I think it’s natural to wish for some sort of immortality to combat the transient nature of our time on earth. I’ve always wanted to have something named after me.
I donated some money to my old high school to get my name on a brick in the sidewalk, but you can’t really find it or read it. When they built a new wing, I inquired as to how much one had to donate to get your name on something and figured out I could afford to get my monikor inscribed on the crank of a pencil shapener. (Does anybody even use crank pencil sharpeners anymore? Or pencils, for that matter?)
I tried to have a game named after me at our semi-regular poker gatherings. We played variations of standard stud poker named after some of my old friends who most people at the table had never even met. But everybody knew what “Isherwood’s Revenge” and “Chaffin Standard” and “Charlie’s Folly” were since we played them frequently.
One night we played a game I called almost all night. And I won big. I couldn’t lose with the cards I was getting. Somebody posited, “Cee, we should name this game after you.”
Choked up, I said, “You mean *sob*, something like ‘Cee Standard?'” My day had finally come.
Somebody else at the table said, “As much fu*kin’ money as you’ve taken off me tonight, we oughta call it ‘Di*k in my Ass!'”
Guess which name stuck?
So then I thought maybe I could get something named after me at my local watering hole, the Sportsman’s Grille. I go there so often, I decided it was easier just to get my mail forwarded there. Perhaps my regular order could become my legacy.
Nope, it’s pretty hard to corner the market on Miller Lite draft and a basket of hot wings at a sports bar. My name just never caught on.
Then, Dr. Funkenswine decided to open Mothership BBQ. I was there from the beginning. Hell, since before the beginning. We’ve been friends for years, and I did all I could to support his floundering catering business until he could get the restaurant up and running. If any food item was ever going to be named after me, it had to be here, right?
But there’s only about five things on the menu, so it didn’t look good. It’s not like he’s got a beef tongue and pastrami sandwich he can name the “Maury Amsterdam.”
And, woe is me, my bloggerque buddy Kerry Woo beat me to the punch. He eats there at least as regularly as I do and always orders the same thing. Two pork shoulder sandwiches with extra burnt ends and cole slaw on top. It is offically referred to as “The Woo.”
Now I can’t eat that much. I usually order about half that. As a matter of fact, I’m officially going to co-opt Kerry’s order and make it my own.
Ladies and gentlemen, behold “The Demi-Woo.”