*Whomp* My Name Is
*Bib* Ny Name Is

So last night was the Grad School party. It was also the night for celebrating one of my professors' retirement. The very professor, it turns out, who endowed by grant. Being a Solemn Occassion, evry single award winner since 1993 was there. They were an impressive lot, a professional director, the head archivist from the New York Public Library Theatre Archive, a CUNY PhD candidate, etc, etc.
And me.
They all spoke at length how Prof. X had touched their lives and affected their work. I stood to the side with my fellow first years, drinking very cheap white wine and hoping I wouldn't have to speak.
This turned out to be the least of my problems.
When the last of the past fellows had spoken, the head of the college announced it was now time to award this year's prize.
The 90+ year old professor stood up, squinted at the envelope and said:
"I'd like to award this year's prize to...
... Joel Anders!"

Just to make the situation more comfortable, the current head of the graduate program hissed in the world's sotte voce, "IT'S JASON ECKARD!"
The august professor stared at me for a second or two, threw down her hands and went "Oh, him!" and said to me, "You got it" and sat back down.

Not that I'm complaining too much, mind you. The money was spent today on the rest of my textbooks for the semester, and rent and groceries to keep me alive (and a Dr Who book and Belle and Sebastian vinyl), and the esteemed professor was 91 years old, but still...

UPDATE: the situation was not healed in class today when the chair of the department demanded one "Joshua" to read alound. When (after a minute or so) I looked up to see why no-one was reading, said professor was looking at me.
"My name isn't Joshua."
"Oh," he said. "Read it anyway."