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Here are three good things about lists:

1. They turn a morally ambiguous world into a pleasant list of tasks for the morning
2. They evoke Christmas and other gift-giving holidays, and the unlikely prospect of getting what you want
3. Lists are the natural enemies of paragraphs, with their connective phrases and plodding "complete thoughts."

Show me a writer, and I'll show you someone who secretly wants to write lists for a living. In the meantime, here are three good websites about lists. I will enumerate their praises.

MyPickList.com

Simplicity counts for a lot on the Web. It's true that, from time to time, the citizens of the Internet have embraced exciting new ideas. But after a while, "What the heck does this site do?" fatigue starts to set in.

That's the first reason to like MyPickList.com: It does what it says. The site lets you publish a wish list of items you've seen on the Web and would be glad to see materialize under the Christmas tree.

Once you sign up, MyPickList sets up a Web page with your wish list on it. You can send friends to the page, or have the list appear on your blog or MySpace page. It works by putting a little button in your browser's toolbar; the next time you surf across a page that is offering a pony for sale, clicking the button will add the pony to your wish list. Later, you can add requests for a grooming brush, a barn, hay, oats and, assuming one is for sale on eBay, a life.

Finding and listing things found online isn't a new idea. Another service, GiftTag.com, works in much the same way, but it lost points for not playing nicely with my browser. Sites with nonsense-names like Kaboodle.com and Nabbr.com perform similar services, but without MyPickList's single-minded clarity of purpose. (And if you want to focus the brain further, try this: If someone purchases an item from your list from a participating vendor -- and they've lined up some big names -- you get a commission.)

Squirl

It's hard to go wrong by pandering to eccentricity online. Not that this absolves the creators of this site for having called it "Squirl.info." You wouldn't know it, but websites whose addresses end in ".info" really do exist; they just have the same stigma as those phone numbers with johnny-come-lately area codes that nobody wants. And I don't know what a "squirl" is. A magical rodent, perhaps, that only appears to the illiterate.

Yet I'm willing to overlook it all owing to the fact that this site is really pretty neat. It displays collections of things. Collect transistor radios? Or even collect pictures of transistor radios? Collect movie posters, or ceramic mugs? Then Squirl will help you put together a Web page that lists them, along with their photos.

That's all there is to it. Of course, you can see what other people are listing on their pages, wantonly post comments and maybe find your soulmate that way. (Hope springs eternal.) But at heart, Squirl is a one-trick, er, squirrel. The site isn't a feat of technology, but rather an exercise in doing one simple thing, and hoping it finds a niche.

It seems to be working. Members are using it as a depot for their eclectic tastes in vintage Lewis Carroll postcards, Japanese pennants, buttons, whale teeth and their whale-sized cavities. By throwing down a welcome mat to collectors of all stripes and celebrating their hoarding tendencies, the site is developing a vibe of its own.

Wordie

Why I've never heard the term "wordie" before is a mystery to me. What a perfect retort to everyone who smugly self-identifies as a "foodie," always off buying their food magazines and watching their food shows and, you know, cooking eggs without setting off pan fires. I don't care if I ever make it into your little in-group now, foodies. I have my own obsessive little club now.

And we have our own website: Wordie.org, in which users collect words. They don't define words or ponder words or debate words -- at least, not yet. No, this site is just a giant list of people and lists of their favourite words.

And what words! "Slugabed"! "Flummery"! "Crabwise"! Did you know that "wangle" is a verb? Apparently, it means "to achieve through contrivance," which makes it kind of like "wrangle," but with a sneaky twist.

Another twist: This is ostensibly a social-networking site, so when you click on "wangle," you don't get its definition. Instead, you discover which other Wordie users have picked "wangle" as a favourite word. (At press time, there were three.) In fact, Wordie doesn't contain any definitions at all. What it does do is provide copious links to sites that really are in the definition business, including Merriam-Webster, Wikipedia and a fantastic new dictionary site called Ninja Words, which provides the fastest dictionary lookup I've ever seen.

In the end, this is a high-concept, low-key exercise in indulging people who love words. Potential to transform the Internet? Low. Potential to make me feel better about that fried egg? Very high indeed.

webseven@globeandmail.com