Gimme My Nickelback

Hello. Today you get the critically acclaimed Weekend Gene Pool, in which I ask you for your life experiences / ruminations / confessions and such, based on a topic I supply. In return, as always, I promise to entertain you.

You yourselves are responsible for today’s topic because of how well you did on last week’s, which was to come up with “sosumis,” things that most people like but you do not, so sue me. Today, we seek the opposite, which we will call Nickelbacks. A Nickelback is something that you like but almost nobody else does. The more explanation you give, the better. Can be any category of thing.

I have several Nickelbacks. One is sneezing.

People dislike and mistrust sneezes. There is a whole medical website devoted to persuading people that sneezing is not as awful as they fear — for example, that it does not make your heart stop or risk popping your eyeballs out, nor does it mean someone is talking badly about you. And then, of course, there is the whole pandemic thing. People have always said “bless you” for a reason: Here’s hoping you don’t die.

I really like to sneeze. One children’s book, trying to explain sex, famously compared an orgasm to a sneeze. I don’t quite see it in those ecstatic terms, but it does explain the thrill of a sneeze — something begins to happen with a dramatic sense of inevitability, then it momentarily takes over your body in a way you cannot control and it delivers, in the end, a shuddering sense of release. What’s not to like? I sneeze six to eight times in a row, generally. I feel blessed. Bless me.

Entertainment: Here is one of my favorite columns ever. It is right on point, in a way. The Post almost didn’t print it; it worried them. They thought it might be too … mean.

Here’s a second Nickelback of mine, one with which my frequent readers might be familiar: Revolting foods. Offal. Things eaten raw that are seldom eaten raw. Also, fish heads. Muskrat. I put this all in a column once. And I explained why. You may wish to read it only after eating.

Also, I like Nickelback, the whipping-boy for all music snots. (“Photograph” itself is worth the price of admission.) And Necco Wafers, which most people think taste like cheap perfume. I think it delivers a taste unavailable elsewhere — pastel colors as food.

So please, send your Nickelbacks — with explanations — to this handsome orange button:

As a final entertainment: Speaking of columns with which the Post was uncomfortable, I now present you with one of the only two columns of mine they ever killed. They thought it was “rude” and “juvenile.” They were right on both counts, but is that any reason to kill a column? I recovered it online because many other newpapers, to which I was syndicated, liked it just fine. This was retrieved from a dandy, fearless paper, The Herald Bulletin in Anderson, Indiana:

WASHINGTON — I am on the phone with Dr. Richard Chopp, a man I have never met but whom I have admired for years in my capacity as the world’s leading curator of the aptonym. An aptonym is a name that coincidentally is descriptive of its owner’s occupation, or some other aspect of the person’s life.

Me: May I call you “Dick”?

Dr. Chopp: Sure, everyone does.

Me: Please tell the reader what you do.

Dick: I am president of The Urology Team, a group of urologists in Austin, Texas.

Me: Dr. Dick Chopp, have you personally performed any vasectomies?

Dick: Only about 9,000-plus.

Me: Excellent. Now, there is another doctor in your practice, with a specialty in treating erectile dysfunction. Please tell us his name.

Dick: I think you mean Dr. Hardeman. Dr. Stephen Hardeman.

Me: Yes, thank you. Now, the reason I am calling you today is that a very alert reader in the medical field noticed you have a new urologist on your team.

Dick: You probably mean Dr. Wang.

Me: Rhymes with “bang,” not “song”?

Dick: Yes, Dr. Wang. Doctor Lester Wang.

Me: OK, my heart is a trip-hammer here. I have an important question to ask. Is Dr. Les Wang trained in performing … circumcisions?

Dick: Yes, he is.

Me: Hallelujah!

Dick:

Me: Dr. Chopp, it is my distinct pleasure to inform you that in the field of advanced aptonymetry, you have now entered a pantheon of one. You are a god.

Dick: I don’t know what to say.

Me: I had pretensions of my own, but compared to you I am a mere scrivener. Yes, I once found and interviewed a doctor named Johannes Aas whose specialty was performing fecal transplants for patients with inflammatory bowel disease. And yes, as an editor I once assigned a story on a urine collection specialist to a particular reporter based entirely on the byline I wanted: “By Eric Wee.” But as you see, these are small things, the work of a mere chronicler. You, doctor, have fully engaged. You have made aptonymetry your life’s work. Are you willing to reveal your methodology here: Do you find these people as children, then subtly direct their medical careers until they are ripe for picking?

Dick: I do nothing in furtherance of their coming here. I am convinced it is divine intervention.

Me: Have you ever thought of one day encountering The Perfect Name?

Dick: The Higgs boson of urology?

Me: Exactly! What if you discovered, maybe in a medical school somewhere, a young woman named Ophelia Wiener? Would you seek her out?

Dick: I wouldn’t have to. In good time, she would seek us out. Where else could she go?

—

Once again, here is the handsome orange button to submit Nickelbacks.

And here is the less handsome but equally noble button to subscribe, and / or update to “paid.”