Great Blog Names

unsolicited advice about naming your blog

I have been reading a lot of new (to me) blogs lately and it has become clear to me that someone needs to offer a seminar on how to name a blog. There are a lot of blog names out there that are super self conscious, are trying too hard, sound ugly, make me think Elmo is in the room, are not wearing any underwear, induce a coma, are so cute I want to throw up*, or make me want to close my curtains to the world immediately.

Cut out the sugar, the cheese, and the dimples! Because I am ultimately a kind hearted person, I am not going to point my fingers to anyone who's blog names have violated my sensibilities. Instead I'm going to point out some great blog names (with links in case you actually want to visit them) with a brief explanation of why I think the name is great. Then I'm going to share with you what names I might have chosen for my blog if I hadn't named it after my company (which is now defunct) and if you want to use any of them you can, and you better do it before I trademark them or use them myself in an anonymous capacity.

Her Able Hands - This is one of my first favorite blogs and I was attracted to it, as I am so often, first by the name. I think it says a lot about who she is, isn't being too cute, and sounds strong. She's not writing much right now but maybe if everyone pressured her she's start feeding us her thoughts again.

Milk Money Or Not, Here I Come - It's original, smart, vulnerable, funny, and hopeful, all in the one name. It grabbed my attention and best of all, the writing is as good as the title. Schmutzie doesn't know it but we're probably going to be good friends some day.

Pam Kitty Morning - One of the reasons so many people love Pam's site is that it sounds cheerful. I couldn't really explain to you what the hell the name of her blog means but it emits the happy, sunny, bright, and sharply focused feeling of a good cup of coffee. I love that it is cute without the sugar. Like Pam herself, the genuine article.

No Appropriate Behavior - I don't remember where I found this blog but I laughed my ass off when I did. She is funny and true to her blog name. She's tough, she uses very foul language, she's crafty, and often unexpected. I think her blog title sums up what parenthood often feels like to me.

Mom O Matic - This blog name has a good ring to it. It's evocative of the reality of motherhood without any schmaltz. It's funny without trying to actually be more funny than it is, it's got a vintage feel to it which is in keeping with the writer's aesthetic, and it's acerbic. The writing is poignant and funny, often at the same time. I'm always jealous of her skill and if it weren't for her generosity of spirit I'd be tempted to put gum in her hair.

If I didn't include you don't assume it's because I don't like your blog name. I don't generally follow blogs whose names I find stupid. If I follow your blog the chances are pretty good I like the name of it. Words are potent to me and I'm careful which ones I keep in my life. This extends to the plants I buy too. I won't buy a plant called "Sexy Rexy"** because I would HATE to ever have to say it or think it. People are always quoting Shakespeare on this and I think they are very wrong to do so. What's in a name? Well, what's in your name? Would you feel as good about yourself if your name was "The Little Crapper" instead of Louise?

If I was to write another blog I would probably write an anonymous one so I could say ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING that's on my mind. Everyone would hate me, but I'd probably become famous for being hated, and I'd make lots of money and have no friends. However, I'm too busy with the ones I have now to do any more but you might enjoy some of the blog names I personally would love to use.

I haven't checked to see if any of these are already in use. It would be very amusing to find out that some of them are.

My Stick In Your Eye
Camel-toed Ho***
Wearing My Helmet To Bed (this one's my favorite!)
Retarded Muse
Botched Lobotomy
Shackin' Up With Jesus
Old Man's Crossing

My last recommendation is to remember that my opinion is only important if you think it's important. The best rule of thumb is to be true to yourself.

*This is saying a lot for someone who is emetaphobic.

**Sadly, this name HAS NOT been changed.

***I've never worn my pants tight enough to achieve a camel toe but I think it's funny to say and sometimes I think I'm trashy enough to live in a trailer. So why not?

The River Deep

A wonderful weekend has passed with friends and family. Light like liquid gold floods my blood. Bounty is everywhere if only I can contain it and keep it. Motherhood is everywhere if I look for it. Fortune is in the details. Music is how we're all going to survive, as has always been true. Love isn't a volcano, or a riptide of desire. Love is the return of fall year after year after year. Love is the endurance of partnership, the spirit seeing into the shadows and piercing the light. Love is friends who, without lipstick, still see the glamour in every hour spent together. Love is knowing who a person really is and wanting to open that explosion of considerable complications.

Love is peace. Love is recognition. Love is in the details. My love sits down with me at a scarred table covered in dirty dishes and old food and says he will wait here with me for the next feast. Full of admiration and expectation he sees me as the director and seeks to whisper only suggestions. He always grabs me a plate from the buffets, of which I have considerable fear.

Love is always wanting to know more. Love is unfolding petal by petal the worn truth to find the fresh interior. Love isn't passion, it's constance. It's a ride across a vast ocean with just you and your other.

Love comes first. Then comes the constant dialog with self. Love allows the self to prosper in the light of comfort. In a cushion of acceptance. River currents rush towards the ocean while partnerships cling to the banks to take a slower pace. Self is there too. Holding slick rocks in the dappled light, holding the current like an impression of the heart.

Notes to self:

Must pumice feet if insist on wearing flip flops. Might scare away good people, nice friends. Plus, old nail polish is very questionable. Looks sloppy. Unkempt. No one likes a ramshackle foot on a woman. Remember man's obsession with dainty feminine feet. Don't worry about your hairy toes though, because until the "recession" is over there is no budget for lasering toe hair.

Why does sister Tara not have chin hairs like self? She thinks she got the short straw. Must remind her of seven five chin hairs plus hairy toes. Also of interest: the uni-brow she was not cursed blessed with. Me and Frida rock. Glad not to have a pole up my torso. Not lucky. Frida prettier than self, but unlucky.

Back is stiff all night like an old woman's. Gimpy hip/stiff back- kind of seems like old age has arrived before menopause. Has the world gone mad? Or do I have a tumor of some sort. Brain sometimes feels like a tumor. Very inconvenient. If I didn't always injure self doing yoga, would suggest yoga. Stretch in the morning this week. And take Allieve. Pam says it's like angels come to take pain away.

Must make grape juice tomorrow. Must find out if stomping grapes with athlete's foot not recommended. Must find out if Greeks and Italians were always fungus free while stomping grapes? Interesting to find out if athletes foot troubled people like Alexander the Great or Cleopatra. Wouldn't it be funny if Cleopatra suffered from jock itch?

Fruit flies suck.

Bob Dylan writes better than I will ever write. Must not let this deter self from trying. His tribute to Woodie Guthrie was incredible. Dylan is as genius as Mozart. Who writes as well now? It's more the words than it is the music though the combination makes me feel like a wisp of a spirit next to a number 5 hurricane. Who is telling our stories now? Maybe everything that needs writing has already been written. That's the most terrifying thought I've ever had.

Why does Pippa like beer?

Animals are as important to me as humans. Which is kind of funny to say because I know that humans are animals. They aren't even superior to other animals. I'll reevaluate my opinion when humans manage to stick around longer than cockroaches have. I think a life without strong connections to animals is much emptier than a life without kids.

Must not draw attention to the darkening mustache hairs. As if chin hairs weren't bad enough.

Must get another bad haircut. Or let hair grow out. If hair grows out must wear make-up at all times to avoid looking like scary biker bitch. Must not tress hair up in fifteen rubber bands all at once. Wonder what that unfortunate style is called? Getting hair cut is like getting a giant crush to ego. Love the feel of freshly trimmed hair. Love the feel of a good cut. Most cuts make me want to cry. So maybe get hair whacked when drunk. Hate being drunk though. Maybe should not mind being drunk in order to not mind bad haircut. Sometimes think hairdressers are sadistic and just don't like me because I'm not a debutante.

Knees too big to be a debutante. Always known that.

It was embarrassing to pass out while running the 400 run in fourth grade. In front of the love of my childhood.

Deep secret: red heads and curly haired people are like deep mysteries to me and I harbor prejudices against them as a group but never as individuals. Said childhood love was a short red headed boy. It went against my instincts to love him. I would not have wasted three years of my childhood dedicated to my silent love for him if I could have known that he was going to be really enamored of psychedelic drugs as a young adult. I cannot be attracted to men with really curly hair. sometimes I see curly haired women and don't like them because of their curly hair.*

Must make a list of aversions to see what it looks like as a group. Possibly should make now while in possession of beer.

List of aversions and fears:

• Buffets. I have buffet fear.

• Dull pencils. They squeak and shine and make me want to vomit.

• Parties. The time I silenced a whole room really made an impression.

• Tasting sauces by themselves. Really freaks me out.

• Someone else's scent on my pillow.

• Dry feet. Makes me sick to my stomach when my feet are really dry.

• Large groups of children. Lord Of The Flies could really happen. Kids are savages.

• Being pregnant. I have lots of nightmares about it.

• Giving birth. Not warm and fuzzy. I have lots of nightmares about this too.

• Hearing people chew their food.

• Hearing myself chew my food.

• Hearing myself swallow liquid.

• Making phone calls. Love e-mails. So much more relaxed. Phone fear.

• Shower water on nipples. Heebee jeebies. I have a method to get around this.

• Vomiting. Can count the times on my fingers. Would rather die than vomit.

• Playing games. All games. As discussed many times.

• Other people's breath on me.

• Sharing food. It makes me panic.

• Bunching socks. Max got this one. Poor fella.

• Dry lips. Can propel me into hyperventilation. Hence addiction to lip balm.

• Bladder infections. Because peeing is important. Especially with a small bladder.

• Lack of bathrooms. Because I always need to pee.

• Awareness of transition between wakefulness and sleep.

• Violence. Duh.

• Being touched. Have improved a lot on this one. Still prickly like thistle.

• Music being played too low.

• Music being played too high.

• Music and TV both audible at same time.

• Too many different sources of noise at same time.

• Smoke alarms. Hate them. Hate them. Would like to tear them all out. Hate them.

• Pap smears. Hate being touched. Especially with cold metal in my hoo-ha.

• Medical mysteries. Create obsessive thoughts.

• Low light. Darkness is fine. Well lit spaces fine. Hate low light, especially in kitchen. Panic.

• Busy restaurants, bars, clubs. Much prefer either slow or empty ones.

• Going to the movies when crowded. Makes me panic to find seats in a crowded movie theater.

• Bright sun. Makes me angry.

• Dry wind. Also makes me angry.

• Museums. Overstimulation almost always certain.

• Afraid of being a hypochondriac. To the point I sometimes don't take care of things.

• Going underground. Claustrophobia but only when underground. Otherwise like small spaces.

• Heights. Always want to hurl self from bridges and balconies.

• Party lines. I fear more than one voice on phone at once. Want to scream when it happens.

• Conference calls. See above.

• Other people being pregnant.

• Fire. Not just because we had a house fire. But that didn't help.

• Flying on planes. Though I LOVE airports. Go figure.

• Losing spouse. Panic panic panic.

• Losing son. Panic panic panic panic.

• New people in my house. Especially if unexpected.

• Riding in cars. Much improved with medication.

• Changing my evening routine. Like parting the sea.

• Phone ringing. Rarely admit to this one. Sound of ringing phone very stressful.

• Yelling. Deeply distressed by others yelling. Since having a kid I yell a lot myself.

• Smell of man-pee. So much stronger than woman-pee. Not kidding.

• Adults obsessed with childhood toys.

• Entropy. This is a family-wide aversion. Philip, Max, and I are all freaked out by entropy.

• Losing teeth. Constant nightmares about losing teeth.

• Smell of sweat, on self especially. Can smell it a thousand yards away on others.

• Returning merchandise to stores. I'm nearly incapable of doing it.

• Sudden food aversions. Comes over me without warning. Totally random.

• Musicals. Not kidding. Hate most of them violently.

• Junk mail. Makes me panic. It piles and then makes me panic more.

• Sink of water for doing dishes. Danger. Fear. Running water better.

• Changing smell of hoo-ha. Changing smell of elemental self scary.

• Driving cars. Death trap.

• Taking tests. Makes me panic. Even if I know material like own heart beat.

• Expectation of sex. Valentine's day is a firm "no sex" day.

• Listening to anyone's heartbeat. Shouldn't hear such an internal noise.

• To stop listening to "The River Deep" by The Devil Makes Three. Once I start listening to it I think it is the sum total of life and I can't hear anything else.

• Touching cold butter. Smell of it lingering on hands very upsetting. Also can't eat cold butter.

• Balloons. I secretly and quietly let the air out of them when kid is asleep to dispel my dread.

• Clowns. Make me so uncomfortable my skin gets itchy and crawls.
  

I think I'm going to drink "The River Deep" and fall madly asleep. I think I might never wake up with the mud splattered on my face. Because this music has wrapped me deep into its lore.


Note: I keep having to add things to the list as I remember them.







*Deep seated mistrust of curly haired people. Be assured that I have met and loved many a curly haired person because I always overcome my fear of the group as a whole to appreciate the merits of the individual.

Blog-A-Pocalypse

The first thing I would like to do this evening is send PKM the hugest unlecherous hug from me for drawing my name for her fabric gift certificate! I could not have been more surprised or pleased! So many delicious treasures have made their way to me from Pam. Pam is like the best tree ripened sweet red summer cherries that come to you with the morning dew still on them and just when you think you can't stand so much sweetness she blurts out something tangy-fresh like "Fuck them all!!!".

I heard today that one of my favorite bloggers is going to take a little break from blogging for the rest of the summer. Then I read another blog I love and heard grumblings about blogging and how perhaps she'll drift away from it too. I have seen other blogs I love shut down and I am beginning to think that perhaps this is part of an occupational condition. Blog Fatigue. Do you feel it? Are you about to let your blog fade away? Some common complaints about the blogging world right now is how commercial it's gotten. Ads everywhere and everyone selling something. There's also the same dynamics present socially that plagued some of us in grade school: the popular girls club and how we'll never belong to it...who wants to relive that?

I admit that I feel a little betrayed every time a favorite blog rolls up and blows away. I invest something of myself into my favorite ones and so when they fade into obscurity it's like a part of me is gone with it. Was it me? Am I the reason blogs are disappearing? Did I look too long or ask too many personal questions? At the same time I understand. I really do.

I posted my 7ooth post today. I have been blogging just over two years. What have I gotten from the experience? Well, I certainly didn't make much money in spite of my ads. I haven't managed to keep myself at home. Nor have I become famous and beloved by all. I am not sought after, courted, included in the inner circles of the elite, and I still post way more often than is considered cool. Still, what I've gotten from blogging is something I can't get from my real life community alone. I love my friends in "real life" but they can't give me all that I need. Having this blog has allowed me to connect with people who share a lot of specific things in common with me. It makes it easy to find the people you share a spirit with.

I have, for twenty eight years (with very few breaks), written every day. In secret journals. In serious notebooks. On my old cranky typewriter. On soup labels and on stationary. And on my computer. I write. Beneath all else in life that I do (and I do a lot!) I am first of all a writer. Maybe I'm a shitty one, maybe I'm obscure, scary, funny, bland, erratic...you can describe me in any way you think fits but it won't change the fact that writing is what I do nearly every single day of my life. Keeping a public blog has forced my writing to improve. So if you think my writing here is shitty, you should see what it was like two years ago!!! Writing publicly has given me guidance and consistency.

Writing here allows me to say what I need to and know that there's a good chance that someone else out there who happens to read my blog needs to feel less alone with themselves too. Writing here has given me the gift of finding kindred spirits and also the chance to support others in their hour(s) of need. Some of us have secret selves that cause us pain and vast loneliness. We can't sit down with our family and friends casually and say (by way of dinner conversation) something like "I thought about how nice it would be to be dead today. Wow, it's been a long time since I had that thought. Would you pass the salt please?"

Support. Laughter. Inspiration. These are things I have gotten from this strange place called the "blogosphere".

I can see how it can get overwhelming. There are a lot of voices out there. When you're plugged into the computer you will hear a lot more of them than when you aren't. Perhaps we'll all get to a point where we need to disconnect and drift away with the growing hunger for silence. Take it. I am sad when a blogger I love drifts off but if I have learned anything it's that this is a place of support and so I support the drift. Besides, I've noticed that blogs often spring back to life like favorite dead characters on soap operas. It only took Luke and Laura, like, ten years to come back from the dead, right?

I have started to put my very very dark content into a private online journal because I really don't think any of you are prepared for that content. Believe it or not I have censored myself quite a bit and it has started to really leak into my work here. There's a time and a place for everything. This mental journey of mine is raw, frightening, pervasive, and in need of airing but not now. Not here. I cannot share it with people who don't understand that journey. I have to protect myself.

That doesn't mean there won't be any dark content here or philosophical crap, it just won't be the really tough stuff. I would like to focus now on more of the light. The food. The garden. And the crafts. The things so many people visited Dustpan Alley for in the first place. If I do well in my upcoming interview and find myself fully employed I will be entering a new chapter.

It's been three years since we've had any kind of financial stability. Three years of constant financial tension. If I am fully employed (particularly with jobs that I can look forward to every day) then I just might be able to put polka dots in the windows again. I just might be free enough to breath again.

Free enough to not give a shit if my blog makes a single penny. Free enough to not care if the popular girls spit on my locker or not. I cursed the coffee drinks I served them when I worked in cafes. I just might be free enough to play for playing's sake.

For the record I would like to say that I am not one of those people who is bothered by people making money from their blogs. Writers of newspaper columns make a living and that living is made by the ads and subscriptions their publication gets. What's the difference? If the writing is good I see no reason why the writer shouldn't get paid to write. Writing well is work. It takes skill, talent, and time.

This is my blog. Like a second home. A sanctuary. A sounding board.

I can't pretend I don't care if you're here. I do care. I prefer your company. I need to hear from other people. Your voices have comforted, supported, laughed with me, (uh, and at me, but I won't hold it against you), and made me laugh too. Your voices have been shining something beautiful and I feel more full when you speak up for yourselves and are heard. You've made me better than I was before.

So I will strive to improve still more. For whoever is left standing at the end of this Blog-A-pocalypse.

What Have I done For You Lately?

What I love best about keeping a blog is that I can write whatever I want in it. I'm a one-woman festival of chatter in my life and it is great to have a place I can spill a lot of it to somewhat relieve the burden that would otherwise be placed on the weary shoulders of friends and family to whom I have subjected to the endless minute details of my enthusiasm for Papermate pens.

We live far away from a lot of family and friends and I have also liked to think that if anyone wants to know what's going on with Max or the house or our lives in general they can pop in and get up-to-date. Although my sister sometimes takes advantage of this feature of my blogging life, and my mom does occasionally, most of my non-blogging friends and family don't ever read my blog. Which I find curious since I think about them all the time and in some ways my blog is a love letter to them all.

It's mostly just you and me here. And I'm curious. I don't have a huge readership that would compare to the likes of blogging champions such as Alicia Paulson or my friend Alice at Future Girl, possibly because I don't show a lot of inspiring crafts? But I have had a very steady and loyal group of you return to my blog consistently for the last year and just in the past few weeks there have been surges of new readers. What makes you return to me? Is it my minty breath? Is it my Old Spice (original scent) deodorant that you want more of?

I cover all topics here that are of interest to me. Obviously some topics get much heavier coverage than others and my blog (I've realized) tends to be somewhat seasonal in nature. Right now I'm much more focused on garden talk than on cooking but come summer I tend to shift to cooking as I begin my canning season in earnest. I do jump on my soap box periodically to cover deeply important issues such as what asshole is currently ruining our country and how some people really suck. I also spoof myself and my idiocy for my own amusement occasionally. Then there's the parenting talk which is often pretty dark but cannot possibly top the darkness opened up when I put mental health on the chatter agenda.

But why do YOU come here? What brings you back? Do you wish I would talk fashion more often? Do you wish I did more craft show and tell? (There was a lot more of that when I had the store and I hope that there will be more of that in the near future). Do you come for the food? Do you come for the irreverent (and sometimes dangerous) talk about my local life in McMinnville Oregon? Do you like it when I hit you over the head with heavy issues and send you away to brood for several days over topics you kind of wish to remain ignorant about?

I feel very fortunate to have gathered around me a group of people who enjoy my blog. It gives me a sense of focus and because quite a few of you leave comments, I get to indulge in my favorite thing ever: talking with friends! But what do you wish there was more of here? Now is your chance to tell me. I'm not saying I'm going to indulge you, (necessarily), though I might. (Unless what you want is for me to talk dirty to you. Being racy is one thing, dirty talk is just so unsexy!*)

Now it's your turn. Don't be shy!


*My own opinion, obviously not shared the world over.