This blog, yep this one right here.

I'm not sure I like my blog. Now, don't get me wrong - I love the ability to spout random nothingness into cyberspace and have a small consort of regular readers out there chime in with thoughts and take aways every now and then. But there are a few facets of this set up that I'm not all together keen on. First is my apparent schizophrenia when choosing a theme. I mean come on - JJ's world, brought to you by Gradual Instant via windycityreader domain? That might just be one too many personalities for me to harbor each day. The domain I dig, and the author name I like, so I think it's the blog title that is going to have to go...just as soon as I can come up with something more creative (suggestions welcome and happily accepted in the comments section).



Second - the blogger template. I didn't do a lot of research before I switched over to Blogger. I was failing miserably at my other blogging attempts (first geocities, then myspace) and I think the most I did was say "Hey, I know some people with a (dot) blogspot address, I'll sign up there too!" And viola - here I am. Once I created a google account, there might have been 15 or so minutes spent on picking a template (read color scheme) and then I was off and typing. But now whenever my trains of thought get longer than about 2 cars worth I begin to feel like I ought to offer finger insurance for the hand cramp that will inevitably strike as you roller ball your way down the page. In plainer English - the text box is just too damn narrow. And as far as I can tell, there is no way to remedy that. Can I pick a whole new template and have it save all these glorious posts? I've yet to try and figure that out yet so instead I'll just continue to harbor dread that my readers will abandon me from finger fatigue. Mostly because I find it way more fun to type "finger fatigue" than to look at new templates.



And finally - on a note not at all connected to my dissatisfaction with JJ's world - I know somebody that knows somebody that knows Pete fucking FOB Wentz. Not only does my somebody know somebody, she knows his fucking mother. How was this information not previously shared? Not that I would probably know Pete if I ran smack into him on the street - but it is at least a name that even buried in my world of books I can recognize. Le sigh. If an invitation to the reception opens up you'd better call me. You know who you are. :)