It’s bizarre seeing my name everywhere now. It’s bad enough that every school-aged child must learn my name as part of the alphabet, followed by the agony of solving for X when they stumble into “math.” And most maps tell me where I am by noting, “You are here,” accompanied by an X on the diagram. Dang it – I know where I am. Most of the time, anyway.

Years ago, the NWA Mall opened a store geared toward memorabilia for the Malcolm X movie. They invited me to come and take a bounty of X-related merchandise. When the radio station The X changed its name, I wrote them a letter, which they amusingly read on the air.

All I’m asking of Elon Musk is that he gives all of us named X a little compensation. I think 50K would be nice. There aren’t that many legally-named X people in the United States. More publicity. I saw that the account that has the X name on “Twitter” might indeed get quite a bit of money for the name.

It’s a strange coincidence that I came to the name X with a flip of a coin; otherwise, my name would be Q.

X