Last night, over a delicious dinner at Da Paolo (mmm… squid ink pasta), the topic came to what the most traumatic name you could give your kid would be. I put forward a whole host of names from tragedies: Clytemnestra, Ulysses (oh yeah - missed Bloomsday a couple of days back - down with allergies), but my personal favourite was Oedipus. Now that would really screw your kid up.
As the old joke about the Jewish mother goes - Oedipus, schmoedipus, what does it matter so long as he loves his mother?