One week report

So, are you WriMo-ing with us this month?  If you are, then you're one week in too - how's it going so far?  I'm pretty pleased with myself at the moment, I really must say - as I type this, it's just gone midnight and my end-of-day-7 word count stands at 14,613.  To put that in perspective, the "official" goal (if you're shooting for the same amount every day and landing neatly at 50,000 at the end) is 11,666, and my personal goal (attempting to hit 2,000 words a day) is 14,000, so I'm beating them both which makes me quite happy - I haven't done this well on a WriMo since, I dunno, 2005 or so.

As for the story itself, it's moving along reasonably well, actually.  I'm into Chapter 4, I've killed off the first (and possibly only - haven't decided yet) victim (it's a mystery, did I say that?), I've got an amazing soundtrack to listen to while I write (Brahms chamber music - sing it with me now, "These are a few of my favourite things!"), and characters I'm enjoying spending time with (to the point that I kind of want to trade places with one of them, but that would be REALLY weird...).

That doesn't mean my life outside the story is totally ghastly right now or anything, though.  It'd be nice if it would stop raining, but my kitty is doing reasonably well with her medications, it's almost the end of the school year which means I have a bit more free time, I met Richard Ford tonight (HUUUUUUUGE fan!), and one of my students gave me a $50 gift card which I promptly spent on books, so yaaaaaaaaay books!

Speaking of books, I have a big ol' task to complete for the Tart, so if you'll excuse me, I need to get on that.  Oh, and what are you waiting for?

WRITE!

Springtime!

And y'know what springtime means?  It means KITTENS!  And PUPPIES!  And they all want to play with me!  Really.

Yesterday one of my friends came over to use my sewing machine (I have a super-spiffy one now, it's kinda awesome).  When I went downstairs to let her in, she hadn't quite made it to my porch yet, but a lovely fluffy white husky saw me and came tearing up the steps to lick my hand and let me scratch her soft fuzzy ears.  She had heterochromia, as so many huskies do, but I've never seen a pure white one before and oh good grief I ADORE white fluffy dogs.  She didn't want to go back to her walker, either; nope, she wanted to stay with me on the porch.  Doggies love me.

More proof?  Okay.  I popped into the pet store to get some stuff for my own kittehs, and was puttering around browsing when a small brown furball with enormous ears came barreling at me.  Turned out to be a 4-month-old French bulldog (I LOVE Frenchies!  Smooshy faces and great big ears!), who promptly plopped down on my feet and let me scratch those exuberant oreilles.  Oh, and his chin.  And his belly.  And his back.  'Cause he was too damn cute not to pet all over.

Oh, and then I had to go pick up some meds for my Rullie-cat, so I popped over to the vet, only to find the receptionist cuddling a small white-footed tabby kitten.  She handed him over so she could go get Rullie's bag, and the little fluff (named Moose - very small moose, if you ask me) proceeded to lick my left arm from wrist to shoulder, nuzzling with his little wet nose all the while.

(Not Moose, but the Burrito {who looks pretty similar, and, let's face it, he's adorable})

So now I totally want more critters.  I can't afford them, and I certainly don't have room for them, but ohhhh... fuzzbabies are the best!

Friday Free For All: Hair

Hillary Clinton once stated, “I am undaunted in my quest to amuse myself by constantly changing my hair.” My hair is my curse, my blessing and my identity. It is the defining quality that can either increase my self-esteem or bring me to crushing lows on a bad day. Most individuals feel that this is shallow and in some way self-deprecating. However, I adamantly believe that hair can rejuvenate, define and empower an individual.

During my childhood, I had long, dark brown, curly hair. My mother, who is dark-complexioned with wavy, frizzy hair, often told me that I have “white girl hair for a Puerto Rican.” I took offense to this because I was different from everyone else in my family. It wasn’t until fifth grade that I cut it to shoulder length, which resembled many of my cousins' hairstyles. I found my long hair to be difficult to manage and maintain. I spent endless nights in uncomfortable rollers and endless hours blow-drying my hair to make it straight. It never lasted very long as my hair is prone to frizz up on the least humid of days. It was a relief to cut it short and keep it at a more manageable length. This triggered my journey into buying endless hair products and trying many hairstyles.

In junior high school, I discovered hair dye. My plain brown hair did not distinguish me amongst my peers since most were of Hispanic descent with dark, brunette hair. My first dye was red. I had always dreamed of being like Madonna and having red hair with possibly blond highlights. Back in the 1980s, the media played a huge role in determining the transformation and fate of my brunette locks.

Consequently, it wasn’t until my fifth or sixth hair dye that I realized how lethal they can be and how my decisions could inadvertently affect others. My younger brother, who was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder, was busy playing with his toys in my room. I had mixed the dye and set it on my dresser. Before applying any of the dye to my hair, my mother had called me to make her a cup of coffee. When I returned to my room, my little brother had a brownish-red liquid around his lips. I screamed and my mother entered my bedroom. She called an ambulance and fortunately for my little brother, his stomach was pumped of all its contents. We returned home and I vowed never to use a hair dye again.

Unfortunately,this vow was broken in less than three months. I was sitting in my seventh grade homeroom class when I heard snickering and giggling behind me. Three other girls (who shall remain nameless) were pointing and laughing at me. I rolled my eyes but the taunting continued. One of the young ladies then called out, “Shaharizan. Who does your hair? Crackheads? Because they missed your roots!” Many of my classmates found this comment to be hilarious. I was mortified as I ran to the bathroom to collect myself. At lunch, I sat by myself, although my friends tried to assuage my bruised ego.

Later that day, I stopped by the drug store and purchased more dye, which I used that evening. I chose the bathroom as it had a lock. My hair dye was inaccessible to my brother. The next morning, I blew my hair straight, applied lipstick and put on the best outfit I could find. When I walked into homeroom, there was confidence in my step and I stared at the young ladies who had mocked me the day before, challenging them. Not one word was uttered as I gingerly sat at my desk and flipped my hair over my shoulder. I knew that my hair was directly proportional to a raised self-esteem. This attribute would remain with me through various periods of my life.

(Yes, I have a shirt on, it's a tank top. :D )

Afterward, my hair became that single defining quality which I could control when all else was utter chaos. My first marriage ended badly. My self-esteem was at its lowest and I could not find a solution to supporting myself, raising two young children alone and finding housing. My aunt, who is also my role model in life, gave me money to “enjoy myself”. However, I decided to go shopping for clothing which would be appropriate for the workplace, cut my hair at a salon and color it at home. The very next day began the often disappointing but necessary job search from one establishment to another. My aunt saw that I was struggling and informed me of an opening as a school aide.

Providentially, I was able to style my hair in a very pleasing and sophisticated manner. I acquired an interview and was hired that same day. It is funny how things work out. I also met my second husband that day and have never been happier with anyone else. I have my aunt and my hair to thank for that blessing.

(I'm the one with the short red hair. :D )

Finally, last summer, I did something really drastic with my hair. I had it styled into a pixie haircut and dyed it blonde. I was tired of the reds and browns. I wanted a color that stated, “I am here. Look at me!” The cut and color had the effect I wanted but then it became evident that I was still not happy with my self-image. So, I decided to let it grow just a bit and my hair is now a deep auburn. I feel more comfortable as a redhead. Blondes remind me too much of the supermodels and recording artists that I will never become. Red seems a bit more realistic and puts me at ease. After all, we have to be comfortable in our skin and our hair.

So, does hair define you? I want to know. :D


Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Rant time!

There are some things that make me really, really angry. Every once in a while, one of them hits me from behind when I wasn't expecting it and I go on a mad rant and generally terrify whichever poor sod is in my general vicinity when I go off like a bomb (sorry, Mom).

It happens rather a lot during an election year. (For non-US readers unfamiliar with the madness over here, there are elections all the time but the "big" ones are every 4 years, when we elect a president and a bunch of senators and representatives to boot.) So far this week I've gone on tears about abortion, capital punishment, general stupidity, Wall Street, and health insurance. But I'm not going to get into those today (for starters, it'd take PAGES, and then there's the fact that I don't feel like broadcasting all my opinions to the whole bloody world any more than y'all want to read them).

No, the one burning my butt today is education. Or lack thereof, really. I've had a couple of conversations today that just point out to me how very, very flawed things really are. One was with one of my best friends from college; the other with one of my 8th grade students. I'll take them one at a time.

My friend has three kids (two sons and a daughter), and her daughter (the oldest) is now in 1st grade. Which means she gets actual report cards (even if they're not marking a hell of a lot yet). The bit that got both of us hot under the collar? Next to the category "Reading Level", there are two possible boxes for checkmarks, depending on how the student is doing. These boxes are labeled "Below Grade Level" and "At Grade Level". See the problem here?

THERE IS NO OPTION FOR "ABOVE GRADE LEVEL".

Now, my friend is a sane and reasonable person and knows her kid isn't a super-genius or anything, but she's still a 1st grader reading at a good solid 3rd grade level and there's NO WAY TO RECOGNIZE THAT. Nothing. You're either at or below. And people wonder why the US is falling behind other nations? Excellence is simply not rewarded. If you're doing well, or even okay, you're ignored in favour of bringing up the lowest-performing students to a minimum-competency level. Do I think they SHOULD be brought up? Oh hell yes. Just not at the expense of the students who have the kind of brains who could change the world, but are instead being devoted to figuring out ever-better schemes for goofing off without getting caught.

The second conversation concerned one of my own students, who is putting together her schedule for next fall, when she starts high school. She has currently opted for all honours-level classes, except in science because she's worried about the workload. She's not worried about being able to understand the material, or that she'll get swamped by the math aspects (she's fine with math), but simply about the sheer volume of homework. But she's also concerned about being held back by the kids likely to be in such a class, whom she described as "the kids who smoke pot, or, well, they don't smoke it YET but they WILL, by the time we're juniors or so". I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at that one. This particular system doesn't stratify the kids UNTIL HIGH SCHOOL. Which means kids who can do algebra standing on their heads are in with kids who are still struggling with long division. Guess who gets the attention? Do they need it? Sure they do. Should they get ALL of it? Give me a break.

And this loops me back to the political landscape again, and the topics and issues that are getting increasingly complex as the world follows suit, and I look at the education systems that are tangential to my life and think, holy hell, how can people who came up through schools like these even be able to comprehend the basics of the economic mess, the complexities of health care reform, or the real hot-button issues like abortion rights? And if they can't understand it (hell, I can barely make sense out of some of it, and I'm not trying to be a brat but I have a very good brain banging around in my thick skull here), then how can they cast an informed vote on the matter?

I firmly believe that every citizen of a country has the absolute right to vote and to have a say in how that country is run. But if those citizens don't understand the impact of their votes, then how are we ever going to get anywhere?

Into the Unknown

Say you're a teacher.

Say you're working with students.

Say you're a teacher for students and the class you're teaching is history.

Say that.

Assuming these are the premises, you may also assume the following: there is something specific you want to teach them. The class should have a curriculum, and given that it is history it probably has a specified topic and time frame. "The French Revolution, 1789-1799." "The Development of the Nuclear Bomb, 1939-1945." "Wars and Conflicts, 1900-today."

In addition, the specificness of which you presumably want to teach, is tied to the craft of your profession: the historian. Because it is a craft, a set of rules, certain points without which you will not be able to perform your work properly.

And then you have the Odd Bull (inside joke). The stray dog that breaks the rules, and plans to get away with it.

Granted, some do. Think Picasso.

But most don't.

And those who do, get away with it because they break the rules in a smart way. They break the right kind of rules.

The reason they can do that is that they know the rules. They know the craft. They have learned it, first, and then they derrive from it.

"Be precise!"

"Be specific!"

"Don't assume that the reader can follow you line of thought!"

"Never leave a quote hanging. Your interpretation of it, and your reasoning as to why it is important isn't obvious to the rest of us. If you cannot explain why the quote should be there, it shouldn't be there. If it doesn't express specifically something you cannot say just as well with your own words, you should say it with your own words."

I know the rules. I know the craft. At least I'm supposed to. What I know that I know, though, is this: I know that I don't follow the rules. Not now. Because I am not specific. I am not clear. You do not follow. My arguments are weak, my reasoning reasonless.

And the reason I can do this is not that I know the rules, but that I know that there are no rules. This is not my craft, after all; this is not a academic, history paper. This is a blog.

Say you're a teacher. Say you're working with students. Say your work as a teacher is making your head so full of analysis and rules and academic upholstery that you have no desire to make sense anymore. Say that.

Friday Free For All: On Love

My hands were shaking as I walked into the Assistant Principal's office for the second part of my interview. The A. P. asked if I would sit at the table outside her office as she was talking to a staff member.

There you were, eating Chinese food with chopsticks. You greeted me with the most dazzling smile. We exchanged pleasantries. You asked if I was interested in any of the new positions posted. We talked for all of ten minutes before I was called into the office. I got the job. I got you too. You had me at "Hello."


Image courtesy of Scott J. Waldron.

Happy Birthday, Mozart (et al.)

Yup, that's right - Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart celebrates his 256th birthday today (at least if you believe in ghosts). He's certainly worthy of the recognition - his 600+ surviving works span nearly every genre and in many cases are among the finest examples of the form. My personal favourites are the string quartets, of course - since Mozart himself played the viola, the viola parts tend to be both idiomatic and expressive (unlike the frequently boring parts some of his contemporaries stuck us with).

And yet, for all the accomplishments of his life, he was only 35 years old when he died. An impressively prolific fellow, to be so well-remembered so long after his death based on what he produced in a relatively short time. But would you believe there's another child prodigy composer who was born on this date? With the same first two names (save for translation), even? There was, though. He was Juan Crisóstomo Jacobo Antonio de Arriaga y Balzola, or simply Arriaga, a Spanish-born composer who entered the world on what would have been Mozart's 50th birthday. And he died - get this - ten days short of his 20th birthday. Admittedly he's not as famous as ol' Wolfgang, but I've played his three string quartets and they're quite lovely, and when you consider that he died at an age when most people today are somewhere in the middle of college, the fact that he created pieces worth remembering and performing is rather remarkable in itself.

Anybody else famous? Indeed, we need go only to 1823 to encounter yet another composer, Edouard Lalo, who, though he fails to reach Mozart's heights, is still a frequent sight on concert programs, his Symphonie Espagnole and Cello Concerto being particularly popular among young players. (He achieved the reasonably ripe age of 59, as well, so the date's apparently not cursed after all.) Oh, and we can't forget Lewis Carroll, or Charles Lutwidge Dodson as he was baptized - 'twas brillig, and the slithy toves, eh?

Then again, it's also the birthday of one Edward Smith - a mind-bogglingly common name, but the the one I'm thinking of is the one who went down with his ship. Which ship? Why, the Titanic.

Hmmm.

You know, I think I'm rather glad I don't share this birthday! Still - anybody want cake? ;-)

My Bad...

Original Image

I've been a very bad Burrower. So bad, in fact, that I should receive a very good spanking. *nods hopefully* I missed two blogs. The first one really shouldn't have been missed, as I actually remembered that it was my turn, and even asked for some suggestions on my Facebook page. Somehow the Forgetful Fairy jumped on me though, and I never posted. And then I missed another one last week, and that one I forgot about entirely. *smacks self* I'm in need of a Reminding Prod a few days prior to blogging, obviously.

I've been absent on my personal blog too. In fact, the last time I blogged on there was October 16th, mid way through a challenge. Erk. Like I said, I've been a bad, bad, Burrower.

I never intend to forget. Indeed, I always tell myself that I must get my butt on a chair and start typing, both for here and my other blog. But you know, the longer you put things off (which is a procrastinator's favourite thing to do), the harder it is to get going again. So here I am, typing a little ramble so that I ensure not to miss three blogs in a row, because that would be beyond bad.

Luckily for me, it's 'Friday Free For All', which means I can talk about absolutely anything. This is good, because with my current non-blogging situation, I need something easy to get back in the habit.

In the interest of overcoming the badness with some goodness, I have allowed myself to be persuaded (I can be very convincing when I want to be) to pitch forth into the hitherto unknown abyss that is the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. Now ABNA (not to be confused with ABBA, as I said to Cruella the other day), is probably well known to each and every one of you, so I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that I finally decided that the chick-lit-cum-fairy-tale-cum-comedy-farce that I wrote for 2009's NaNoWriMo (another acronym that I'm pretty sure you're all aware of) is a suitable candidate for this year's competition.

I have no illusions. Winning is a pipe dream, really. But what I really want to come out of this is a couple of reviews, so I'm hoping to get past the first stage. Trouble is, getting past that first stage means that I need a super-dooper pitch to hook the judges with. Argh!! I'm a writer who can take a while to get going, if you know what I mean, and most of my stories take a while before you get to the (hopefully) good stuff. This makes writing a 300 word pitch pretty tough. And with the way I ramble, I'll be lucky to solicit a vaguely interested sniff, never mind a twitching nose.

Still, it's not the winning, it's the taking part, right? Who started that ridiculous saying, anyway? Of course I want to win! I know I won't win, but I still want to! Pipe dreams do come true sometimes, don't they? As do fairy tales... at least, in my world they do.

Hey lookie! I wrote a post! I'm a good Burrower after all! Toodle-loo!

Ooh, I didn't know we could add a location to our posts! Nice!

very late on Friday...OK it is Sunday afternoon but I'm sure it is very late on Friday somewhere...

OY! I flubbed again. I thought I'd written all my burrow blog dates in my datebook but alas alack - I did not. When I didn't see a post for Friday I went looking and sure enough - it was me - gone!

And it is a Friday Free For Fall - so here goes.

Ten Reasons Why I'm Not Ready for the Holiday Madness

10. As a certified conquistador of chaos (that's CCofC to you) I can't find my embroidery thread. I can't find my scissors. I don't even know where to find a vanilla bean. I can't finish my many holiday-type projects cuz I can't find anything.
9. Almost everyone I know has a birthday in the holiday period - my brother, three out of 6 Canadian Babes, several other buddies and myself. This means birthday breakfasts, birthday lunches, and birthday dinners.
8. I'm not a Christian. I'm not a Jew. I'm not a Pagan. All of these have established celebrations at this time. We Buddhists have a sort of fake one but everyone knows it isn't real. So...what am I doing with a Christmas tree (Pagan with Christian covering), candles (Jewish, Pagan, Christian) and so on...well. I live here don't I?
7. The revisions for my novel are at a tricky point.
6. I am busier as a therapist than I have been for years - everyone else needs assistance this time of year dontcha know?
5. It is sunny, dry and warm out. I don't believe in winter any more.
4. I don't have my snow tires on, my teeth cleaned, my bills paid and all sorts of other adult responsibilities are undone too.
3. My sweet patootie and I cannot miss even one night of watching endless West Wing episodes. Ones we've already seen mind you.
2. Trying to have a simplified non-commercial holiday is VERY complicated.

and the number one reason I haven't gotten ready for the holiday madness yet...

1. I LOVE THE LAST MINUTES CRAZINESS

Dilemmas

You know the drill. You *have* to pick one (and only one). All in good Friday Fun!


You've been out dancing all night. Before going to work, would you rather have a shower and wear the same clothes you wore; or not have a shower, but get to put on fresh clothes?

Pick one: no more hugs, or no more kisses?

Would you rather never be able to wear shoes, or never be able to take them off?

If you had to choose - blind or deaf?

You wake up one morning looking like Miss/Mr World. The only problem is you have to make a choice - either only you can see you as this while the rest of the world will see you as ugly; OR the rest of the world will see you as gorgeous, but you will see yourself in the mirror as ugly. Which one is it? (And yes, your "regular" looks are gone forever.)

This should be a piece of cake for any Twihards, but still.... You can either only ever read the Twilight series over and over again for the rest of your life; OR never pick up any book ever again.

Would you rather eat the food you absolutely don't like at least once every week for a year; or go without your favourite food at all for one year?

Your house is burning, and you only have the time to rescue one thing. Will it be the laptop with the ONLY copy of your nearly-finished novel; or will it be the album with the ONLY copies of your family photos?

Would you rather be stuck in a (literally) eternal line at customer services (but get actual help); OR be forced to always ask "Microsoft Help" on your computer whenever a problem arises?

And a classic at the end: Your partner is a mermaid/merman - would you have the top or bottom half be the fish-part...?

???? Friday: Halloween!!!

HALLOWEEN

My favorite time of year.  The pumpkins with brilliant candles against a dark, unlit window.  Bright orange lights hanging from the rafters of houses and lacing apartment windows.  Leaves swirling in little, mini cyclones across the sidewalk.  Children in costumes varying from the most hideous monsters to the most adorable television characters.  Masks, makeup and wigs abound. Teenagers egging unsuspecting victims.  Rebels toilet papering trees and houses.  Music and candy is abundant throughout the neighborhood.  Children in sugar-induced hyperactivity, only to crash into sugar-depleted comas.  Parents exhausted from a night of worry over their trick or treaters.

I love Halloween!!!!

Drabble- a story told in exactly 100 words.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Facebook's New Face

"Facebook is like one of those people who keeps getting plastic surgery to 'look better' but gets the 'WTF just happened' reaction instead" ~ @Evil_Dumbledore

You think you hate the new Facebook update? It’s messy, and difficult to navigate, and not to mention – it’s driving you up the wall that all your Facebook friends hate it and are complaining loudly about it in YOUR feed?

Well, you’re wrong. You don’t hate it yet. But you might once you read this.

Let’s face(book) it – Facebook has been watching us for a long time. They know what you like – or what the target group they think you belong in like – just take a look at the ads in your sidebar. If you’re divorced they’ll advertize dating agencies. If you’re a woman, they’ll advertize menstrual aids or hairspray. And if you’re old they’ll advertize gravestones. Or something.

Despite this we’ve been led to believe for a while now that at least you have reasonable control over what you share on Facebook. Well, friends, that is what has *really* changed this time around.

Remember in the past, when you could post something on your friend Brad’s wall about your other friend, Jennifer, and then be fairly sure Jennifer would never find out,because she and Brad weren’t friends, and she thus did not have access to his wall? (A theory that nevertheless was not foolproof, because a) Jennifer and Brad could become friends, and then she could go back and read it; or b) Jennifer could have other friends (better friends than you) who were also friends with Brad, and thus told her; or c)some internet SNAFU or other could reveal your indiscretion.)

Still. Now you’ll have to be very very very careful with what you write about the Jennifers out there on the walls of the Brads. Because it now is “easier to control what you share”, meaning it’s a whole lot easier to share more than what you intended.

Say Brad is friends with Angelina, that neither Jennifer nor I know. Well. Whenever Brad comments on Angelina’s photos, her status, writes on her wall or does anything else related to her that isn’t any of my business, I am now being informed about it through the “ticker”. The ticker – the feed within the feed (go take a look in your top right corner if you haven’t already seen it) – reveals all your (and others’) secrets unless you’re being careful. The regular feed has in reality become obsolete – or at least nothing like we used to know it. It is now disorganized, split in “top stories” and recent (but without the old option of manually shifting between the two), and it is Facebook that determines what constitutes a top story (with some limited options of feedback from you, through categorizing people in various groups. I’ll get back to that in a bit). So, your old feed now shows only things Facebook thinks you’ll find interesting, while the new ticker shows this and everything else.

And by “everything else” I mean everything. Because if Angelina or Brad don’t take careful steps to control who they share whatever information they are posting to each other with, it’s wide open for anyone to read. For instance, Brad could post a comment on Angelina’s photo. That automatically gives me access to the photo and all the comments on it, unless Angelina has specifically restricted access to her photos to anyone but her friends. Brad, poor sod, has no say in the matter. (By the way, if you're worried, there's an excellent article about this that can be found here, explaining how you can restrict who sees what when.)

This isn’t new, though, it’s been there for a while. But, now this also applies to other things. If Angelina posts a status update, say, mentioning that she is hanging out with her new boyfriend, Brad, and her new boyfriend, Brad, answers with a ♥, then I can see this, and report back to, say, Jennifer. (Not that it is any of Angelina’s business,anyway, to write something like that unless she is prepared for the world to know, but whatever.)

Thus, in a way, Facebook has made it easier to stalk others.

However, it has also limited our stalking options. First of all, you can control a lot easier who sees what if you’re careful. Whenever you share something, whether it is a picture, a status update or a link, you can choose whether you want it to be public (note: public means public. Ergo even people who are not your friends can see it), for friends of friends (which is a silly option, really, since it’s basically the same as public), for your friends only, for certain friends (you can target some people specifically, or exclude others specifically), or maybe just yourself (but what’s the point in that?). It takes a little more awareness in the moment of posting, but it is easier to control that those pictures of you in the frat party don’t befall the eyes of your mother (why would anyone want their mother as their Facebook friend anyway?).

Secondly,by making the newsfeed all wonky, the restrictions on who you actually are realistically able to follow up on limits itself. If you’re a compulsive Facebook-user (like yours truly), this might be a problem, because you really do want to know what every single one of your 789 “friends” are up to at any given point. The ticker is useful in this respect, but since it’s so tiny and still a little meh to navigate, it’s not likely to be where you spend your days scrolling down to know the latest on every person you know.

The key to effective Facebook stalking post the 9/21-change, then, is to categorize your peeps. You may not like putting people into boxes, but Facebook wants you to.There’s a box for people you know well (close friends), a box for people you know not-so-well (acquaintances), and there are generated boxes automatically for people you went to school with or work with. You can freely choose to add or remove people from these boxes, but be aware of one thing: they might get notified. The last few days you may have gotten some strange requests to confirm that you indeed worked on the set of “Interview with a vampire” in 1994. It’s not Facebook getting smarter, suddenly being able to read your mind (or, maybe it is. It seems to steal brainwaves from its users, actually), but people you know who worked with you that put you into one of those boxes. And all of a sudden, Facebook knows your resume, even if you never shared it.

You can also make your own lists, but before you create your “hunks I stalk on Facebook”-list, be a little careful. Remember the previous paragraph, where people got notified of when they were being put in a list? Yeah… So far this doesn’t apply to custom lists. So far.

In the end, Facebook hasn’t changed. Yes, our privacy has been further compromised, but then again, the change is more that we are now aware of it being compromised. The trick is, as it always has been, to share on Facebook only what you are comfortable sharing with everyone in the world. In theory, every picture, every quote,every everything you post on Facebook, is public. If you don’t want everyone to know about it, it probably isn’t a great idea to post it in the first place.

TGIF

So I have about half an hour to cobble something together for today's post before I have to get ready for work. Yup, as usual, I have procrastinated until almost the very last moment before opening up Blogger. *shifty* You may notice that we have a new label today - 'Friday Free For All' - which is brilliant because this means I can ramble about anything. *shifty once more*

We are back to our regular five-a-week schedule at last! This is excellent news for me because, while the summer break was probably a very good idea for all involved, the lack of posting obligations has made my writing efforts of the last couple of months virtually non-existent. *shifty for the third time in a row* 

Anywho...

There are several things I could ramble about today. I could remind everyone of the two WriMo challenges which are on the horizon. Next month's NaBloWriMo, and the infamous NaNoWriMo in November. But I'm pretty sure that there are going to be infinite blogs spouting WriMo info at you during the course of the next few weeks.

I could put together a few paragraphs about my relief at resuming a fairly normal work schedule, not least the fact that I have returned to the relative freedom of only working 16 hours a week again. *sighs blissfully*

I'm pretty sure that wouldn't interest the majority of you, though.

I could, perhaps, venture on the subject of the imminent Facebook changes, which made 'big' news yesterday. I could wax lyrical about the inevitable complaints that will spring up in people's status updates over the next few weeks (until everyone gets used to the changes and completely forgets about how the 'old' Facebook looked like anyway).

Again, I foresee a good amount of blog posts covering this topic in the very near future, so I don't think my efforts will be required.

Maybe I could witter on about the fact that I don't know what I should blog about (as usual), and so I am just typing and typing and hoping a post will come together at the end of it.

Shoot. That's what I always do. *is four times shifty*

Anyway, here I am, it is Friday, and I have stuck to form and rambled about nothing in particular (which strangely fits in quite well with our old 'Who Am I Friday?' label). And so Burrowers, Books & Balderdash presents its first 'Friday Free For All' post for your (dis)pleasure. It's not much, but really, what do you expect to get when something is free? *is surely not going to say 'five times shifty' here*

*coughs*

Anyway... it really is nice to get back to our five-a-week schedule again, and I'm honestly looking forward to composing some tidy posts (apart from this one, obviously) in the future.

Have a great weekend, everyone, and see you all next week!


Image borrowed from here.