There's a regular segment in the fast food-for-the-brain magazine Us Weekly called "Stars - They're Just Like Us." It features a series of photographs showing celebrity A-Listers engaged in mundane everyday activities like pumping gas into their Lamborghini, dropping their kids off at a 50 thousand dollar a year private school or hustling through the airport to catch their flight to a private island in Tahiti.
Yeah, just like us.
Of course, the stars are nothing like us. They live a life of wealth and privilege, and more power to them. Smoke 'em if you got 'em, I always say.
But what's with the kid names?
Two unfortunately-named children of the stars in the news recently - Beyonce's little girl Blue Ivy and Christina Aguilera's newborn daughter Summer Rain - actually got off easy compared to some of their celebrity offspring counterparts, whose ranks include Pilot Inspektor (Jason Lee), Moxie Crimefighter (Penn Jillette), Sage Moonblood (Sylvester Stallone), Fifi Trixibelle (Bob Geldof) and Dweezil, Moon Unit and Diva Thin Muffin (Frank Zappa).
What motivates a parent to burden their own child with a name better-suited for a post-punk band, a Labrador retriever or a Kentucky Derby also-ran? Two words: publicity stunt. There's no greater currency than publicity in the celebrity game, and a baby named Tic Tac, Sasquatch or Cement Mixer is a lot more likely to command the attention of the paparazzi and the public than Tom, Dick or Harriet.
As parents, we're duty-bound to love our children unconditionally and protect and nurture their physical and emotional well-being at all costs. Using them as props to feed our own egos at the expense of their dignity and self-esteem is a shameful violation of a sacred trust.
As I was telling my boys Thor and Copernicus just last night, nothing is more important than family.