Twitter Hacked!

My Twitter account was hacked today.

So if you’re one of the several people who received a weird message from me that you’re famous on FaceBook, I didn’t send it and I’m guessing it’s a bad idea to click that link.

I’ve deactivated my account for now—we’ll see what happens later.

Thanks to everyone who warned me!




Two New Time Sucks

Time Suck #1

At the library staff get-together last night, our new children’s librarian told us about this great new educational game she found on the UK Science Museum’s website.  She raved about it and warned that it was way too difficult to stop playing.

So naturally, I went home and tried it . . .  for three hours.  Good thing I’d had one or two too many diet sodas at dinner!

 Thingdom is a unbelievably cute, sneaky, and entirely too addictive way to introduce the concept of genetics to your kids.  Supposing you stop playing long enough for them to try it out.

You adopt a squishy  little Thing who comes equipped with its own genetic profile, raise it until it’s ready to pass on its genetic material, chose a potential mate with the right genetic traits for whatever the game wants the offspring to have, and complete a task to impress that mate so it will agree to combine DNA.*

You then choose one of the resulting four babies to continue your breeding program, or start over.

I managed to reach level four before all the babies, who were supposed to be green and indeed had been green since the first level, turned blue.  Darned recessive combinations!

Janie, however, reached the final level before breakfast and gives it a double thumbs up.   She’s playing it right now and promises to give me some pointers, once I’ve posted this.

Science . . . it is adorable!


Time Suck #2
aka, Resistance is Futile

Today, I broke down and signed up for Twitter, mostly so I could follow people.

I may not be posting much at first, since I work in a no-phone-zone** and the moment I try to think of something interesting to tweet, my brain dries up.

But if I do and you’re interested—or if you’re wondering who that clueless idiot is who just tried to tweet at you and didn’t quite make it work—I’m, uh, Sarah W (@EarfulOfCider).

 Is that how you write that?


*Which is done in a tasteful and non-gratuitous manner, for those of you who were worried.  You can also skip that bit once you understand the concept.

** Not that my phone is capable of doing anything but making a phone call or two before needing a recharge anyway.

Random Thursday, with 76% more Technology Content

After much debate and a desperate e-mail to the fabulous and infinitely patient Sarah Wendell over at Smart Bitches, I’ve decided to get a Sony Touch.  I thought I might spring for the Daily Edition with free 3G and WiFi, but I’ve decided that it’s not worth the extra bucks.  All I want is to conserve shelf space by keeping as many virtual reference books as possible and save on chiropractors by not lugging my manuscript or Netbook around in my bag when I want to make notes or edit on the go.  Don’t need bells and whistles for that.

Besides, I’m beginning to think that WiFi is the root of all time suck . . . Wow—that sounded a lot dirtier than I thought it would.


My family is on a Shel Silverstein kick right now.

I love all of Mr.  Silverstein’s  work with the sole exception of Runny Babbit.  I’m incapable of reading it the way it’s printed on the page and trying for more than three minutes gives me stabbing pains in my left eye and a queasy stomach.

Naturally, my children adore Runny and his aneurysm-inducing adventures , so I have passed the responsibility for the reading of this book to the other adults in our immediate vicinity, in addition to Fox in Socks* and Amelia Bedelia.**


I was searching the 1930s newspaper microfilm the other day and caught sight of a one-panel cartoon called The Girls, which features ladies of a certain age and outlook.

In this one, the lady was trying on hats in a shop and telling her impatient husband in the caption, “No, I’ve made my final decision.  Now I have to make every decision that comes after that.”

It may have been microfilm-daze, but that sounded incredibly profound to me.


Twitter-training this afternoon for the library’s new feed!  Judging from the verbal staff observations around here, it’s just as well our tweets are moderated by the PR department.  Our library already has over 200 followers.  I have no idea whether that’s good or not.

The training was so interesting that I thought about reactivating my personal account, which I let lapse after three days of absolutely nothing to say—stop laughing.

I don’t know if I need to be on Twitter right now—I do follow several people, just not through an account.  Blogs are honestly more my speed.

If my phone could do anything but make phone calls, I might consider trying again . . . but on second thought,  see unfortunately-phrased time-suck comment above.

Plus, there’s a certain observer-mindset that comes with twitter . . .  I’d like to think that if someone fainted in front of me, I wouldn’t be too busy tweeting about it to help them.


Someone left a gold glitter pen at our public desk a few days ago—we had a crowd of junior high school students on Saturday.  No one called to ask about it so it’s mine.

It has an incredibly smooth flow, which is my excuse for using it for everything from initialing order forms to taking meeting minutes.  I’m planning to go to the office supply store and see if there are any available without the glitter, but if not, well  . . . do they sell navy blue or black glitter pens?

This isn’t a mid-life crisis, by the way—I don’t have one of those scheduled for another forty years.  You might want to stick around—it’s gonna be a doozy.  And mostly likely will not involve glitter pens . . . though I’m not entirely ruling out their use.


If you hover over my avatar in the left-hand corner up there, supposing I haven’t changed my blog theme, you’ll see the name of the song I’m currently whistling or humming under my breath. 

See?  Who needs Twitter? 


*Except for the Tweedle Beetle Battle, which in our household is traditionally done in Rock Horror-style chorus.

**After seven years, I’m tired of Amelia Bedelia—but these books  seriously drive my mother up a tree. “She’s just so dumb,” she wails, when presented with one of Miss Bedelia’s adventures by one of her insistent grandchildren.  “Any normal human being would stop and think.”   I believe that my mother’s secret reason for supporting early childhood literacy is so kids will quickly learn to read this series all by themselves.  Silently.

Random Thursday Accomplishments

I finally found the source of that Holy Schmokes, What Died smell that’s been intensifying in my car since early yesterday.

 Note to self: If you give in and buy a Milk Chug for Janie at your Friday Mommy-daughter breakfasts, do not let her take it out of Dunkin’ Donuts unless you make sure a) she puts it in her lunch bag (not her backpack, for the love of all that is pure and holy) for later enjoyment or disposal; or b) she gives it to you for disposal once she reaches work.

It doesn’t matter if she hasn’t finished it—wasting food may or may not be a sin, but wasting it inside one’s car is quick way to olfactory hell.*


I found a book to review for the Friday’s Forgotten Books feature on Patti Abbott’s blog later this month!

I was going to do Ariel by Steven R. Boyett, as I’ve loved that book ever since I spent all my lunch money for it when I was thirteen—but apparently it was reissued last year, and everyone has discovered it. I’m thrilled this story is being read—and I can replace my adored-to-bits copy, but it meant scrambling for another book!


Figured out a sticky plot point while walking back from lunch and had my notebook and a working pen with me so I could get it down.

Convergence like that doesn’t happen every day!


After resisting for years, I finally signed up for Twitter and made my first tweet (@sjwesson) about 4:20 pm. Don’t bother checking it out if you don’t want to—it’s about the Milk Chug.


*Further note to self: It  wouldn’t hurt to clean the backseat floor of your car once in a while, either.