Mind Scalpel

Look, we’ve got to face facts here: Most states’ names are either incredibly dorky, completely illogical or downright offensive.

Seriously, I mean, “Rhode Island”? Not an island.

“West Virginia”? No “East Virginia”.

Washington D.C.? There’s a huge freakin’ state all the way on the other side of the continent that everybody confuses with our national capitol.

Okay, technically, D.C.’s not a state, either, but you get my point.

So Something Must Be Done. We’ve got to change those names!

You might think, first of all, that this is just too large a task even to contemplate. I disagree. Prince was able to do it (heck, he went all the way to an unpronounceable symbol just to mess over his record company — you go, [Unpronounceable Symbol]!), and I’ll wager that more people have heard of him than, say, “North Dakota.”

And look, the clear trend today is to destroy perfectly good traditions for perfectly stupid reasons. For example, stripping sports teams of their Native-American-related names because of the fear that Native Americans will be offended that a sports team finds them so admirable that it wants to name itself after them — there’s an intelligent idea.

A sports team is not going to name itself “The Knuckleheads” or “The Butterfingers” or “The Stumbling Morons.” Why? Because those are traits and characteristics that sports teams and their fans generally tend to regard as undesirable (in their teams, at least — if you watch people leaving the stadium after a game you’ll probably conclude those names are perfect for the fans). So they go for names associated with strong or noble or brave people, like, oh, say, “The Braves.”

But no! That’s an insult! So off comes the name, and on is slapped a perfectly bland substitute, like “The Winners” or “The Strong Guys”. It just sucks all the metaphorical life out of the whole situation.

So anyway, if it’s not acceptable to name a sports team after Native Americans, why in heck is it okay to name an entire swath of territory that they used to live on using a Native American name or word?

For example, sticking with the word “Dakota,” the word is both the name of a Native American people and a Native American word meaning “friend.” Talk about admirably, diabolically, razor-edged irony!

Hi, nice to meet you. Say, nice land you have, here. Oop! Sorry, I meant had here. Okay! Off you go! Hey, what’s your name, anyway? Dakota? Means ‘friend,’ you say? I guess we’ll take that too! Seriously, get going, out of ‘North Dakota’ now….no, don’t stop walking — we’re going to name that part ‘South Dakota’….

When you start looking, those kinds of examples are all over the place. “Massachusetts,” for instance, is named after the indigenous “Massachuset,” and further is probably a total screw-up of that name, because some linguists think “Massachusetts” translates to “near the big little hill,” which, when you think about it (”big little hill”?), perfectly encapsulates all that is absurd about that strange, strange place. But I digress.

Close by we find “Connecticut,” which comes from the (wait for it …) Native American Mohegan word for “place of long tidal river” (not, as is sometimes popularly misconceived, “place of residence for rich white people from neighboring state” or “site of our future casino”).

And while we’re at it, can we rename “New Mexico” so our southern neighbors don’t keep mistaking it for part of their country and wandering into it?

How can all this be done? Well, states are named in their individual constitutions and other similar foundational documents. Just one constitutional amendment, and you’re golden.

“But wait, MS,” you might say, “what about all those federal statutes and regulations referring to individual states by their old names?” To which I reply: for Pete’s sake, we’ve got all our laws and regulations on-line now — haven’t you ever heard of Microsoft Word’s “find and replace” function?

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with making a little money off this national renaming-fest — let’s do what all the sports stadiums have done with their naming rights: Auction off the names to the highest corporate bidder! Maybe give ‘em the right to name a state for 10 years, then re-auction the name again. So you might find yourself living in Toshibastan, or Motorolaville, or Googlevania.

So contact your legislature. Urge them to erase the dorkiness and the “offense” all in one fell swoop.

Hey, your real estate values just might double when you find yourself living in “Mind Scalpelopolis.”

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