The Social Security Administration soon will release its list of the most popular baby names for 2008. It will confirm what several Internet baby sites already are reporting: nary a Larry among the top 100 boys names.

Last year's list was topped by Jacob, Michael, Ethan and Joshua.

Diego was 58th; Xavier 68th. Way down on the expanded list, Larry came in 334th, one step ahead of Emiliano.

Because I am a Larry, I can say this: It's a name that often seems to suffer from a lack of respect, at least in popular culture.

My mother assures me Larry was among the most popular names when she and my father assigned it to me in June of 1948.

But that's not so reassuring when you consider that the Three Stooges -- Moe Howard, Curly Howard and Larry Fine -- were still at the peak of their popularity about that time. And here's a slap in the face -- or a two-finger poke in the eyes -- Larry Fine's real name was Louis. Apparently, "Larry" had greater stooge appeal.

I'm not surprised.

Larry was still going strong in the innocent Lone Ranger-Roy Rogers-Leave it to Beaver 1950s, ranking 13th among the top 100 boys names. No Diegos or Xaviers on that list, pardner. But you may recall that Beaver's best friend was the slovenly, slow-witted, always-eating Larry Mondello.

In the '60s "Larry" skidded to 30th on the popular-names list; by the '70s, well, it wasn't even a blip on the top 100 radar.

There are, of course, some normal Larrys, even some notable ones. There's Putnam County's own Larry Steele, a member of the Portland Trailblazers' 1977 NBA championship team, who graduated at Bainbridge in 1967, one year after I graduated at Reelsville.

And there's Larry Bird, CNN's Larry King and Larry McMurtry, author of "Lonesome Dove."

Still, it's a name that often seems to be a punch line.

A friend tells me that Garrison Keillor, on his National Public Radio program "A Prairie Home Companion," often mentioned "Larry," a strange character of sorts who lived in the basement.

Larry is a variation of "Lawrence." I'm often asked if my real name is Lawrence and my response is always the same: "No, just Larry."

I have nothing against Lawrence, which does have a certain regal quality. I suppose it would have been more difficult to win an Academy Award if Peter O'Toole had starred in "Larry of Arabia."

Still, I'm content to be "just Larry."

"Larry" apparently doesn't command great marketing appeal, as evidenced by a plastic, battery-powered lobster that showed up on store shelves a few Christmases ago and still flaps around on the Internet.

I remember the first time I saw him. There he was on a center-aisle display, Larry the Loud Mouth Singing Lobster, thrashing his tail while crooning "Put me back in the water."

"Cute, isn't he?" asked a saleswoman who appeared out of nowhere. "He's new this season."

It turns out Larry the Loud Mouth Singing Lobster was a first cousin of sorts to Big Mouth Billy Bass, a mounted plastic fish that sang while moving his tail and turning his head toward anyone who approached. Sure enough, Billy was on the other side of the display.

I leaned closer to read the promotion on Larry's box.

"When Larry senses an unsuspecting person approach, he flaps his tail and sings a song," it said. "See the surprise on people's faces when Larry sits up and his mouth lip-synchs to the music."

Larry was $9.95. Big Mouth Billy was fetching $19.95.

"Why the difference?" I asked.

"Oh, we sell a lot more Billys than we do Larrys," the saleswoman said.

I wasn't surprised.