Let me just tell you, by the time you get to the end of this post, you won’t believe I dared to introduce it with the topic of my kids’ taste in candy . . . In October of 2008, I took our daughters to Paris to spend a week there along with my parents. We had a great time and I found lots of blog fodder there. One of the highlights for the girls was the discovery of Kinder’s Happy Hippos candy at the Frankfurt airport. Since that trip, we’ve brought these delicious treats back from Nice, and have had friends returning from Europe stow them in their luggage. Until today, however, I’d thought they were unavailable in the US. Well, great news: my eldest was informed that Cost Plus World Market has the little critters in stock. Trying to retain my Best Mother in the World title intact for 2011, I raced off this morning a la recherche des bonbons hippopotames.
I found them right away, but found myself lingering among the international delicacies World Market carries. Should I buy Hobnobs, for the memories of breakfasting on Hobnobs and yogurt prepared by Chef Leslie’s husband in London, 20 years ago? Three types of spatzle looked enticing too. But wait – what do we have here?
That’s right, Mini Wini cocktail sausages. So mini, yet so . . . wini. Yes indeed, just that hair’s-breadth shy of being totally smutty. I’ll stop now.
Then there was the borderline scatological:
Why would I want to eat anything meant to be suggestive of a bunny’s tail, knowing how close that tail is to where bunny poop exits? And having said that, shouldn’t there be a complementary “Bunny Poop” product, perhaps something like Raisinets?
And then there was the kicker, the product that had me speechless. The product name that makes Onan look good.
Let me once again stress the invaluable assistance of Urban Dictionary in your name selection and trademark process. (I’m not even linking to the definition; you can do it yourself if you must.) Moreover, years of reading Dan Savage’s Savage Love blog and column have given me equally invaluable knowledge of sexual terminology and slang – knowledge that helps me advise clients when their proposed mark just might have an unsavory double meaning. (See Gap and its “pegged boyfriend” jeans for a recent example.)
The moral as always: When in doubt, look it up. Or ask me, and don’t ask why or how I know!
My paternal grandmother was a pretty classic Jewish nana – she made rugelach and mandel bread to die for, knitted and crocheted up a storm; here’s the classic afghan she made for me before I went off to Brown:
Here she is, in the 30s, because I don’t have any photos of her with her cats’-eye glasses and her bouffant hair (or wig). What a babe:
So for me the word Nana evokes love, comfort food, and the incessant noodging to get my hair out of my face. I suspect there are a lot of others who get the same warm and fuzzy feelings from the word.
So why would you name your opening glass wall business “NanaWall”?
Their website doesn’t pay tribute to a beloved grandmother (and commits numerous acts of genericide, I might add), nor does it contain any other explanation for the name, which, while concededly not descriptive, leaves me scratching my head. No, not even a lifetime passion for the Darling family’s beloved dog would seem to be a logical explanation.
Am I missing something? Oh well, since the NanaWall market appears primarily commercial, it’s nothing I need to worry about for my own purposes. So that leaves me to muse upon what my own NanaWall would be: shelves of rugelach and mandel bread, piles of multicolored afghans and sweaters – and a rack of beautiful vests just like the one worn by yours truly in this photo:
In short, my NanaWall is a wall of grandmotherly love.