Did you ever wonder what your life would be like if you had a different name? Yes, I’m talking to you Rufus, and you, too, Cornelius. I’m talking to Minnie. I’m talking to Moses. I’m talking to Piper and Diezel and Duncan and Rocco and Gwyneth.

I’m even talking to John and Judy and Bob and Linda and Nancy and Ken and Kate. And wipe that smug smile off your face Mia – just because your name is short doesn’t mean you’re better than Victoria or Brianna. Okay, if I’m being honest, Brianna is just Brian with a “na” tacked onto the end, but the results are always mixed when you try and turn a male name into a female name. Just ask Alana, Roberta, Edwina and Henrietta. (Be careful approaching Henrietta though. She’s still very sensitive about her name and may even insist that you’ve made a mistake and that she’s Gabrielle, you bonehead.)

Whether it’s common or kooky or somewhere in between, your name is bound to affect people’s initial perceptions of you. According to a 2008 study in the Journal of Managerial Psychology, people with common names like Mark, Susan or Steve were more likely to be called in for job interviews than people with unusual names. Life just isn’t fair sometimes, and even though Gunslinger, Moonblood and Boo may be capable, qualified professionals, they’re often viewed as high-risk hires by skittish job screeners.

While some like to think of the name game as a predestined cosmic custom-fitting, the name you wind up with often has a lot to do with when you came into the world. If you’re a mature woman of say 80 years of age, odds are high that you or a friend of yours is named Helen, Ruth, Agnes or Betty – four of the hot, trendy female monikers of 1929. If, on the other hand, you were born sometime in the last decade, it’s far more likely that you’ll answer to a name like Alexis, Jasmine, Shannon or Miley.

Sometimes, against all odds, an old-fashioned name makes a comeback and becomes trendy again. This seems to happen more often with women’s names, as evidenced by the re-emergence of Emma, Abigail, Lily and Isabelle. Men’s names, once they’ve run their course, hardly ever enjoy a resurgence, which explains why there is currently a worldwide shortage of guys named Edgar, Elmer, Floyd and Ralph.

Proving that there’s an exception to every rule, once in a blue moon a time-worn men’s name will rise from the ashes and gain fresh prominence in the present day. This is known as the Ben Franklin/Ben Affleck Principle, though nameologists are at a loss to explain its seemingly random occurrence.

In my family, for some reason, there were and are a lot of guys named Al and Bob. These are good sturdy names to be sure, the kind you’d expect to see stitched on the jumpsuit of a mechanic, plumber, fighter pilot or rodeo cowboy. Since my family has never produce any mechanics, plumbers, fighter pilots or rodeo cowboys, the repetition of these names through the generations seems like an unnecessary tradition. Perhaps we would have been better served with an occasional Seth or Travis thrown into the mix, if only to avert the endless sub-categorizing of all the Al’s and Bob’s into Big Al, Young Al, Little Al, Uncle Al, Bob, Bobby, Uncle Bob and the Bob otherwise known as Robert.

I’m pretty okay with my name for the most part, though sometimes when I’m signing for a package Alan Williamson seems to take just a little too long to write and I wish I could scribble Alvis and be done with it. If I could start life over under another name and see if it made any difference in my personal journey and opportunities, I would pull out all the stops and get my money’s worth. I’d pick something scary cool – smooth yet with a hint of danger lurking just beneath the surface.

Hi, I’m Spencer Madrid. Can I freshen up your drink . . . in Aruba?

Hi, I’m Kyle Sebastion. I surf, and I don’t mean the Internet.

Hi, I’m Connor Bradley, architect. Let’s build something together.

Hi, I’m Kip Caramia, plastic surgeon. Let me take your bags.

Hi, I’m Clint Eastwood. Do you feel lucky, punk?

The more I think about it, I’ve decided I’m better off sticking with the name I’ve got. Alan Williamson may not be “scary cool” like Clint Eastwood or Spencer Madrid or Mitt Romney, but I’m used to walking around with it, and I’ve got to say, it feels pretty comfy after all these years. Besides, it sure beats the other name my parents were considering after watching one too many low-budget sci-fi flicks:

Al-Bob, The Amazing, Colossal Half-Al, Half-Bob Hybrid.

Alan Williamson is an award-winning writer with 27 years in the field of true fiction (advertising). A practical man who knows that writing for a living is risky going, he has taken steps to pursue a second, more stable career as a leggy super model. Alan can be reached at alwilly@bellsouth.net.