Call me Ruth, Babe.

Today is Myrna Loy’s birthday. An actress, she was born in 1905.
But more of that in a moment.

Now I am going to tell you what a Swiss Roll is all about. A Swiss Roll is a type of sponge cake. First, you bake the sponge cake, lie it flat, and then spread whipped cream, or jam, or icing on top. Abundantly. Generously. After that is done, you roll it up, nice and tight, and slice it. If you so choose this mission. Viola’! A Swiss Roll.

Don’t you think some things get the wrong name, or perhaps, they are just guilty by association? Innocent bystanders? That is the case with the Swiss Roll. To me, it should be some sort of a biscuit, or even a crusty roll, with yummy chunks of Swiss Cheese, baked inside. All gooey, and warm when you pull it from under the checkered napkin, that covers the entire basket of toasty Swiss Rolls. That’s my vision for the world.

Same with Myrna Loy. She really should be a type of shortbread cookie in my mind. Not the actress who was popular in the 1930s; the one who was typecast as a bit of a vamp. A little on the racey side. The star of The Thin Man. No. None of those things. She should be a square, shortbread cookie, much like the Lorna Doone. The Myrna Loy. You see now. Guilt by association there too.

On the other hand, Johnny Marzetti, better known as the pasta dish, with tomato sauce and cheese, should be an Olympic diver from the 1930s era. He should have had his place on the USA team, right along with Johnny Weissmuller, who went on to Tarzan fame. Perhaps Marzetti could have played Zorro.

These misnomers are everywhere you turn, if you ask me.

Babe Ruth’s name actually became a candy bar. But they got that all wrong too. Babe Ruth is fine for a baseball player, or a young deer, or pig. But not a candy bar. It should have been a Do-Nutty Bar. Or a Nougy Nut Turd.

Yes, the innocent bystander. The stand-besider.

Sometimes it becomes a pigeonhole situation. Those occasions in life, when we get lumped in with an entire group of people, and we are assigned their characteristics, just because we are a member of that group. Like the Pride Parades. This used to bother me a bit. The world would see the flamboyant, the raucous, the gaudy and garish. When most of the gay men and women I know are pretty much milk toast. Boring. Conservative people in khaki pants and sensible shoes. But there it is.

Putting that aside, it is a naming thing. Sometimes, the world, or the people in it, simply get the name wrong.

The Koala Bear. It isn’t a bear at all. It’s a marsupial. Now the Brown, Black and Polar. Hell yes, those are bears. But the Koala? It should be a Cuddle-Buddy, or something.

The Strawberry isn’t a berry.
Nor is the Peanut, a nut.
And the Guinea Pig, is no pig at all. Maybe it is a Babe Ruth.

But as they say, a rose by any other name is still a rose.
So anyway, Happy Birthday Myrna Loy. I’m sure you were quite nice, in your day, but you coulda’ been a cookie.


“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”
― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet


“It ain’t what they call you, it’s what you answer to.”
― W.C. Fields


“You know how hard it is to feel like an extreme falcon-headed combat machine when somebody calls you “chicken man”?”
― Rick Riordan, The Red Pyramid