Alyx wants to be Friends with Facebook on Facebook

Facebook is messy; this probably will be too.

I initially signed up for Livejournal because Spike was there, and I loooooove Spike. And it was Keff who encouraged both Kelly and I to get Facebook pages.

I looooove Keff. So you see the trend here.

I decided, at the time, that the page should be a public space. So it has remained. Anyone can friend me and will stay that way unless they spam, flood or set off my Creep Alert. And if it ain’t fit for the whole Interwebs to hear, I don’t say it there. (This has become my policy, speaking very generally, about posting anything, for reasons that should be obvious. But in case they’re not, heeeere’s Scalzi!)

What I put into Facebook is largely generated elsewhere. Status updates, often in the form of Tweets. Pictures from Instagram and Flickr. Lately, pins from Pinterest. Notes that are links to blog entries. I also answer any e-mails that come to me there.

What I take back out of the great blue river of updates, posts, videos, pictures, game invites, event invites, and you name it?

First and no big surprise: with OMG so much fiddling!, I’ve learned to have Facebook forward, to my e-mail, what the Close Friends list is up to. Many of the people I used to read on LJ are Facebookians now. I want to know every little thing going on with my beloved peeps. (We may need a new word for benign stalkage of willing loved ones. Following seems imprecise.)

Second: I like to make ten or twenty Scrabble moves a day and I have a handful of friends who humour me in this. If you play the official Scrabble app on Facebook and you’d like to say you creamed a novelist who can’t learn not to make cool words like LIZARD or VORTEX, even when HA would yield twice the points, this is the one game invite I will notice and accept.

And in most cases I won’t even send you this shot of myself waiting for you to make your next move. That kind of nagging is reserved for poor, dear, much put-upon Liz.

I sent this picture to L to hint that she really should make a Scrabble move now.

Third: A reasonable percentage of my inlaws and nearly all of my genetic relations are on Facebook. I have wonderful filtered lists that let me check out baby pictures, complaints about the weather in Alberta (land of snow, guys, come to the coast where we have crocuses in January!!) and whatever else they’re thinking about. Which is just damned nice. It’s not as good as being there in May or June. It beats the hell out of being there in February. (Daffodils! Tulips! The first cherry blossoms!)

As for all the other lovely people who aren’t my best buds and family? I look at the updates, if somewhat randomly. I get writing links, political stuff, news items, cat macros, videos of Kristen Bell bawling her eyes out over sloths, announcements to the effect that McKinley has a bear in her backyard tree, David Gerrold’s recent juicing disasters, Hallowe’en costumes and other stuff. If I like them, I even “Like” them.

But Facebook is something I often need to sieve: lots pours through it, and I’m trying to find stuff I connect to personally.

Still going Wild, but not until November

First a PSA: my novelette “Wild Things,” got rescheduled for release on Tor.com. It will be out in early November. Sorry to have misinformed you all. In the meantime there’s still “The Cage” and “Among the Silvering Herd” to be had there.

Second, a celebration: my stepsister B has had a baby boy; he is small and adorable and photos are pouring in. I’m happy for her and her husband, and even happier that my father gets a chance to be a granddad.

Third, and not-quite-endlessly, the mini-reno: the cats continued to be aflutter and restless as the office renovation continued. They got a break for one weekend, because of VCon–there was no point heaving a lot of stuff around when there wouldn’t be time free for dismantling the bedroom. But for Canucksgiving Kelly and I put on the final push: we dismantled the two big pieces of furniture–the bed and the desk–and swapped the rooms.

Displaced stuff and a cat:
Minnow would like me to put the house back together now.

And oh! The bedroom is so pretty! We bought an old dresser and put the pitcher from the Tucker family homestead on it, and it’s so very olde fashionedee. All that work was so exhausting–I felt ill with fatigue, and also nearly beaned my face with a falling shelf–and so worth it. Take that, Martha Stewart!

Old stuff

Rumble, who does apparently believe that crap rolls downhill, dealt with his stress by trying to forbid Minnow from eating or using the litter box. You can all imagine how popular this choice of his has been with the cat parents. We now have multiple feeding stations on the go and are watching him like hawks. We’re also trying to lure her into the shiny new bedroom on occasion, by giving them both treats, but only when both of them are in there.

Foamy!

One delicious outcome of our Italy trip ten months ago was my espresso intake went up–how could it not?–and I’d started having trouble limiting myself to one latte a day. There are all sorts of good reasons why one should be enough, but you know how it is: no amount of commonsense can always outweigh the desire for a treat.

So, for this and other reasons, Kelly and I bought the world’s most adorable milk-whipper a couple weeks ago. It makes hot foamy milk, cold foamy milk, and hot unfoamy milk. (Also hot unsweetened chocolate almond milk, which: mmmm!) And it’s damn near silent, which is deeply wonderful. I could whip milk at the crack of dawn pretty much right beside Kelly’s ear and she wouldn’t wake up.

But the real selling point, in the end, the reason we couldn’t leave it at the Bay, was the red fireplug cuteness of the thing. Sometimes you just have to give in to the OMG squee, how fantastic!!

Did I show you all our pretty new milk whizzer?

All the cat that’s fit to blog

My beloved, shadow-colored Rumble is going through one of those phases where his favorite place to be is underfoot, preferably at three in the morning. This is troublesome, naturally, because at three I’m a lumbering, nearsighted beast with a wobbly ankle, bound on autopilot for the bathroom. He’s gotten stepped on twice and punted once, and I think it’s sinking in. (If it doesn’t, I’ll start slowly and carefully stepping on him whenever I see he’s in my way. Otherwise an ugly trip to the human or kitteh emergency room is an inevitability).

Rumble08

There’s been a fair amount of kitty acting out lately, what with my having torn up the office and, as of last Wednesday, mostly closed it to feline traffic. It’s all less traumatic than actually moving them to a new home would be, but they can’t appreciate that. I did manage to open the door for part of yesterday while I was rearranging for the next stage of painting. Minnow was visibly happier after she’d had a chance to see that the room still existed.

Minnow08

After the painting, the next stage for this little project is to move the office stuff into the bedroom, and the bedroom stuff into the office. The former will be quite the tight squeeze, but that will hopefully motivate K and I to continue getting rid of some of our not-so-needed crap.

The office is as close as Minnow gets to having her own territory in the house, so I am expecting there will be another explosion of cat unhappiness and maneuvering once that’s all accomplished. Rumble will not cede the bed or bedroom to anyone. He barely tolerates me sleeping in there. (What? I am enslaved by cats. This is news?)

I’ll have to build Minnow an exceptionally nice nest in the ‘new’ office.

Halloween comes early on the #Buffyrewatch @tordotcom

I’m up to “Fear, Itself” this week on the Buffy Rewatch. Enjoy!

State of the Office:
The first coat of "Durango dust" (aka cream) is on the first two walls. Coat two commencing now.

This weekend I went off for what turned out to be a 7.5 km walk with Barb in Everett Crowley Park and environs while Kelly went to yoga. We then grabbed up a Modo Car and went OMG, everywhere. Lunch at Triluzza, the recycling depot, the paint store, Gourmet Warehouse for hominy, the drug store, the produce market, and some other errandy place I can’t remember.

On Sunday, we had made a reservation to go spoil ourselves at the Urban Tea Merchant. We had a thoroughly decadent tea (which didn’t photograph as well as I’d like but what can you do?) and then returned home in a state of caffeinated bliss and attacked the painting of the first two walls.

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