November 30, 2009

Prizes: Win ASSSCAT 3000 tix Monday

Joining the prize armada this Monday: The Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre.

You're probably at least somewhat familiar with the UCB Theatre, a nexus of alt comedy in the city this past decade. I've seen some great stuff there over the years—and, to be fair, also some crap, but that's equally important for any comedy institution that takes chances.

And this week, we got tix to something that is most definitely not crap: UCB's marquee improv event, ASSSSCAT 3000 (any idea what the name means? or do I not really want to know?), every Sunday night at 7:30 and 9pm. Various big names get together for some of the UCB's trademark long-form improv—not the theater-games kind of improv, the more scene-oriented, less silly-gimmicky variety. As for who those big names are, it's folks from all the funniest programs on your TV set, like Saturday Night Live, Conan O'Brien, The Daily Show, and Glenn Beck. The 7:30 show is $10, and the 9pm one is free, but to get a ticket for that, you apparently have to line up, like, 37 weeks in advance or something. This show is stupidly popular, in other words.

But at this Monday's BQT, you have a chance to cut the line: Some lucky trivia/comedy hound will get a pass for two tickets to a 9:30 ASSSSCAT on the Sunday of their choosing. Hopefully, this will be the first of many UCB prizes at the BQT. Boo and ya.

Got a product/service that you'd like to hype via the BQT? Write info@bigquizthing.com—we're complete whores.

November 29, 2009

Quizmaster live: Geeking Out + Dark Neverending Adventures

Coolness: On December 18, I return to 92YTribeca, which is a classy yet eclectic venue (with a pretty fine café—I had an extremely tasty bowl of penne last time I was there), for not one, not three, not even 50 events, but two different shots of BQT-style trivia on the same night.
First, I'm taking part in an event that really, really has my name all over it. Kevin Maher's monthly series, Kevin Geeks Out, is a lot of fun, especially for people like you (and I know who you are). He and I have been trying to collaborate for some time, but the stars align for the December event, a holiday grab bag. I'll be doing a brief trivia spot with audience volunteers, for prizes, naturally.

Then later that evening, same venue (though possibly a different actual room—92YTribeca is rather labyrinthine), I'll be doing the preshow for a screening of that fondly recalled childhood distraction, The NeverEnding Story (I respect the CamelCase). It's part of the December film series Dark Neverending Adventures, a cavalcade of '80s fantasy films (before you click the link, see if you can guess what the other movies are; I know, not that much of a challenge). I'm going to be doing a set of questions about a variety of films, and these have been fun to put together; I find myself researching some wacky films I hadn't thought about in eons. Even The NeverEnding Story—haven't watched that since Amanda Saslow and her girlfriends forced me to sit through it after school one day in eighth grade (they thought the actor who played Atreyu was cute, coincidentally named Noah).

December 18, check the 92YT site for ticket info. While we're at it, I love doing as many events like this as possible—variety shows, unusual screenings, etc.—so e-mail noah@bigquizthing.com if you're in the booking business (and I work cheap, of course).

November 27, 2009

Adventures in bad trivia games

In honor of Thanksgiving, let me share a little family story: When I was a youngster, we were into games. Some favorites in the future-quizmaster household: Boggle (better than Scrabble, IMO), Sorry! (ceases to be fun past the age of 12), Clue (often inconvenient, since it needs at least three players), rummy cube (classic), the Hawaiian Punch game (honorable mention). We had a big closet of 'em, one of the joys of living in a large suburban house.

So in 1984, when American culture went through a brief spasm of trivia mania, and Trivial Pursuit became a significant sensation, my parents were quick to jump on the bandwagon. We tried playing as a family, but being well under puberty age, I had a lot of trouble with that dastardly original Genus edition. I somehow had a fighting chance with the blue questions—the Geography category, I was big into maps—but otherwise, it was a bloodbath (figuratively speaking; we weren't like that). Papa Quizmaster tended to find something better to do the second he got frustrated; Mama Quizmaster usually claimed victory.

The Pressman toy company (which would later get this song stuck in my head for 20 years) saw an opening and created a kid-oriented, galactic-themed trivia board game, Trivia Adventure. My parents bought it, we tried playing it, and discovered it was the single worst game ever invented by man. The questions came in two levels; Mom and Dad started me on easy, but when I was asked, "Is the Moon made of green cheese or rock?," they bumped me up to the supposedly challenging level. That's where I encountered tidbits like "What liquid are ice cubes made from?" That was it; Papa Quizmaster was so disgusted he brought the game back to Toys "R" Us. Shortly after, Trivial Pursuit issued its Young Players edition, and the appropriately unimaginatively named Trivia Adventure faded from memory.
Until last month. Walking through a street fair on the UWS, I encountered a battered copy of Trivia Adventure on a blanket, for sale. Nostalgia was stirred; I picked it up and examined it. The woman attending the booth said she'd give it to me for $3. It now sits in my living room.

Sucks, blows chunks, bites the big dick of hell: However you want to say it, this is a horrible trivia game. It's not just the stunning simplicity of a question like "What fruit is used in apple pie?" It's that far too many of these questions are too vague to really work, especially for children: "What do some women wear on their earlobes?" (sexist to boot). "What is the state of Florida most famous for?" (I'd say alligators or old people or election controversy, but they were looking for oranges). "What planet has many rings around it?" (perpetuating a common misconception). Pity the genius child who correctly says "Uranus" for the last question.
Another problem: the inconsistency. The easy "A" level includes both questions like the ice-cube one and "What movie featured apes as rulers and humans as slaves?" Or, amazingly, "Who attempted to run across Canada on one leg to raise money for cancer research?" (which, under other language, has been asked before at the Big Quiz Thing). This is an actual example of a complete question card:

"A" (easy) level
What is the name of French currency?
How many dots does the symbol for the word "therefore" have?
"B" (challenging) level
What are the Academy Awards give for?
Who led the German Nazi war effort in World War II?

Insane. I mean, not that the average five-year-old would find the "B" level a piece of cake, but the "A" levels seem flat-out impossible for any child who isn't a math prodigy living in Provence.

I have not played this game since (re)purchasing it, and most likely never will; I have far more important trivia games to waste my time with, as you are no doubt aware.

November 23, 2009

BQT recap: Change is good

Plus, Above, you see the image from question No. 1 in tonight's video round, "Celebrities vs. Monsters." Funny, right? Worth it, even though it's pretty easy to name both the celeb and the monster (or rather, the movie that the monster is from). We have fun at the Big Quiz Thing. Plus, tonight's audio round, "This Song Title Is Unnecessarily Long, Wouldn’t You Say So?," was a challenge for the mind and the carpal tunnel nerve.

These were highlights of an excellent quiz (despite complaints of Macedonia being a boring question topic, or Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand not being up for "reelection" next fall). We witnessed the birth of the Not-So-Secret Secret Clue on this question: "What is probably the most populous bird on earth?" If you read this blog, or followed us on Twitter, or were a fan on Facebook, you knew that there's no way "pigeon" is correct.

Now, as for the big announcement at the end of the show: Next BQT, December 7, we're trying something new. To shake things up at the very end, we're instituting an automatic runoff round at the end of the quiz, i.e., we won't even read the scores of the top three teams, instead inviting them to each nominate one member to come up onstage for a runoff round: First to two correct answers wins. Will this thwart the perpetual domination of the Fantastic Fournicators? Let's see, shall we.

Now tonight's standings. The Fournicators, of course, did not win tonight—they were at half strength, after all, since half their team was off with DJ GB at the Pixies concert. Really? Kim Deal is more entertaining than Quizmaster Noah? Doubtful.

1. Cash Cab for Cutie
2. The Fantastic Two-nicators (as they called themselves)
3. Tattoos for the Elderly
4. Gerard Depardouche
5. Fat Kids Call the Butterball Hotline to Talk Dirty

And we're back on 12/7, then 12/21, then that's it for '09. We begin 2010 on January 4, with our return to (Le) Poisson Rouge. Stay classy.

November 22, 2009

The first NOT-SO-SECRET SECRET CLUE

All right, here it is, the very first Not-So-Secret Secret Clue, for tonight's quiz—your unfair advantage as thanks for reading this blog (or following us on Twitter or Facebook). At some point during this evening's game—7:30pm at Crash Mansion—I will tell you when to utilize it…

There's a good chance you've eaten it in the past few days.

That's it. Remember it, use it, cherish it. See you tonight.

November 21, 2009

Introducing…the Not-So-Secret Secret Clue

Yes, Ringo was the real star…

At this Monday's show, we're trying something new. Actually, we're trying it before the show. Starting this week, one question during the competition will be the subject of the Not-So-Secret Secret Clue: The day of the game, I will fire up the Commodore 64 and grace my followers with a "secret" clue (because really, how secret can it be?), a tidbit of info that, when utilized, will nearly guarantee a correct answer for one particular question. During the quiz, I will announce the NSSSC question and tell players it's time to make use of it.

Three places to find this vital information: Right here on the blog, on Facebook (become a fan), and on the Twitter feed (follow us). Fight for us, lie for us, walk the wire for us, die for us.

First clue is this Monday, the next quiz is Monday night. I am tingling with something, and I certainly hope it's excitement.

November 18, 2009

Death of a quizmaster


I was a little blindsided by the news, just the other day, that Ken Ober has died. Not that I particularly cared about the well-being of Ken Ober—I'm often perturbed about how much people mourn for celebrities with whom they have no personal connection. Rather, what blasted me with a tsunami of nostalgia was the simple memory of Ober's greatest claim to fame, the late-'80s MTV game show Remote Control. Watch below:



Wow. I hadn't seen any of that show in probably 20 years, but nearly every element of it is intensely familiar—that opening sequence occupied a lot of space in my junior-high mind, somewhere in between wondering what breasts felt like and fantasizing I was Batman. Truly, when it premiered in 1987, Remote Control was the clearest reflection of my personal sensibility that I had ever seen on television. It still might be (although for a period in the '90s David Letterman seemed to be running a pipeline from out of my cerebral cortex). I loved games, I loved TV, I loved hanging out in the basement with my idiot friends: I longed to blend all of pop culture into a colorful goulash, and then serve that goulash to a large and appreciative audience.

This seemed to be what Ken Ober was doing, and it looked like so much damn fun. And here I am today, trying to do just that each and every fortnight with The Big Quiz Thing. And, of course, as we advance the concept of an actual BQT TV show, Remote Control becomes a useful reference point: We find ourselves comparing our concept to Win Ben Stein's Money, Jeopardy!, even The Price Is Right. But watching this clip, I am kind of amazed how eerily close it looks to what I imagine the Big Quiz Thing will be on the air. Yes, our format is significantly different, and there will be no Ray-Bans and legwarmers, but the vibe is remarkably close, the offhand atmosphere really familiar. We're looking to create the new geek-friendly game-show party, and Remote Control was unquestionably a pioneer in that field.

So maybe it's very appropriate for me to have an emotional reaction to Ken Ober's death, if he was indeed the 1980s analogue to myself. (And yes, that would make EDP a nouveau Colin Quinn.) Quizmasters are mortal too.

November 16, 2009

The Third Annual Menorah Horah

Your quizmaster is back on the variety-show tip, in December. Check this out…

Ah, yes, the Schlep Sisters. On the right that's burlesque performer Minnie Tonka, co-originator of the long-ago Big Jewish Quiz Thing, and one of my coperformers at last spring's "You Bet Your Ass: The Rock & Roll Variety Quiz Show." She's asked me to take part in this season's Menorah Horah, as part of an impressive roster. (I meant to go to see Kiki & Herb on Broadway, I swear.)
What will I be doing? A couple of brief guest spots, featuring some Hebraic trivia with audience volunteers. On Friday, December 11, we'll be taking it up to the Two Boots in Bridgeport, one of Connecticut's most trivially intriguing cities: Not only is it CT's most populous town, P.T. Barnum was once the mayor, and the Frisbee was invented there. Then on the 12th, it's to Brooklyn for a gig at Southpaw on Fifth Avenue in Park Slope.

And hey, a promo video!


EDP wins!



As you know, last night, the Big Quiz Thing's resident sidekick, EDP, along with his family (specifically his mother and brother), competed on Food Network Challenge—four families, each cooking their own traditional Thanksgiving feast. Since his parents hail from Egypt (what—you didn't know he's African-American?), the EDP clan made a Middle Eastern–style meal, not your typical Thanksgiving dinner (though turkey was included, which led to the most nail-biting moment, as their deep-fried bird took on an especially blackened tinge). Professional chefs judged the various meals, and awarded 10 grand to the family behind the tastiest.

Of course, EDP won (he bought a new computer), and got to live the childhood fantasy of receiving an oversize novelty check. But more importantly, Eric himself was far and away the most magnetic character on the episode, and accordingly got the most talking-head screen time. He got off some good lines, talked smack about another family's vegetarian Thanksgiving meal, even snarked the judges. His mom and brother were plenty likable too, and now the campaign is on for a spin-off (no joke).

Watch the clever video above, and tune in Wednesday at 8pm for a rebroadcast (schedule here). Once he gets his foot in the door there, EDP and I get sell the Food Network on our pitch for an all-culinary-trivia BQT TV adaptation.

November 14, 2009

NT's greatest hits vol. 22 (of 34)

Onward!
"Emily Kane" by Art Brut





Last night, I accompanied a few members of BQT team Jefferson Davis Starship to Brooklyn Bowl, an impressive new hybrid bowling alley–music venue–restaurant in Williamsburg (and future site of a Big Quiz Thing event? Worth considering and perhaps pursuing). We were there for the gourmet French-bread pizza, of course, but mainly to see Art Brut in concert. If you're not familiar, Art Brut is a fun and unique British band; they perform lighthearted but guitar-heaving songs about adolescent topics like comic books, hooking up with girls, and—in a brilliant example of self-reference—forming a rock band. Their shtick can get old seven or eight tracks into an album, but they hit a rich vein of old-fashioned rock & roll fun far more often than most modern acts.

I first heard "Emily Kane" in 2005; it was the third single from the band's appropriately titled debut album, Bang Bang Rock & Roll. Frontman Eddie Argos—it's not really accurate to call him a singer—rambles through the story of his teenage girlfriend, named, of course, Emily Kane, with wide-eyed longing ("If memory serves, we're still on a break") and hilarious desperation ("I've not seen her in ten years…nine months…three weeks…four days…six hours…13 minutes…five seconds"). Art Brut's trademark meta-playfulness is in effect: "I hope this song finds you fame/I want schoolkids on buses singing your name."

Argo's offhanded, speak-sing style recalls the Fall, but with less arty pretension, and the whimsical nature of the whole thing puts me in mind of Jonathan Richman, but with a good deal more rock muscle; the band can really play, and they clearly have so much fun with it. But what really gets me about the song is its specificity, and believability: You have absolutely no doubt that there actually was a teenage girlfriend named Emily Kane, that he still pines after her a decade later, and that he fantasizes about how she'll react to the song. (How did she? I can't find an account online; every time I see the band in concert, some version of the tale is told, but Argos's thick accent and the band's characteristic noise haven't let me hear it very well.)

If you like this, take a listen to Art Brut's most recent album, Art Brut vs. Satan (another very indicative title), produced by the great Frank Black. Music is fun, my friends

More of NT's greatest hits: "Born to Run," "Shake Some Action," "Chips Ahoy!," "Radio, Radio," "Could You Be the One?," "Summer in the City," "Teenage Kicks," "Strawberry Fields Forever, " "Tunnel of Love," "I Get Around," "Local Girls," "Don't Let's Start," "Suffragette City," "See-Saw," "My Name Is Jonas," "Mr. Tambourine Man," "Reelin' in the Years," "Objects of My Affection" and "Crimson and Clover," "OK Apartment" and "Just What I Needed"

November 11, 2009

This is real: The Mr. Lower East Side Pageant

Quizfans, as you all know, I am an extremely beautiful human being. Odes have been written to my Adonis-like visage, my perfectly chiseled corporeal form, my bountiful charm. I'm hot stuff, in a word (or two). In fact, I have a history in the hot-stuff business, having twice been a contender in The Mr. Lower East Side Pageant, New York City's No. 1 ironic hipster-doofus male beauty competition. Prior to my quizmaster career, I had a life as a wacky-ass stand-up comedian, and it's under that persona (pictured above) that I competed two years in a row—the first runner-up, in fact, on my second try.

This year's Mr. LES, the 11th annual, is tomorrow night, the 12th. While it does adhere to certain classic pageant tropes—evening wear competition, vacuous Q&A—it's a couple million miles away from Bert Parks/baton-twirling territory (dated references?). First, it's hosted by Saint Reverend Jen, a, shall we say, unique local celebrity I'm rather fond of; second, the winner is determined by the whooping and hollering votes of all women and gay men in attendance. And third, the one-minute talent portion defies basic description: One year, I stood in a plastic bucket and poured various strange items down my pants (laundry detergent: among the worst ideas of my life); the next I did a condensed puppet-show reenactment of Say Anything. Man, I forgot how weird I used to be.

And what happens if you win? Allow me to quote Rev Jen herself: "The new monarch will receive a crown, which comes complete with a detachable bong along with a slice of pizza from Rosario’s, a six-pack of Budweiser, and the knowledge that he has been chosen by the people. Runner-up will receive the dubious honor of Mr.
Tribeca, and will get to wear a smaller vagina-shaped crown throughout the year. There will also be prizes given for 'best male tits,' 'congeniality' and 'best nutsack.'" Congeniality—crazy. I will say, though, that the winner finds himself with some actual responsibility, having to maintain a solid presence on the downtown underground performance scene. But having done that with no royal standing myself for several years, I can tell you there are far, far worse fates.

Get more details here: It's at the Bowery Poetry Club tomorrow, 10pm, $7. Arrive at 9:45, ladies and light-loafered men, if you want to get in on the judging action.

November 10, 2009

It's all about music sometimes


I think last night's Big Quiz Thing was a real example of separating the music-geek men from the music-geek boys (and I'm speaking metaphorically with the "men" thing—last night there was an unusual amount of, as I put it, "gyno-centric" trivia, including In the final episode of The Golden Girls, Dorothy married Blanche’s uncle, played by what comedic movie actor?
 and In a 1985 tampon commercial, Courteney Cox became the first person to say what word on TV, in a biological sense?). I'm referring specifically to round four, the audio round, "Three Degrees of Musical Separation," which shook up everything scoringwise, 30 big points on the table. I love that game, because it gives us amusing constructions like "Surviveruca Salt-n-Pepa" and "Ne-Yoko Ono Doubt." The Big Quiz Thing: trivia and laffs!

A few teams that were doing fine and dandy up to that point faltered in the audio and simply couldn't recover (I don't know who they were, but the Oreticals were one point out of the lead after round three, but ended the game in 11th place). Meanwhile, other teams who scored big on the round found themselves thrust into the limelight.

Almost literally: We had three-way tie at the end, featuring Cash Cab for Cutie, Strippers for Stephen Hawking and—you guessed it—the Fantastic Fourincators. Thanks to a little pinch-hitting (one Fournicator replacing the other at the last minute), the FFs pulled it out on this question: What band used to tell reporters that they formed when the members met one another in an elevator and realized they all had the same last name? Though big ups to John of the Strippers for parsing out this one: According to popular lore, the South Lake Union Streetcar, in Seattle, was originally going to be called the South Lake Union Trolley, but the name was hastily changed. Why?

Also, props to the most amusing team name of the evening, If You Can't Beat 'Em, Scrotum, who didn't score well, but they're FOQ (friends of the quiz), so they will be back, I predict.

Sorry this is recap lacks some fizz. Your quizmaster is tired. But hey, don't forget, the offer still stands: Pimp us for your office holiday party, and you get free admission throughout 2010. I'll have way more energy then!

The standings:

1. Fanastic Fournicators: I have no comment
2. Cash Cab for Cutie/Strippers for Stephen Hawking: Come on, breaking that tie would've been anticlimactic.
4. Birds of Ill Omen
5. Incontinental Congress

Three more BQTs to go this year, kids: November 23, December 7 and December 21. And don't forget: EDP and his family compete on The Food Network Challenge this Sunday, at 8pm, cooking a Middle Eastern Thanksgiving meal. He looks spectacular in an apron.

November 6, 2009

Who should get the ticker tape

Today in New York City, there was a parade. Can you guess why?

The first ticker-tape parade was an impromptu celebration in 1886, to honor the dedication of the Statue of Liberty; a bunch of office schmoes decided to thank France by tossing scrap paper out the window (actually, this does make sense; I recall a 1991 Montreal Canadiens game where an excellent save by Patrick Roy prompted the crowd to toss their free promotional CIBC caps onto the ice en masse). Since then, we've staged parades for heads of state, explorers, astronauts, military heroes—we were nuts about them in the '50s, but the practice dried up considerably after that President on Mad Men was assassinated. In the past few decades, the most popular recipients of the honor have been sports teams, particularly the Yankees.

Steinbrenner's organization has been feted with nine ticker-tape parades through NYC's "Canyon of Heroes," more than any other group (their closest competition is the Mets, with only three, the same number as the most honored individual, Richard Byrd). And I have to say, I'm very minorly irked by it. I don't mind the Yankees—I briefly called myself a fan some years ago, and I'm not into baseball enough to really like or dislike any specific team—but like many New Yorkers, I'm bothered how they kind of bigfoot their way through NYC culture. I guess I just don't understand how it's possible to root so strongly for something that has absolutely no element of the underdog to it. I don't like that so much of our tax money helped build a stadium for an organization that can afford to pay its players nine digits; I honestly believe a Con Ed bill proving you're a resident of NYC should get you free admission to games.

And we give them a parade? Besides, these are "heroes"? Yes, winning the World Series is an incredible accomplishment, but I'm not sure it's heroic. After all, these guys are living the dream of millions of little boys, and being paid very well to do it. That seems like reward enough to me.

Here's who should get a ticker-tape parade:

1. Soldiers who come back from Iraq and Afghanistan: Cliché, but true. Besides, it would prove right-wing assholes wrong when blue-staters like us didn't spit on the troops.

2. Really, really excellent comedians: At its best, humor is incredibly brave. I still think Stephen Colbert should have gotten a Nobel Prize or something for this.

3. Whoever cures AIDS, or fixes global warming: Seriously, we need more incentive to get this shit done.

4. Single parents: This would help us realign our priorities, don't you think, if everyone who managed to raise a kid to adulthood on their own got such a conspicuous honor from the public. And I'm talking good parents only; if your kid turns out to be a psycho or someone who yells on his phone on the Bolt Bus, no parade for you.

5. Anyone who makes it to the age 110: I think a ticker-tape parade would be a nice way to cap it all off.

November 3, 2009

Want to win free admission to the BQT throughout 2010?

Seriously!

As announced at last week's quiz, this is an actual offer. All I ask: Recommend the BQT to whoever is in charge at your office of organizing the holiday party. If we're hired, you win an actual physical pass that will admit you to the Big Quiz Thing throughout the year of '10. Hell, it doesn't even have to be your office holiday party: any party between now and the end of 2009.

It's hardly above-the-fold news, but the private-party entertainment business isn't at its rip-roaring peak these days. Still, most offices are doing something, and the BQT is a better value than most. (You get a unique show, after all, not the same boilerplate act that a band or a comedian might offer. Plus, I'm awesome.) We have a long list of satisfied customers, and we aim to please.

Questions? E-mail booking@bigquizthing.com. And as for pricing, a relevant quote from Woody Allen's brilliant Broadway Danny Rose:

"My hand to God, she's gonna be at Carnegie Hall. But you—I'll let you have her now at the old price, okay? Which is, which is anything you wanna give me. Anything at all."

November 2, 2009

The picture here is ironic, don't you think?

At last week's quiz, I asked this question:

Last summer, researchers at Carleton University in Canada conducted a mathematical exercise concluding that yes, civilization would very possibly come to an end if what actually existed?


I thought it was only mildly challenging, but EDP commented from the stage that he found it nearly impossible. If you were in attendance, you know that we made a little friendly wager then and there: I predicted that a minimum of ten teams (out of the 20 present) would write down the correct answer, EDP guessed fewer. Seven squads were correct; I owe the man $5. (Many of you guessed "God" or "world peace" or "global warming." But I do think that if I had emphasized "mathematical exercise," a few more might have put the pieces together, since the exponential growth seems to be the crux of the crisis in most z-lit.)

But that is neither here nor there (always wanted to use that phrase). I had written the question after stumbling upon this article, and I was particularly intrigued by this sentence:

"Professor Robert Smith? (the question mark is part of his surname and not a typographical mistake) and colleagues wrote…"

Well, then. Notwithstanding Prince and the leader of ? and the Mysterians—a true eccentric who claims to be a martian and a close friend to dinosaurs—I never knew this was officially possible. But I dug a tiny bit further and found Professor Smith?'s own website here, on which he immediately declares, "Yes, the question mark is actually part of my name." The photo that greets you certainly suggests that this is a gentleman not averse to being thought of as rather unorthodox:

Then he writes:

"People sometimes ask me why I have a question mark in my name. In fact, somebody does this approximately fifteen times a day. (One day, I'm sure he'll get bored and go away.) If you haven't lived with an incredibly common name, then you have no idea what it's like to be entirely invisible on Google. Not that the question mark actually solves that, but at least it differentiates me from that guy from The Cure."

The hokey humor only confirms that this fellow is not the average bear.

I am sympathetic to how unpleasant it must be to have a name as common as "Robert Smith." The guy in the Cure is just the tip of the iceberg; look at this list from Wikipedia, and our punctuation-happy professor isn't even there. I don't have this problem—I'm fairly certain I'm the only Noah Tarnow out there, but that could change as my first name grows in popularity among new births (the Social Security database has it at No. 15 for U.S. males born in 2008). So I respect his decision to change his name.

But adding the question mark seems intensely bizarre, and counterproductive. First of all, as Prof. Smith? himself points out, it's no help re: googleability. Furthermore, as that BBC article demonstrates, every time he's referred to in the press, or even a university course catalog, the publishers have to add an awkward eye-roller of a note about "this is not a typo," or risk looking incompetent. Finally, and this is something any good copy editor will tell you, there are many attendant problems to having punctuation as part of a proper name. Are we to mentally read any reference to this man's name as a question? "I'm having lunch with Robert Smith?" Well, are you declaring that, or are you asking me if you are? Does one have to up-talk every time they mention his name? Is his name pronounced "Robert Smith?"

Yes, I understand that this guy (I'm done typing the name) wanted to be distinctive, but there are many, many much better solutions. He could have changed it to "Robert Smmith." Unique, googleable. Sure, perhaps "Robert Smmith" looks like a typo at first, but after the second instance in an article, the reader will figure out it's unusual and not merely a mistake; no need for the awkward parenthetical note.

But then, would I be blogging about him? Unlikely. Very crafty, Prof. Smith? (Or is it?)