So the naming of Cyclone Pam was not some grand romantic gesture, or the work of a vainglorious forecaster.
Different names are used in different parts of the world. If it had occurred in the Atlantic, Pam would be called hurricane Ana. If it were in the Philippines, it would be typhoon Betty.
The next tropical cyclone in our zone will be named Reuben - which is good news, because statistically, cyclones with male names aren't as dangerous. An American study found hurricanes with feminine names such as Cindy or Belle had higher death tolls, perhaps because people perceived them as being less threatening.
As humans we have a nagging urge to name things. It helps us pull sense out of the arbitrariness of life.
Sometimes the ground moves beneath our feet. Sometimes there is a drought. Sometimes a vortex of air collides with a small island nation, where there are people and animals and houses and trees.
Meanwhile, the names we choose for each other often seem as random as nature itself.
I've never named a child but I imagine it's like trying to choose a tattoo for another person's face.
When I was named, my parents probably thought they'd nailed it, at least for a bit.
There would have been an initial euphoria, as if they'd finished a difficult and emotionally charged Sudoku puzzle - but it was probably no different from naming a band or a yacht.
When the concrete began to set, they must have faltered a little in their resolve, like the band when its posters have already gone to print, or the yachtie when the paint job is finished.
Yes, I was given two first names and doomed to go through life with confused civil servants in my wake.
But I'm not complaining - really, I count myself lucky.
My parents could have named me Judas, or Jaundice. Or Pam.
-Harrison Christian is a reporter at Hawke's Bay Today. -Roger Moroney is on leave.
