More of me whining in the style of this post.
I occasionally get people’s names stuck in my head like other people get songs. This is actually way more annoying than songs, because while music is made with aesthetic pleasure in mind, most people seem to just be named willy-nilly. If you find yourself similarly afflicted, whistling or humming a catchy song is understandable behaviour, while repeatedly chanting some random dude’s name is more than a little creepy. And while listening to other catchy songs to attempt to rid yourself of the earworm is pretty enjoyable, saying other names at random just to unstick a certain name, once again, makes people look at you funny. So it’s a lose-lose.
Anyway, by far the most persistent name I have ever been afflicted with is Yuniesky Betancourt. Which is a little ironic ’cause from what I hear he ain’t too great at catching things. Of course, still among the best in the world at it, so maybe instead it’s eerily appropriate. So when I first learned of him, I had his name stuck in my head for what felt like weeks. Luckily the Mariners are not much in the news and I don’t care at all about baseball, so I was able to move on. But then I picked up last week’s Stranger and read Spike Friedman’s column. Now I’m walking around the Ave just muttering Yuniesky Betancourt Yuniesky Betancourt Yuniesky Betancourt under my breath. The fact is I don’t even know how to pronounce it properly.
Well, I guess there’s one possible cure…
Hipolito Yrigoyen. Declan McManus. Charlotte Bronte. Laetitia Casta. Fuck, it’s not working.