I never paid much attention to the name Kevin until recently. In fact, I can’t recall ever hearing of anyone named Kevin until just a couple of years ago.

All of a sudden, every third person I met was named Kevin. My ophthalmologist. The teenager who bags groceries at the neighborhood supermarket. The salesman in the men’s department at Neiman Marcus. The guy who comes to my house once a month to spray for bugs. It seemed that the world was suddenly infested with Kevins.

They’re not just from one generation, a horde of kids in a narrow age group saddled simultaneously with a faddish new moniker. Many Kevins are in their thirties and forties, so I certainly should have been aware of the proliferation of the handle long before this.

Where have these Kevins been all my life, for me not to notice them? How could I have been totally oblivious to such a sizeable segment of the population?

There can be but one reasonable answer. Everyone named Kevin is an extra-terrestrial who only recently dropped in, fully grown, from another planet. The name is actually a password that identifies members of an alien civilization now living, incognito, among the humans here on earth.

Every Randy I’ve ever met hailed from Texas and had a dour personality. I don’t know whether their names were actually Randolph (the same as Sir Winston Churchill’s father), Randall (like actor Tony’s last), or just plain Randy—which my dictionary describes as coarse, crude, vulgar, and sexually aroused. If my name was so defined, I’d probably have a dour personality also.

My name, David, is of Hebrew origin. When Hebrew characters are printed the vowels are usually omitted. Depending upon the context in a sentence, the Hebrew consonants of my name can mean either beloved or uncle. The Israeli diminutive of David is Dodo, which doesn’t seem appropriate in English. At least, I don’t think so.

Movie stars used to change their names to make them less ethnic. Nowadays, the more ethnic a name, the more box-office appeal the actor has.

It’s an unwritten law that all animal cartoon characters have names that are alliterations: Mickey Mouse, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Bugs Bunny, etc.

During the last thirty years or so, instead of using time-tested traditional tags that are easy to pronounce and easy to remember, many African-Americans made up names for their children.

If a name doesn’t supposedly have a meaning in some African language, it will generally start with “La” and end with the letter “a”—Lateesha or Latwatna, for horrid examples.

I recently needed to scan the directory at a medical building comprised of less than a dozen offices. In that one small facility were a dentist named D. Kaye, and doctors Hurt, Payne, Sieck, Klutz, Peuke, and Plotz. Who would want to be treated by anyone with those names? The only name that rang a bell in the building was a Doctor Gong.

My wife didn’t like her given names, Jerry Joyce, thinking that the Jerry didn’t sound feminine. So, she had her name legally changed to JJ.

That caused all kinds of problems. Some people spell the name out (Jay-Jay). Most try to punctuate the Js with periods or insert a space between them. So, she always has to tell people, “That’s two capital Js, no periods and no spaces.”

Often, she’ll be asked, “What does JJ stand for?”

“Integrity, responsibility, truthfulness,” she’s prone to reply didactically.

I find listening for names paged in Las Vegas casinos a great source of entertainment. But then, I’m relatively easy to amuse.

For years, Caesars Palace telephone operators called frequently for Princess Fatima—which was a casino code for the cigarette girl.

Many of the people paged in casinos are employees, of course. And, some of the names paged are undoubtedly requested by bored teenagers, or perhaps bored adults with teenaged mentalities—though how an adult can ever become bored in a Las Vegas casino is beyond me.

I’ve heard both Marilyn Monroe and Clark Gable paged, as well as most of the characters from the soap opera All My Children. I suppose it’s possible that the names of the people being announced could be eponymous, but it’s not very likely.

I regularly hear the name LeRoy Chittlins called in my favorite casino. Whether it’s a joke or not, I don’t know. Another name I’ve heard paged more than once is Ben Zonah. In Hebrew, the word ben means son of; a zonah is a prostitute.

What’s in a name? A person’s name is often an excellent indicator of that individual’s occupation, hobby, or predilection. For years, I’ve clipped newspaper articles with names that tie in to the subject’s activities. As I said, I’m easy to amuse.

The Los Angeles Times once reported the Wiese-Eaker wedding; I would have loved to have been a guest.

According to her obituary, Mrs. Musick was chairman of the women’s committee of the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra and a founder of the Los Angles Music Center.

E. M. Balmer was a mortician. Two chiropractors in Van Nuys were named Ketchum and Stretchem. Brock Stokes was manager of big investment money for Oppenheimer & Co.—in other words, a glorified stockbroker.

Richard Lawless stole a pickup truck owned by a swimming pool maintenance company. He drove it at 70 m.p.h., sideswiped two automobiles and knocked down numerous street signs. Next, he veered across a street divider and collided with a car in the oncoming lane. He then backed into the eastbound lane again, knocking a sports car into some hedges, and overturned the truck, spilling chlorine all over the road. Yes, his name was appropriate.

According to a Dear Abby column, Joe Yawn was manager of a sleep disorder clinic; a Texas psychiatrist was named Paul Looney; a fire inspector in Everett, Washington, was Warren Burns; and Joe Pigeon was a bird dealer.

On the other hand, the man for whom the Armand Hammer Museum of Art and Cultural Center in Los Angeles was named made his fortune in oil—not baking soda. There’s always an exception that proves the rule.

Not surprisingly, quite a few people collect odd names, like one might collect postage stamps, coins, or matchbook covers. Here are a few unusual but actual names to help you start your own collection: Ima Hogg, who was the daughter of a Texas governor. Cash Register, Peter Rabbitt, Adam Apple, Glad Tidings, and Dill Pickle.