Because of my freakish first name, I cannot receive a personalized phone call from Samuel L. Jackson, nor can I download a version of Jessica Simpson's "A Public Affair" that gives me a shout out. Yes, this is the hell that I've grown up with all of my life, especially in everyone's heavily-gifted personalized trinketed formative years. Bicycle license plates that say "Mike", key chains that say "Mitch" (my brother and sister's nickname for me), magnets reading "Michael".
While both of my siblings received their Captain Zoom birthday 45s, I got nada.
Maybe the lack of validation for my existence really screwed me up. Who knows?