Just Call Me Homer

Mr Burns: "Who was that young hellcat, Smithers?"
Smithers: "Homer Simpson, sir."
Mr Burns: "Simpson, eh? I'll remember that name."

Mr Burns: "That man who's getting all the laughs, Smithers ... who is he?"
Smithers: "Homer Simpson, sir, one of the carbon blobs from sector 7-G."


Mr Burns: "Why is that man in pink?"
Smithers: "Oh, that's Homer Simpson, sir. He's one of your boobs from Sector 7-G."

Mr Burns: "Smithers, who is this saucy fellow?"
Smithers: "Homer Simpson, sir. Sector sieben-Grueber, I mean, sector 7-G."

Homer: "Hey Burns! Eat! my! shorts!"
Mr Burns: "Who the Sam Hill was that?"
Smithers: "Why it's Homer Simpson, sir. One of the schmos from sector 7-G."


Mr Burns: "Who is that lavatory linksman, Smithers?"
Smithers: "Homer Simpson, sir. One of the fork and spoon operators from sector 7-G."

Mr Burns: "Who is that firebrand, Smithers?"
Smithers: "That's Homer Simpson."
Mr Burns: "Simpson, eh? New man?"
Smithers: "Actually, sir, he thwarted your campaign for governor, you ran over his son, he saved the plant from meltdown, his wife painted you in the nude..."
Mr Burns: "Doesn't ring a bell."

Mr Burns: "Really Smithers, I'll be fine. I'm sure your replacement will be able to handle everything. Who is he, anyway?"
Smithers: "Uh, Homer Simpson, sir. One of your organ banks from sector 7-G. All the recent events of your life have revolved around him in some way."
Mr Burns: "Simpson, eh?"


Mr Burns: "Who the devil are you?"
Homer: "Homer Simpson!"
Mr Burns: "What?"
Homer: "Homer Simpson!"
Mr Burns: "What are you talking about?"
Homer: "Homer..."
Mr Burns: "You're not making sense, man!"
Homer: "Shut up! Homer Simpson!"
Mr Burns: "I can't understand a word you're saying!"
Homer: "My name is Homer Simpson!"
Mr Burns: "You're just babbling incoherently..."


There's nothing quite like going to a professional meeting to remind me of my place in the universe. So many people who are important in my field, many of whom I've met, some of whom I've spent several days with in various conferences and meetings, broken bread with, and published their papers in a journal I edited. And, as nearly as I can tell, none of whom recognize me or remember my name.

OK, I admit that it's partly my fault. I tend to be sort of retiring, and actually prefer to stay in the background. I don't schmooze well. I certainly don't go out of my way to get noticed. On those few occasions when I've put myself out to meet someone or talk to them, I've usually wondered whether I came off as too eager or presumptuous. But there are a few people who I really think ought to know me, and it stings a little when they don't. Yes, they are well-known in the field, and I'm not so much. Yes, they meet a lot more people than I do. Still, even carbon-blobs like me like to think they are significant to people who are significant to them.

Oh well. There's not much I can do about it, and it really only matters once or twice a year anyway. But there's one case that stands out that I can do something about. One person in my own university. Like me, he's a department chair. We've talked several times. I've introduced myself at least three times. We've spent time at meetings together. There are several different contexts in which we have mutual acquaintances. And when I call him by name, and say hello, he looks at me like I'm a complete stranger. Never laid eyes on me. Like maybe I have broccoli growing out of my ears.

So I'm going to take every possible chance to say hello to him as I pass quickly by, so that he has to keep wondering who I am and why I know him. Eventually, he'll ask his companions, "Who is that bald fella?" And they'll say, "I'm not sure, but he reminds me of someone. Except I think his skin should be more yellow."