Grumpy With Grumpy

Here is my next Grumpy column for the good people at Tsunami magazine.

Grumpy

With the release of the Rocky Balboa, I decided that it was about time I had a new nickname. When I made this announcement to my girlfriend (whose nickname is The Dreaded One due to her fluro dreads), she rolled her eyes. “Um... is this going to be one of those conversations?” I wasn’t sure what she meant, so I explained my position. Just look at Sylvester Stallone. Rocky is cool, Rambo is cool, even Sly is cool. And don’t get me started on The Italian Stallion. “So you want to be called The Australian Stallion. Is that it?” I shook my head dismissively and said “Nononooo... unless you want to start calling me The Australian Stallion.” Her silent stare articulated ‘you are an idiot’ perfectly. I explained that Grumpy had never really done it for me and that I thought it was time for something a little bit cooler. Something with a bit of zing. A bit of pizazz. A bit of bingbangboom. Grumpy’s an annoying Disney dwarf at best, an inaccurate adjective at worst. “Then why,” The Dreaded One asked, “did you choose Grumpy? You chose it, you made it stick. You thought it was funny and ironic. You are Grumpy now. You can’t just change your name like that. Anyway, as nicknames go it is cool, in its own way.” That last bit made me suspicious... like when a girl tells you your willie is ‘just the right size.’ Like, come on, why not just point and laugh? Would it kill them to say ‘it’s so big it hurts, but in a really nice way...’ Where was I? Oh yeah, nicknames. I thought for a while before coming up with something I liked. “What about T-Bone?” I asked. “I am not calling you T-Bone,” she monotoned. Maybe she had a point – T-Bone is the name of one of those roided up play acting wrestlers. What was I thinking? “Okay, something a bit friendlier. How about Scooter? Can you start calling me Scooter please?” “What is wrong with you? I’m not calling you Scooter. You don’t even have a scooter.” Damn – foiled again. “If I get a scooter,” I countered after 30 minutes of intense strategic thinking, “will you call me Scooter then?” I tried rivers (Hudson), weapons (Switchblade), animals (Stingray), famous writers (Shakey), archaic writing instruments that come from birds (Quill), but to no avail. I guess in the end it was one of those conversations. The Dreaded One, it seems, is always right.