Decoding Facebook

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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.

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