I like names — of cities, rivers, lakes, flowers, vegetables, song titles, book titles. You get the idea.

I like looking at road maps, reading the names of small towns and cities I have or may one day pass through. Moran, Epoufette, Trout Lake, McMillian, Engadine, Garden Corners, Fayette, Grand Marais, Munising, Houghton-Hancock, Calumet — Upper Peninsula place names. “You Really Got Me,” “All the Day and all of the Night,” “Waterloo Sunset,” “Lola,” “A Most Respected Man” — Kinks song titles.

    I also like to take matters into my own hands and name things. The best part about writing a poem I’ve found is coming up with some kind of weird and cryptic title to go with the weird and cryptic lines I’ve penned.

    There are times when I think the sole reason I got into the hobby of making my own beer was not for the challenge of brewing or the pleasure in drinking the stuff, but because I get to name each batch in what I hope is distinctive and descriptive of what it is I’ve created.

    Keenanfest Nervous but Excited Lemongrass Wheat, the latest. Strong Arm of the Law Strong Ale, Scary Cherry Stout, Piss Pour Porter, Norway Spruce Goose Brown Ale, Cranberry Belgium White Christmas, Tax Time Extra Special Bitter, Mad Dog Mike’s India Pale Ale, Flat Tire Amber Ale, Simply Summer Wheat and the less said about Keenan’s Irish Blonde (my only brewing disaster to date) the better.

    So, with all this interest in all things name you might make the assumption when I was a young lad my friends and I had bestowed some incredibly cool and creative nicknames on each other. Nuh-uh. I grew up with nobody nicknamed Goob, Ball, Bones, Rufus, Butch, Dingleberry, Dubya, Annod, not even a hum-drum Bud, Buddy or Duuuude, in the bunch.

    During high school I tinkered briefly, very briefly, with the pseudo-hippie nickname “Moonbeam Mike.” It still makes me cringe with embarrassment. Fortunately the nickname lasted about 27 minutes before it was completely forgotten. Later in life I tried out, again, briefly, “Mad Dog Mike” for a moniker. That nickname lasted for about the amount of time it took me to brew up my first batch of beer, namely “Mad Dog Mike’s India Pale Ale”.

    As nicknames go I was an abject failure.

    I have had some improbable success of late though, without any effort on my part, with the improbable non-nickname of Mike Jones. Huh? Well, you have to actually hear people say it to understand — Mahhhike Jooonnnes, as in Mike Jones the rapper dude.

    That Mike Jones and I have almost nothing in common other than our birth names. I’m a non-descript white middle-aged male with no amount of fame attached to my name. The other Mike Jones is a black 20-something rapper prone to shouting out his name, “Mahhhike Jooonnnes” on his albums and mixtapes. He’s hip, I’m a dip.

    One of my coworkers tells me whenever she mentions me to her two children they both shout out “Mahhhike Jooonnnes” followed by, I’m quite sure, the busting out some sort of ultra hip move us middle-aged white dudes named Mahhhike Jooonnnes would have no chance of comprehending.

Like most nicknames which are confined to a select group of friends, family or coworkers, Mahhhike Jooonnnes seems to be confined to 20-somethings and younger who pay attention to rap and all things . They take great delight when first introduced to me by taking a three-beat pause followed by their slipping into a gangsta rap persona and shouting out Mahhhike Jooonnnes — then laughing like crazy as if it’s the first time I’ve been referred to this way.

    I have no idea how long this non-nickname of mine will last but unlike many which eventually run their course, I’m guessing Mike Jones will probably stick with me until my dying day. I can just picture the young staff “Doc” at the hospital picking up my chart at the foot of the bed — followed by the three beat pause as he looks my way, smiles and cuts loose with a “Mahhhike Jooonnnes” before laughing like crazy, busting a doctorly move, and telling me “Mahhhike Jooonnnes, yo, yo, yo; yo time has come.”

Michael “Mahhhhike” Jones is a Gaylord Herald Times staff writer. You may reach him by writing to PO Box 598, Gaylord, MI 40734 or by e-mailing michael@gaylordheraldtimes.com.

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