Otis Alexander Sudeikis.
(To the tune of “Hello my baby, hello my sweetheart”)
Otis Sudeikis, Otis Sudeikis,/he’s got a lotta shine/
When we’re out up on the town, I know his love will be miiiiiine
I feel like I should do the Charleston and sing like a 1910s barbershop quartet when I hear “Otis Sudeikis”. It is rhymey to the point of almost being ridiculous and all I can think of is, like, old-timey romance and skipping games.
Otis is one of those names that is rising up in the popularity rankings inexplicably, and I don’t know if it’s because our generation thinks they discovered Otis Redding the way they think they discovered Atticus Finch or if there’s, like, a member of a band at Coachella right now who’s inspiring the name. Also, consider that this is a baby coming from a Jason and an Olivia and that, as unusual as it seems now, her name would have been crazy unusual when she was growing up. Maybe they wanted to go for a bit of the fitting-in-yet-standing-out factor that she might have had and that Dad Sudeikis definitely didn’t?
What I do know is that parents – or, I guess, grandparents – are, by and large, not pleased. I was at a thing recently where a woman was a brand-new grandmother. Because I am a vulture, I was immediately like “what did they call it?”
She was, um, not happy as she said “Otis”. Like the way she twisted her mouth she may as well have been saying “Cat Barf”. There is something about Otis that is really not crossing the generational divide.
What was the cool hipster rebellious name a generation ago? Were our grandparents secretly saying to each other “Heather, you’re joking, ugh!” Otis doesn’t bug me. It actually makes me think of a Cabbage Patch Kid and I’m waiting for the memory to float back up that will explain to me why. Meanwhile, you’re welcome for having that song in your head all day.