“Karla” peaked in North Dakota in 1964. After running away from her alcoholic father, she surged on for much of the sixties until ultimately settling for a quiet, low profile existence throughout the eighties and nineties. Now mainly a resident of the “Spanish south,” she spends her Saturdays at La Marketa and Sunday mornings at Roman Catholic mass.
According to that site, people stopped giving their kids my name in 1998. That’s pretty cool, because it means that when I’m old, my name will be associated with being old. I’ll feel like old people named Earl or Mildred feel today, which I imagine is pretty awesome, if you ignore the debilitating arthritis and constant threat of sudden death.