Those who've been reading this blog for some time may remember how Gardner Dozois kept bugging me to get onto Facebook.
"What's it good for?" I asked him.
"It's not good for anything."
"Well what do people post on it?"
"What they had for breakfast, usually."
"Gee, Gardner," I said, "you make it sound awfully attractive. But I think I'll give it a pass."
However, Kyle Cassidy convinced me to create an account by pointing out that if I didn't, somebody else might create one in my name and then post abhorrent material as if he were me. "Sold!" I cried, and started posting the occasional comment, photo, or link. To moderate response.
This wasn't good enough for Gardner however. Every time I saw him he urged me to start posting photos of my breakfast. Once the man gets a notion into his head, there's no shifting it! So, finally, I obliged. With a photograph. Of my breakfast.
And was flooded with comments. Everybody had an opinion. Friends I didn't realize I had friended popped up to express their admiration of my breakfast. Both Janis Ian and David Hartwell felt compelled to post commentary on the subject.
I don't understand new media at all.
And I'm still on the road . . .
But I'll be home soon. And when I am, I'll tell you what happens when you make the mistake of asking for "a gin martini, dry, straight up, with a twist" in western Pennsylvania.
Above: There it is, the distinguished thing. My breakfast. A basket of fresh-baked biscuits brushed with orange juice and sprinkled with yellow sugar, black coffee, a crock of butter, and small jars of homemade figs-in-port and tomato jam.