Facebooking

When I first signed up for Facebook a year ago, I didn't get it. I knew it was a social networking site where you try to collect friends, but what did you do with it? It just felt like another place I had to log onto and visit on a regular basis. Another login and password to remember. For a long time I had about six Facebook friends and never did anything with it.

Then my wife moved out and I found myself seeking out every social opportunity I could. A good friend from high school found me on Facebook and friended me. We got in touch and I ended up visiting him in North Carolina last May.

Then I started meeting more people, and the question, "Are you on Facebook" became part of the conversation with new acquaintances. I'd make a new friend and then look them up on Facebook to find out more about them. Or I would think about old friends and wonder, "Hey, are they on Facebook?"

You can't discount the nostalgia factor on Facebook. It's never been so easy to track down old friends you've forgotten about, or have them track you down. But this leads to interesting discoveries about your changing values. In grade school and high school, I never thought about things like liberals or conservatives, so it's interesting to see where all of my friends ended up on the political scale. Who knew that the nerdy, quirky guy you knew in English class is now a Republican? Or that your best friend from Catholic grade school is an atheist?

Like with any technology, there's a learning curve to Facebook. It's a great way to try to express myself in clever ways, but I'm still trying to learn all the protocols and features. When my marriage ended, I wanted to surreptitiously remove my relationship status from my profile. I didn't want to list myself as single, I just wanted to delete the category altogether. So I did that, but then an update was sent out to all my friends, "Tim is no longer listed as married" with a little broken heart icon. Arrgh, that's exactly what I didn't want to announce! It's like trying to slip out of a meeting unnoticed and tripping over the power cord to the PA system, bringing the entire meeting to a stop and having everyone look right at you.

As the months have passed, I've become more active on Facebook and collected more "friends." The neat thing about it is how it's such an unlikely collection of relationships I've had throughout my life. Family members, friends from grade school, high school, college, grad school, and current friends "hang out" together with the guys I got drunk with last week. There's never been a place before where I could interact with all these disparate people at the same time. It's bizarre.

I don't have very many "friends" there. Unlike most people on Facebook, I don't have a network of hundreds of people. Whether that means I'm too selective or just not very popular, I try to keep it down to a manageable number. I currently have about 38, and that's about enough for me not to get overwhelmed.

Being the geeky demographics/statistics junkie that I am, here's a breakdown of my Facebook friends, divided into different categories based on how I know them:

• Library school friends (8). This is the largest single category, probably because librarians are such big technology dorks and I still come into contact with them at professional meetings.
  
• People I knew in high school (6). The nostalgia factor. I've only seen one of these people in person in the past 19 years. Four of them are guys from the wrestling team.
  
• New local friends I've made in the past year (not tennis- or drinking-related) (4).
• Guys I've gotten drunk with in the past year (3).
• People I play tennis with (3).
  
• Undergrad college friends (3).
• Spouses (and friends) of friends (3).
• Ex-girlfriends and women I've dated (am dating) (3).
• Best friend from fourth grade (haven't seen since junior high) (1)
• Best friend from junior high (haven't seen since high school) (1)
• Family member (brother) (1)
• Someone I met once at a party (1)
• Someone I've never met in person. She lives in another country, discovered my blog last year and we started a correspondence (1).

So there you have it: a lifetime of relationships listed out on a single Web 2.0 page. Of course there are many, many holes; lots of people I've forgotten about or who just don't have a Facebook page (i.e. the vast majority of my huge family). And this list is constantly in flux as I meet or discover more people on Facebook.

What would you call a Facebook fan-- a Facebookie? I guess that's what I've become.

The Importance of Having Earnest Money

According to the testimonial in the video I saw at my home buyer's seminar, "Buying a house makes you feel good." Yeah, so does a bong hit (so I've heard), and it doesn't cost $150,000.

The seminar program is sponsored by a mortgage insurance company, so there's lots of propagandist testimonials about how awesome it is to own a home. There's also lots of testimonials about how anyone can do it. It takes a lot of work and dedication-- and help from mortgage insurance!-- but even people with bad credit or not much savings can realize this dream.

Much of the vocabulary associated with home buying sounds like stuff you'd read in a Dan Savage sex advice column: flipping, packing, concessions, predatory behavior, balloon payments, closing costs. Some random notes/comments about the class:

• Buying a house makes you a somebody, not a nobody.
• Seller concessions are "gimmicky." Don't fall for them.
• The guy in the video kept mentioning my "counselor" and that I should discuss home buying decisions with them. I took this to mean I have to get a therapist before I buy a house.
• The entire video only had one line about what to consider when you're house hunting. Something about proximity to churches and schools. Then they went right back to talking about...financing! I didn't learn one new thing I should ask about when I'm looking at a house.
  
• The lady narrating the second video was thoroughly disgusted by predatory lenders. To help us feel the danger of predatory lenders, a song very similar to the theme from Jaws played in the background. But different enough that they wouldn't have to pay royalties to Steven Spielberg.
• They never said how much I could get if I sell my kidney for a down payment. But I was dying to ask.
  
• All the people looking for homes in the videos were women or minorities. The only white males in the video were home inspectors or shady lenders.
  

So I might not have been the target audience for this seminar. Still it got me thinking about the home buying process, and I got a free pen out of it. And I love free pens. I also got a certificate with my name on it, although they spelled my last name wrong. I hope someone doesn't turn down my offer to buy their home because my name is spelled wrong on the certificate I got for attending a home buyer's seminar at the local community college. That would suck.


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I'm really happy for the people in the video who realized their dream of owning a home, but I don't know if it's for me. My heart's just not in it right now.

I looked at six open houses one day last month. This past Sunday I looked at another four. I may have the credit and income to buy a house, but I'm not sure I have the dedication and enthusiasm.

People in my family have been pressuring me to buy a home. My oldest brother would give me an hour and a half Powerpoint presentation on it if I let him. The guy's a broken record: Buy a house, buy a house, buy a house. Oh, and get a dog, too.

Hey, I get it. This is the best time in the history of everything to buy a house. I understand the financial advantages of putting money into a house rather than "throwing it away" on rent. And I have every intention of owning a home one day. I don't plan to rent forever. I have to grow up sometime.

But there are other considerations in life besides financial ones. I just got divorced in the past year. My nest egg (for a down payment) has been cut in half. Do I really want to take on all the responsibilities of home ownership by myself? And looking for a house, for me, feels like it should be a social activity. It's something you do as a family, or at least as a couple. You have to have someone to argue with about whether a fireplace is more important than a porch. And my cat just won't get into that argument with me.

I know that single people buy houses all the time, and I don't have a problem with that. I may be one of them soon. But so far, I just haven't found the right house-- one that ignites my passion the way, say, a pizza does. I'll keep looking, though. Because I like feeling good.

No Pages For Any Age

Pages For All Ages just closed. It was very sudden and mysterious. One day a sign was put up saying they were closed for inventory. No mention of when they would reopen. Every time I drove through the parking lot on my way to the grocery store, there would be a car stopped in front of their entrance, the driver standing there reading the sign on the door. Then a few days later a new sign came up, "It is with great sadness that we announce the closing of Pages for All Ages Bookstore Inc. after serving the Champaign-Urbana-Savoy area for over 20 years."

It's like someone who you know, not intimately but a neighbor you see a few times a month, and you hear that they just dropped dead. Then you find out that they were sick for a long time, but you didn't even know it.

I live right across the street from the store. In fact, when I give people directions to my place, I start with, "Do you know where Pages For All Ages is?" I guess now I'm going to have to say, "Do you know where Pages For All Ages used to be?"

I'm a librarian, so it should go without saying that I love books and bookstores. Just being around all those pristine pages of fresh knowledge, discussion, and storytelling excites me, even though I know I'll never get to read half the things I want to. (At any given time I'm usually in the middle of two to four books, but I have about 20 on my mental list of things to read. I'm a slow reader, and the truth is I don't read as often as a I could. Sometimes I think I like the idea of reading more than the actual practice. So I will never catch up with my list.)

But I have a dirty little secret. Although I love books, I don't own very many. I only have one bookshelf that is half full.


And most of the things on it are books people have given or lent me. I'm not a big book buyer. Since I rarely read something more than once, I prefer to get them from the library.

So although I like to hang out in bookstores, and I loved living across the street from the area's largest independent bookstore, I will have to take some of the blame for Pages closing. I just didn't buy enough. Whenever I did need a book, CD, or greeting card, Pages was the first place I'd go. It was great being able to walk across the street when I needed to buy a last-minute gift for someone.

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The Last Purchase

The last time I was in Pages was three weeks ago. I needed a last-minute birthday gift for my sister-in-law, Jill, so I ran into the store on my way to her party. I was looking for a book on how to make sushi, which is what she said she wanted. But they didn't have anything, which is probably why they closed.

So while I was browsing the shelves trying to find anything my sister-in-law would want, this jumped out at my from the Staff Picks shelf: Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia.

My other sister-in-law, Susie, had been trying to get me to read this book a while. Every time I talked to her she asked me if I'd read it yet. Her insistence that I have to read the book was only eclipsed by her husband, my brother Rick, trying to talk me into buying a house.

Despite Susie's insistence that I read it, I was hesitant. The premise just didn't seem that interesting. It sounded all spiritual and new-agey, and I'm not really into that kind of thing. Susie had recommended those kinds of things to me before and it had not turned out well. Plus it seemed like a girl thing, so I didn't think it would speak to me.

But what I could do was use Susie's recommendation to help me buy a gift for Jill. Need a gift for one sister-in-law? Why not buy the book that the other one recommended?

I had no way of knowing at the time, but that book was last thing I ever bought at Page for All Ages.

I gave it to Jill as birthday present, who fortunately had not read it yet. She finished it in about a week and then loaned it to me, talking it up. It's about divorce. And traveling. And there's a little new-agey stuff, but not too much.

So with two sisters-in-law getting on my case about reading it, I finally opened it up.

It's really good.

Or, at least the first 52 pages are. That's as far as I've gotten, but I really like what I've read so far.

The book is divided into 108 short sections, each one representing a different prayer bead on a special prayer necklace used by Hindus and Buddhists. I love numbers and short anecdotes, so this really appeals to me.

The premise is that Liz Gilbert went through a horrible divorce, a turbulent affair, a crushing depression, and then decided to travel to Italy, India, and Indonesia to find herself (my words.) Although she left her husband, much like my wife did, I can forgive her because she's such a good writer. (And she at least had the decency to suffer crippling depression as a result.) Her voice, insights, and sense of humor really appeal to me. It reminds me of my own writing, if I were much more talented and spiritual. And there's enough doubt, rationality, and smartassedness to balance out the new-agey stuff.

It's a great read that I highly recommend. At least the first 52 pages. After that, you're on your own.

Goodbye, Katya

The call came at 11:30 this morning. The vet asked me, "How is she doing?"

"Not good," I said. I listed her problems. She could hardly walk, she wasn't eating, she'd been giving distressed mews all night, she was hiding in corners, and she had this nervous tick where she jumped when there was a sudden sound.

"Yeah, I don't think there's anything more we can do for her. Do you want to do this today?"

"Yes, this afternoon, if possible. I think she's in a lot of pain."

"Why don't you bring her in right now?"

So that was it. No more delays, no more stalling. I gave her a quick bowl of milk-- her last meal-- as the tears started. After two months of preparing for this, I still wasn't ready for it.

How do you put a loved one into the cat carrier for the last time, knowing that it's a hearse? She counts on you, trusts you to take care of her, and you are leading her off to her death. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

She died today.

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Katya has been my most stable companion over the past eight years. She's seen me through library school, two relationships, a new job, four moves, a new kitten, a marriage and divorce, and countless other adventures. She's endured numerous pet names, including: sweetheart baby kitty, potato bug kitty, little boo, squeakerbot, sweetness, snurfler, boocat, furbot, and lil' squeaker.

I never thought I could feel this way about a cat. She was the gentlest, sweetest feline I've ever known. She never bit, growled, scratched or hissed. Even when I was trying to force a pill down her, she would resist with all her might, but she would never resort to violence. All she ever wanted was a warm lap, a hand to rub against, and a hard brushing. Sometimes I thought she was the Jesus kitty because she was so full of love and patience.

She loved lap time and demanded affection several times a day. She had a high-pitched, squeaky meow that she only used to ask for love. At night she would sleep on the pillow next to me. In the mornings she stood on the bed and squeaked (squoke?) at me while I got dressed. She had chronic problems with eyesnot, so every morning we played a game where she would try to rub up against my nice work clothes and deposit her eyesnot onto them. She sat on my lap when I ate breakfast and headbutted my chin. In the evenings she cuddled on my lap or on my chest (if I was lying down) while I watched TV.

I will miss her terribly.
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Our Life in Pictures

Katya came into my life in November, 2000. She was already six years old and living in a house with four cats and two dogs-- the lowest cat in the pecking order. Her owner, someone I volunteered with at Ten Thousand Villages, thought she would be better off in a one-pet home. So I took her.

I have no idea of Katya's history before we met. She never talked about it. But she's always been afraid of strangers. The first three days in my apartment she hid behind the couch. She eventually came out, but still preferred to avoid strangers and stand under things.

Slowly she became more comfortable with her surroundings

and warmed up to me.

When I started library school, she moved with me to my new cheap student apartment. She got freaked out occasionally

and would have to hide behind stuff.

For ten horrible days in May 2003, she was lost. She was strictly an indoor cat, but my stupid, careless, moronic roommate left the window open and she jumped out of it. I posted notices all over the neighborhood. Have you seen this cat?

It turned out she was hiding under the neighbor's porch. Even so, I couldn't catch her after three days of camping out in their yard. On the day I graduated from library school, two days after I'd been offered my first professional job, the neighbors caught her in a raccoon trap. It was one of the best weekends of my life: I was done with school, I had a job, and my cat was back. The first night after our reunion, Katya rubbed up against me so much I couldn't sleep. I didn't mind.

The next week I moved out of that apartment and away from the moron idiot roommate. I started working full-time and thought that maybe Katya would like a companion while I was at work. By accident, a new kitten came into our lives. She would become Hermione Krustybutt Psychokitten Kitty.


Katya patiently tolerated this new addition to our family.



And let Hermy tag along

and hide with her behind the bed.

In October of 2003, another lap entered Katya's life.


Sometimes she didn't even wait for an available lap before she settled in.



When Hermione the psychokitty was all grown up,

we moved again.

We were happy in our new house.

I was often blessed with two cats fighting over my lap.

Me and the new lap got married. Katya enjoyed our new marital bedding

and shared with Hermione the pet bed that we got as a wedding present.

We celebrated Xmas 2005 as a family. Katya tolerated a little seasonal flair

and some Xmas love.

Meanwhile, she was getting older.



We moved again. In her last home, Katya continued to play with Pink Bunny and hang out with my shoes.




In March of 2008, my wife moved out. We were down to a one-lap family. Katya's age started showing.

That same month the health problems that would eventually kill her became known to me. Most of those have been documented on this blog already. But throughout all of her illness, she continued to be the same affectionate, loving kitty who demanded lap time.

Near the end she was very frail. These are the last pictures taken of her:

Goodbye, Katya. You were the Best Cat Ever.

1994-2009

Kitty IV

Welcome to the fourth installment of my Dying Cat series of posts. However, the IV in my title does not necessarily refer to the next sequence after Kitties I, II, and III.

The IV stands for intravenous, which how my poor sweetheart baby kitty is getting rehydrated as I type. Katya's at the kitty hospital being stuck with needles so that she can get some emergency fluids into her. She'll be there all weekend.

I've never done anything like this before. And neither has Katya. We've both learned a lot about veterinary care over the past two months.

On the estimate the vet's office gave me, which is $312 for the entire weekend, the treatment is called "Fluid Therapy." That's funny, because when I think of the kind of "fluid therapy" I use on myself, it usually involves lots of alcohol. And it has the opposite effect of hydrating myself.

Katya's taken a turn for the worse. On top of all the problems she's had recently, now she's peeing on the carpet, walking funny, and has trouble jumping up onto the bed. The vet I saw today, the fourth different one I've talked to in the past month, doesn't expect her to live through the next month. Today I learned that she's dangerously, severely, painfully dehydrated, which has also led to extreme constipation. Even if we can rehydrate her, that only buys her a few more weeks.

The vet gave me two options: put her to sleep now or do the emergency IV fluid therapy. Since I'm not ready to say goodbye to her (Katya, not the vet), I decided to make her comfortable. She'll feel better after she gets some fluids into her and gets (may God save my soul) two enemas to relieve the constipation. And yes, I'm well aware of the line I've just crossed by blogging about my cat's enema. At least I didn't use the phrase "impacted fecal matter." Until now.

I've already crossed all kinds of lines as a neurotic pet owner. When I dropped Katya off at the vet for her weekend stay, I gave the vet tech her favorite blanket, her heat pad, her Pink Bunny, and detailed instructions about how each one can comfort her best.

Then I asked sheepishly, "I don't suppose you have visiting hours?" Sure, the vet tech said, you can just call and tell us when you want to come by. "Can I tell you right now when I plan to come by?" So I made an appointment to visit my cat in the hospital tomorrow morning at 11:00. Like I said, I've never done anything like this before.

I know that someday, and this day may be soon, I will have to play God. I will have to decide when my cat dies. It's a gut-wrenching decision, and I'm not ready to make it yet. And if I can control at least one thing, it's that she's not going to die from dehydration.

She's going to die in a murder-suicide pact with her sister.