Most of you who know me knew this was coming.
I only got a Facebook account because I was urged to by my various agents, editors, and other public peoples, and I do try and do as I’m told periodically, so I agreed, and set up my little place in the world, and was poked and tried to figure out the mechanics of poking back, and then with relief turned off the notifications for all the little things like pretend farms and pretend mafia and pretend sea kingdoms which needed me to just do one or two things for someone else in order to gain some kind of pretend points.
I pretend well. Honest. Just… usually by myself.
Anyway. I get a lot of email from strangers these days, and a lot of friend requests on Facebook from more strangers who might turn out to be friends, and I’ve met a lot of nice people. But, I think I’ve done my time on social networking, and while I’ll miss Adrienne’s very amusing little notes on her kitchen escapades, and Jules’ pictures of her stunning children, Leila’s granola obsession, Liz’s TV lineup, Robin’s packing woes and Tim’s complaints about his class load, I think I could probably hear about those things via email, and not worry too much. Plus, Facebook never thinks all these things are as important as I do, anyway, and tends to shuffle them to some invisible place where I have to track them down, and instead gifts me with recaps of LOST and comments on the latest Regretsy offering. Which, I don’t mind, but I think I’ll enjoy rediscovering ways to keep up with my friends that don’t involve a networking site which now sells my personal information – including birthday and city – to yet more strangers. Who will, in turn, sell that information to people who cheerfully shoot advertising my way, which I neither want nor need.
(Plus, when your PhD-information-systems-management Tech Boy gets quoted by American Public Media about how much he hates Facebook, and doesn’t trust them as a company, you sort of tend to want to ease back from the whole thing, just so as not to look, um, hypocritical.)
Upshot: if you’re my friend on Facebook, and not in real life, that’s okay. I’ll still say hello to you if we ever meet. If you’re my friend in real life, then surely you don’t need social networking to remind you of this.
Congratulations to Ms. Williams’ Speech and Theater Arts students at Goldthwaite High, who, this year, are competing in the University Interscholastic League in Prose. The University Interscholastic League was created by The University of Texas at Austin to provide leadership and guidance to public school debate and athletic teachers. The organization has been around since 1909, and the Prose competition since 1927.
Especially on the heels of Sara’s most excellent Audie for OPERATION YES, it’s an absolute hoot to imagine people reading parts of MARE’S WAR for their prose selection. How I wish I could be there to hear them. Take pictures, y’all!
I had no idea this could ever happen, but it appears that I have had such a good writing week that I have killed my keyboard.
In the middle of simmering up a lovely mess of plums, citrus peel, and sugar, I dashed to my computer to whip out a quick email.
That was Mistake #1, and you have NO IDEA how often it is repeated in this house. NO. IDEA.
I started typing… and the first ‘e’ I typed gave me a string of letters: asdfg qwert` — and then opened a bunch of Help menu windows.
Obviously, that wasn’t supposed to happen… so I frowned, and typed ‘e’ again. And then I typed the alphabet, and got an ‘e’ when I typed ‘f’, and a bunch of other nasty things started happening. I went online to Microsoft’s Help page, which is, as always, anything but, and did some troubleshooting, got on the Web and searched for my keyboard type, texted some people who should know about these things…
Oh, and I made some charcoal while I was at it.
It took me TWO DAYS to clean the burnt plums off the bottom of that pan. Two days, boiling salt water, a frosting-spreader-turned-chisel, and a pumice stone.
And let that be a lesson to all of you. First, expect your wireless keyboard to detonate at some point. Even after you’ve taken it apart — three times — and cleaned it all the way to the little nifty-looking circuit board, in the end, it’s not as sturdy as a corded keyboard. Second, adding sugar to anything acidic means charcoal is just a step away. Don’t forget all those fun – and stinky – chemistry lessons, and beware. Third, if you’re cooking, for the love of stainless steel pots, stay in the danged kitchen. You’d think this many years and this many burned pots later, I’d have figured that one out.
And you might well wonder what’s up with all the pink/orange/red in these photos. Well. It’s something in the water, I’m sure, but a sure sign of spring around these parts is the annual Dyeing of the Tresses. This year I took part, thinking it might be fun to go off my usual boring ways and appear in public in a disguise.
Yes. I am a dork. I have never seriously dyed my hair before. (Except for all the times I dipped the tips in Kool-Aid, which really comes off on things and does nothing to dark hair – but it worked on my blonde friends really well.) Since I didn’t really know what I was doing, and my hair was just sort of confused by the whole process, I am now the proud owner of a sort of coppery orange striped head of hair. Think red-furred lemurs.
Every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection in sunlight, I have the urge to laugh.
And really, that can only be to the good, right?