I have ideas for you, blog. Because I have them all the time, J is used to them. In fact, he thinks that the only blog I have a chance of keeping is a blog of blog ideas.

Of course, as always with new online projects, what I want first is a new theme and a new domain name. My plans for pimpin’ my new web projects always precede plans for executions. Perhaps this explains why my sites usually see more theme changes than posts.

Now, in the same conversation where they go on at length about new revenue models and guerrilla tactics, marketing types mention that for an artist, a web presence should build name recognition. We all know of course that what I have is not a web presence but a web absence. What this blog here should be called is Waiting for Kolendo.

The point is that I’m coming around to the idea that my name, my real, phone-book-findable name, should have a starring role in my web adventures (or lack thereof) since I think–now that I finally no longer get carded when buying tickets to R-rated movies–I’m finally safe from being stalked by another pedophile.*

Which I suppose poses the question of which name to use. At my mother’s, I’m still Nastia Kolendo but no one else I know can pronounce it. Anastasia Kolendo is on diplomas and IDs, though I prevent so many mispronunciations nowadays by introducing myself as Ana that I should get a Crimestoppers Badge of Merit. And Anastasia is such a feminine name. I feel like people who have just the name to go on expect 5 o’clock tea involving cozies and forest creatures who come to braid my hair.

Surprisingly, for years,,, and were all taken. Though go-daddy, my former web host and registrar, of course suggested brilliant alternatives–like

Luckily, the inability to keep a blog seems to be genetic. The guy who used to own must have gotten tired of paying for hosting for an error page he had parked here for a few years, so now it’s my turn to do the same.
* For those of you who haven’t heard the story, don’t worry. My pedophile was shy. After finding my address in the white pages, he dropped by unannounced to ask me “to go steady.” There were no attempts at inappropriate touching, though my parents will forever assume his behavior to be typical of American men.

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