The Berlin Wall is More Interesting than your Baby.
I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. In exasperation and disgust, I have deactivated my account at least three times. Each time I’m lured back by the fact that if one wants to know anything about anyone in their life in the 21 st century, you must be on it. At any rate, each time I come back to Facebook, I whittle down my friend list even more. This has ensured that I will no longer be greeted by pictures of old boyfriends’ spawn, vacation pictures belonging to coworkers I haven’t seen in years, and, my personal favorite, the placenta of a girl I never even liked in high school. If that last one made you say “What the fuck?!!?” in your head or (even better) out loud, that’s a Good Thing because it means you have a shred of decency and appropriateness. So yet again, I’m back on “the Book”, and back to my love/hate relationship with it. Now that I’m 30, Facebook has taken on a new role: it is the conduit through which everyone I ever knew posts infinite numbers of pict
