Published: April 07, 2008 03:12 pm         

THEREFORE I AM: Wa-wa-wa dot sillychildnames dot com

Sometimes I have trouble sleeping, and it's usually because I uttered the worst word to use when you're trying to nod off — "why." "Why" will keep you tossing and turning for hours. "Why" will nag you and nag you until you get out of bed, walk to the computer, turn it on, and search the Internet for answers to moronic questions like these ...

Why is every letter in the English alphabet pronounced with one syllable except W? I've always had a special place in my heart for W because of that fact. A: one syllable. B: one syllable. C: one syllable. You can go right down the line until you hit W. Boom! Three syllables? What happened? "Dub-bul-you." I could maybe understand one extra syllable, but two extras? Who came up with that nonsense?

I consulted Wikipedia.com and found a long-winded and thoroughly dull history for W, but nothing that really, truly satisfied my curiosity. It goes on about "the labial-velar approximant sound," whatever that is, and how W gained popularity after the Norman Conquest, which I can only presume was a time of European history in which hefty, out-of-work gentlemen in sports coats sat at the end of bars with their friends, probably named Cliff, and drank beers without paying for them. I'm not sure how letters "gain popularity," so who's to say I can't make up a letter in an attempt to make it (and, more importantly, ME!) popular.

Here's my letter: W. I know, I know. It looks a lot like, well, W. It is, but I pronounce my W as "wa" rather than "dub-bul-you." I try to be concise whenever possible. The way I see it, trimming two unnecessary syllables from one letter will save everyone a lot of work. Now, when you tell someone about a Web site, you can say, "wa-wa-wa, dot, youtube, dot, com" instead of "dub-bul-you-dub-bul-you-dub-bul-you ..." A phonemic mess like that could put your tongue in traction.

Even if you go with the Texas pronunciation "dub-ya," that's still double (dub-bul?) the syllables you need. I say it's time for W to shed some weight.

Why did the "western" half of "country and western" music disappear? It wasn't too long ago that we had "country and western" music in America. Now, as far as I can tell, the "western" part is gone and all we have is "country" music. Can you name a modern performer who considers himself a "country and western" singer? You could make a case for Willie Nelson, maybe Waylon Jennings, but that's about it, and those guys are pretty darn old. We've got "country" singers out the yingyang, but "country and western" singers are a dying breed. Where are the modern-day Roy Rogers and Gene Autry?

It's been a fairly recent change, too. The next time you see "The Blues Brothers" on TBS, watch for the scene in which Jake and Elwood perform at a club named Bob's Country Bunker. Before the show, the guys ask a waitress what kind of music they have there. She replies, "Oh, we got both kinds. We got country and western." That was 1980, so maybe it was longer ago than I think. I guess I'm just aching to see a man in a sequined shirt again.

Why does hair on your arm stop growing? Do a little research and you'll learn that it has to do with growth cycles, genetic instructions and the fact that arm hairs fall off a lot. Fine, OK, but why? Why does our DNA insist that our arm hair (or leg hair or eyebrows or knuckle hair for that matter) be a certain length? Doctors and researchers explain the how, but I want the why. How and why are two very different questions.

Why do people name their children like a text message? It's happening. I've sent less than, oh, 10 text messages in my life, so I just don't see the fascination with this particular fad du jour. Parents, I beg you, don't saddle your poor child with Camrn or Brtnee or An or Conna. Leave nonsense like that where it belongs — personalized license plates. Johnny Cash (country and western, maybe?) sang that "life ain't easy for a boy named Sue," but at least Sue learned how to defend himself. Not only will Camrn get beat up on a regular basis, but he'll be spelling his name to every person he meets for his entire existence, including the afterlife.

"No, St. Peter, it's C-A-M-R-N. I'm sorry. I don''t know what my parents were thinking, either. Once I get in, is it OK if I punch them in the stomach?""

David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@tds.net.