Donna Andrews

Apologies, would-be Facebook friends

Shortly after 2 p.m. today, a friend sent me an invitation to Facebook.  I don't presently have a Facebook page.  I haven't yet had the time to figure out what, if anything, I need Facebook for. So I did the same thing I've done with previous Facebook invitations: filed it in a folder so if I ever do get a Facebook page, I can befriend these folks immediately.

But before I even read the invitation--it came in while I was out at a library event, and then dinner--I got eleven notifications that other folks had added me as a friend on Facebook.  Neat trick, since I'm still not on Facebook.  I checked with a few of the friends, and found out that they got an email saying that the original friend "recently became friends with Donna Andrews and thinks you may know Donna too."

Recently became friends? Hell, we've been friends for years.  Just not on Facebook.

So apologies, would-be Facebook friends. I'm not spurning your invitation to exchange public declarations of friendship.  I'm not ignoring you.  We're still friends, I hope, and can have a drink together at the next mystery convention.

But for now, your kindness in adding me to your roster of Facebook friends will, alas, remain unrequited. Because on top of not really knowing what Facebook could do for me, I'm also feeling a little peeved that Facebook may be using what I consider deceptive practices in its attempt to increase membership.

No offense to anyone who loves Facebook. Your mileage may vary.  And I'm not saying I'll never join. Just that now it's going to be a little harder to convince me that it's worthwhile.

Serendipity

Over at my other blog hangout, the Femmes Fatales, Shirley Damsgaard is blogging about serendipity.  Enjoy!

Translating myself

Sauvcaste thgh on'crest.

Late last night, while poring over my manuscript, I scribbled that in the margin at the beginning of chapter 23.   Or something resembling that.  I have no idea what it means.  Something important enough to scribble a note last night, but this morning?  I can't even decipher it.  I don't even know whether I was trying to correct some mistake or add something new.

I hate it when this happens.  Off to reread the passage a few times to see if inspiration will strike twice.

Crab wine from Dublin

I spent a very satisfactory New Year's Eve, with one tiny exception.

Started well.  I got a bunch of useful errands out of the way, then picked up Mom and we met my brother, sister-in-law,  and nephews for an early (3 p.m.) dinner at a nearby seafood restaurant.  (No, I still don't like seafood except for fish and chips, which is what I had, but the nephews love it.)  Then I came home and sat down to watch the movie I'd been in the mood to see--The Fellowship of the Ring, extended version.  Only got halfway through before pausing to join some friends in an online chat to see the new year in, and from there to bed.  But. . .

I was watching LOTR and got to That Scene.  It's during the first part of the journey, the long slow trek toward Caradhras.  They're camped, or at least stopped. Boromir is giving a sword lesson to Merry and Pippin.  Suddenly they spot something.  Just a cloud.  No, you can tell from the stern look on Gandalf''s face--not to mention the sudden ominous note in the soundtrack--that what approaches is no mere cumulo-cirrus.  Everyone peers into the distance, and then the keen-eyed Legolas shouts:

"Crab wine from Dublin!"

And everyone scatters for cover.  I would too, if I thought someone was going to make me drink the stuff.

Okay, I know Legolas didn't actually say "crab wine from Dublin." But I must have watched that scene a dozen times, and every time I try to figure out what he said, and every time I fail miserably. 

If anyone knows what Legolas is actually saying, please tell me.

And in any case, happy new year to all.