I always wished that I had a nickname. In all honesty, I never really had one. Sure, "Matty" is not my actual name. It's a nickname. But it's too easy. A drunk gibbon with a broken typewriter could have thought of that one. And most people don't even call me that anymore (it's a Trinity thing). No-- I wanted a title. Something to be proud of. Something that resonated with the masses. Something that said "here's a guy with a reputation." Whatever that means.
Honestly, I always wanted to be called "Skip". Or maybe "Govner" or its Anglicized form, "Guvna". Possibly "Cap'n". I'd settle for "Buck". And here's the thing: I know three different people who were called Skip, Cap'n, and Buck, respectively ("Guvner" would be pushing the envelope). I envied them immensely.
It is a universal maxim that people do not create their own nicknames. But dammit, why was I passed over! What did I do or not do to earn such nomenclatural scorn?
I think my desire for a nickname feeds my ridiculous fantasies of grandeur. For example, the image I have of myself as a pseudo-fictious Bobby Kennedy, complete with horn rim glasses and a raging temper, shouting at Cuban ambassadors in nongrammatical Spanish. I want to shout at Cuban ministers. And when I did, they better refer to me as "Senator". It would make me the happiest boy in the world.