What's in a name?

   Those of you who know me understand that I like to take an interest in the folks around me. When we were staying at the apartment in Venice, I looked at the nameplates outside our building just to get an idea of the neighbors. What I learned was surprising.
   Let's begin at the top, left name. Obviously, one of Vanotti's distant ancestors invented that improbable, ingenious music making machine without which no proper jazz band would be complete. I can't count the number of hours I spent in front of a trombone section with my hair being blown forward and my back being prodded by an errant slide. Many happy memories there, Vanotti, and a tip of the fedora to your great-great-great-etc.-granddaddy. At the same time, I can't help wondering what you might have up your sleeve, Vanotti. Sometimes these things take a few generations to manifest themselves.
   What startled me most about the neighbors was the Pagans. In my wanderings, I've met a few self-professed pagans. They tend to be a rugged crowd even when you discount the piercings, implants and tattoos. Pagans generally keep to themselves. They're not interested in meeting your Momma. Who would chance pressing either of those buttons other than pre-teenage boys that can run like the wind?
   Additionally, just try to imagine drifting around Texas for a few days while introducing yourself as Sambo Pagan. Even better, introduce yourself as Sambo Pagan and wear a name tag. I dare you. I double-dog dare you. This isn't to suggest you couldn't get away with it as long as you carried a putty knife with which to scrape the eyebrows off the ceilings.
   Now, let's talk about Pearl Gem. Hey, come on. As far as artless aliases are concerned, Pearl Gem takes the cake. Is she a stripper? Is she an international jewel fence? Is she both? The important question is; why bother to advertise any of this stuff on a principle street in Venice? Actually, I shouldn't call it a street. It's more like an eight foot wide path between a canal and apartment buildings but it's still wider than a lot of other public thoroughfares in Venice.
   The bottom right button was our apartment. It's a full time rental. Our landlady was a petit, professional, energetic lady who speaks pretty good English. She appeared to be of indeterminate eastern Asian descent. Upon researching her unusual name, I discovered she's Ukrainian.
   So, how about Roberto? Poor Roberto. His last name suggests part of his family originated in Spain so I felt immediate sympathy for him. Unfortunately, he's stuck in a building with pagans, jazz maniacs, strippers and excitable tourists. Life can be so cruel.
   Of course, I expressed my concerns to Susan. She told me she saw a couple of people enter the building who looked pretty normal. To which I thought "Ha! Looking pretty normal is pretty easy."
Human history is littered with the shattered remains of civilizations that trusted people who looked pretty normal. Nevertheless, we didn't have a minute's trouble with anybody except the guy who charged us €8 for a beer.
   There's a big, crazy, mixed-up world out there and that's why we travel! Thanks for keeping in touch.