)
So what did you DO with your not one, but TWO golden oppourtunities as a spanking new mum and Hollywood maven to show the rest of them how it's done?
You kill every hope for the future of humanity that was left inside my tar-coated, withered heart.
Clearly acting before the epidural had had a chance to wear off--"Quick! Let's name 'em before my hushband getsh back from the nurshery!! LOL! *giggle* A-hee...hmmm let's shee...shhhhh! *giggle* No, I'm fine, I don't think the drugsh are wurking! Ohhhh shiney pen...listen, it clicks! *click-a-click-a-click-a-click*"
First: the daughter, as she escaped the most unscathed of the two. Hazel Patricia. Both of them fine, upstanding, beautiful names. For my grandmother. She is going to get dragged down to the beauty parlour kicking and screaming by a gaggle of hags who want her to join their bridge group and sit around in a caftan with curlers in her hair, smoking Virginia Slims and playing bingo on Thursdays.
Then: Phinnaeus Walter. For. The. Love. Of. Fuck. Fineas would have been bad enough. But no, let's put some extra letters and toss another diphthong in there! PHINNAEUS! Is it Latin ("ae")? Is it Greek("ph," "eu")? Is it Irish ("Finn")? No one knows! He will not be able to spell his own name until he reaches the age where most children are constructing small sentances. Because that's what his name is. A small sentance! No--an acronym! Please Help--I'm Not Nerdy As Everyone Usually Says. [No hon, you are.] And WALTER? He was the cute sweetheart in the later Anne of Green Gables books, and I cried when he died in the trenches of WWI, but not way in HELL would I ever name my son WALTER, lest he suffer a similar fate to that of his sister by way of sitting in the park, playing chess and passing wet wind until it's too dark to see the board anymore. Also makes one think of walnuts, and I, for one, would not want my son as the prime ingredient in some really tasty fudge.
It hurts to think about this...I'm sorry I ranted so long. But--gaaaah! These are our leading examples in North America! And clearly: something has gone horribly, horribly awry!