I am Silent Thunder...

A while back, I was gmail-chatting with my friend and former co-worker Liz when the subject of nicknames came up.

Liz - "Some friends call me Lizzle."

Me - "Makes sense... I like 'Lizzle.' I've never had a nickname. Well, except for Nagel-Bagel, which all the kids in kindergarten used to chant."

Liz - "Well, we need to find you a nickname..."

She then went on to try a few until she hit on one that rang.

Liz - "I've got it! MURDERFACE! You'll be Michael MURDERFACE Nagel!"

It was my very first nickname.

It rocked. I liked it... it was unique, had a ring to it and matched nicely with my first name. Alliteration is always awesome.

The problem was, it didn't stick. Maybe it was because Liz didn't tell many people (I would have, but you're not supposed to spread your own nickname, a la George as "T-Bone" in Seinfeld). More likely, though, it was because it didn't quite fit me. You see, MURDERFACE is an imposing moniker. It signifies raw power, brute strength, tattoos and probable love for motorcycles. But, as anyone who knows me can tell you, that's not quite me. I'm 5'8" (on a good day, when earth's gravitational pull is less), 160 (when the pull's stronger) dislike needles and like shoe-shopping (tides, distance from the sun and the earth's rotation have no effect on that).

So, I found myself once again nicknameless.

At least, that was the case until my Beijing prep class at school. You see, it's traditional for Chinese to have both Western and traditional names (Hence, the plethora of "Johnny's" and "Rose's" at serving at Asian restaurants). For our semester-long class, our professor Shu-jen, gave us Mandarin monikers. They all were supposed to represent the common first names and surnames we'd encounter in China.

Mine was simple enough - "Lei Muo." There are accents on each syllable - the first goes up and the second descends. So, when you say it it sounds like "Lay! Moo-oh." Not too bad, easy enough to remember. It wasn't any big deal until I asked her what it meant.

We were going around the classroom, each person repeating their names and practicing pronunciation when I inquired to the name's definition. Shu-jen looked down at her class roster with Mandarin characters next to each person. Then, she smiled. And giggled. And laughed out loud. Until then, she hadn't thought of its meaning; she'd just put together two common names.

Lei Muo, in Mandarin, apparently means, "Silent Thunder."

You know what I learned that day? Besides the meaning of my Chinese name, that is.

I discovered that if you're nicknamed after a fart, it'll stick.

World, meet Silent Thunder! Bring it...