This Column Will Now Be Known By The Name ‘Burt’

Our U S West “Dex” arrived last week, and all I can say is: Thank goodness someone has finally named the phone book.

I don’t know how much longer we could have glossed over the fact that we didn’t know our own phone book’s name. It was becoming an embarrassment.

“And now I’d like to introduce you to our phone book,” I would say to house guests. “Its name is, umm … actually, we just call it ‘the phone book.’ (Uncomfortable pause). Or sometimes ‘Mr. Phone Book.”’

(Visitors frown with disapproval.)

But now, I’m already on a first-name basis with Dex. At first, I called it by the more formal “Dexter.” But now I feel comfortable enough to use the diminutive. Dex doesn’t mind at all. Dex doesn’t even mind if you doodle all over him.

At first, I was alarmed by the name Dex. I thought it derived from the word index, as in finger. Thus, when someone in the house yelled, “Somebody give me the Dex!” I thought they were really saying, “Somebody give me the finger!”

However, I have since learned that “dex” derives from the Greek and Latin root “dexter,” which means “right,” as in right-handed. The Latin “dexter” gives us such words as dexterity and ambidextrous. So, to sum up, US West chose Dex because it has nothing whatsoever to do with phone books.

Actually, it’s also short for “Directory Expert.” At least, that’s what they want you to think. They want to avoid all suggestion that they are promoting right-handedness (dex-ness) at the expense of the oppressed left-handed minority. The fact is, they couldn’t have named their phone book after the Latin root for “left” because the Latin root for left is “sinister,” and the marketing department would never have gone for naming the phone book “Sinister” or even “Sin.”

Still, they could have named it “Lefty.” That’s not a bad name for a phone book.

Yet I digress.

It’s about time we named our phone book something, even if it isn’t Lefty. I also think we ought to start giving proper names to all of our inanimate objects. We already give names to a few selected items, such as ships: The Mayflower, the Titanic and most famous of all, the S.S. Minnow.

The British routinely give names to their houses, such as Tweezleton Cottage, Snipping Willows, Snotworthy Manor, Carpingforth Castle and Monte Hall. I once tried to adopt this custom to one of our former houses, but my wife objected to the name I chose.

“I refuse to refer to our house as ‘Gravel Pit Hollow,”’ she said.

So it reverted back to its old name, 20701 S.E. 104th Place.

Also, a lot of people name their cars. Sometimes, these are purely descriptive names, such as The Beige Beetle or The Red Terror, or, in the case of a particularly obnoxious Datsun I once owned, Bucky the Stinking Car (it emitted a sulfurous odor under certain conditions).

Some people even give their cars real human names, such as Marge. This leads to interesting sentence constructions, such as, “We packed the whole darn family into Marge,” or “We had to have Marge fixed yesterday.”

Anyway, following the lead of Dex, I think we ought to give names to many of our everyday household objects:

“Digit,” the remote control.

“Celsius,” the thermostat.

“Cliff,” the can opener.

“Tinklebell,” the telephone.

“Barry,” the microwave oven owners manual.

“Donald,” the duct tape.

“Toad,” the wet sprocket.

“Jimmy,” the beloved family newspaper.

I love that last idea. It would make me so proud to hear people say, “Son, bring me Jimmy,” or, “Hey, dad, let’s look up the scores in Jimmy,” or, “Hold on, Marge, we can wipe up that mess with Jimmy.”

Meanwhile, I am just glad my phone book has a first name. It now joins an exclusive club of household institutions that are important enough to go by their first names. The other, of course, is the john. , DataTimes MEMO: To leave a message on Jim Kershner’s voice-mail, call 459-5493. Or send e-mail to jimk@spokesman.com, or regular mail to Spokesman-Review, P.O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210.