On Becoming Anthony

So, as previously mentioned, I'm in a new country. No one knows me here. A stranger in a strange land. I'm like Marco Polo, or Columbus, or Martin Lawrence in Black Knight.

One of the resolutions I made before coming to China, and the one which has (not coincidentally) proven to be the easiest to keep up as well as the easiest to abide, was that I'd introduce myself by and use my first name here: Anthony.

I've never liked "Wayne," the name. For every accomplished, famous, or wealthy Wayne history gives us there are three or four Anthonys to match him. You say Wayne Brady, I say (An)Tony Blair, Anthony Hopkins and Anthony Soprano. You counter with Wayne LaPierre, I say Tony Shaloub, Tony Gwynn, and Tony Danza. You say John Wayne. I say John Wayne Gacy. Check-mate.

That's another of my problems with "Wayne," especially as a middle-name. How many perverts, scoundrels, and domestic terrorists do you know of associated with this appellation? None, you might answer, you don't keep track of such people in your head. Well, we Waynes do, and do you know why? It's because we hear our name on the nightly news half of the time one of these deviants is shown, shackled, being escorted out of his subterranean lair, bleary eyed in full view of the unforgiving light of the news cameras.

So, enough is enough. I'm not saying this is a permanent thing. I'm not saying I could change my name, or change what those who've known me longest call me, without the kind of unceasing and persistent corrective effort two years as a language instructor have taught me to avoid. But, here, in this outpost in the wilderness, for a while at least, I can try being someone new.