D.J. ever wonder?

I've noticed over the last two years that there seems to be an evergrowing number of people in their 20s and 30s with the first name of D.J. I'm seeing it popping up everywhere--in magazines, club flyers--heck, even Nicole Ritchie's fiance is named D.J.

You know, with all the birth record tabulations I've seen reporting the top babies' names every year, I've never seen "D.J." on the list. It's glaringly in absentia. Sure, Mark and Mike and Mary are always there, year after year, but why isn't "D.J." showing up on the stats sheets?

I've been trying to figure out why so many parents, 20 to 30 years ago, were drawn to the name D.J. It's a fairly generic choice, it seems. There is no blue-blood flair that a name like Sebastian or Cassandra bears. My first guess is that because these families had such distinctive surnames (e.g., Shadow and Krush), they decided to go with unassuming initials for the first half of their children's handles.

Some sociologist should really get on this, because there also seems to be a significant overlap between those named D.J. and an aptitude for music. I highly doubt it's coincidental.

Somebody should put a clever spin on this phenomenon and petition for government funding for a landmark study. Unfortunately, resources for this kind of subject matter are rarely forthcoming. But just imagine if we turned the tables on those so-called scientists who are studying that pie-in-the-sky stem cell hullabaloo and got them to step up to the mike on a serious issue like this D.J. culture I've only heard underground murmurings about. Yeah, right. I won't hold my breath on that one.