F*c*

Last year I signed up on Facebook. My kids were all on it, my wife, my sister, lots of other people I knew. Lots of people I knew weren't on as well. So I gave it a try and watched for a week or two and then said, "Forget this!"

At that point I deactivated my account and thought nothing more of it. It hadn't introduced me to anyone I didn't know already, and those folks I wanted to converse with I already did via email or the phone. Or, like, you know, in person. The way communication has always worked.

A few weeks later, without really thinking about it, I typed facebook.com on the computer browser and, lo and behold, once I put in my password (*******2 . . . what? you thought I'd tell you what it is?) my whole facebook life came back in full living color. My friends, my family, my stupid comments. They had saved each and every one of them and waited patiently for me to return. That was how I knew the facebook really loved me.

Except now I was a tad acrimonious. I labeled it f***book as some sort of dodge, and friends and I ended up calling it f-star. I checked it regularly but usually was sickened by my own behavior within moments. I didn't want to be on f-star. I even figured out that I could call it f*c*book because it looked even more profane than f***book. I used it and hated it (though it came in handy when I was on the great southwest motorcycle tour last September). I didn't know what to do, so I did what I always do when I don't know what to do. I went overboard.

I deactivated my account again, but I went further this time. I dug around online and found that the deactivation only works until you put in your signon and password again, and then you are 100% back in it. Except you could request that your entire f*c*book persona be deleted entirely, as long as you were willing to wait the two weeks before your request would be completed. If at anytime you signed on during those two weeks, BAM!, you were back in it. I made the request late last fall, and kept my frantic fingers away from the keyboard, and then I was gone. Dust. My account could not be reactivated, it was as if I had never been on the f*c*. Just like I wanted it.

From that point on I was happy to be the guy without the f*c*book account. Just like i am the guy happy to be without a cellular telephone, a microwave oven, or cable TV. Happy happy happy. I thought I would live out the rest of my days, during the f*c*book scandals and system updates and movie excitement, without ever worrying about it again. The wife was still on it, as were the kids, and whoever pass as friends, but I was free and clear.

In the past two weeks I was advised by a radio DJ who was interviewing me on air about my new novel (Beer Maker, available soon!) and by a literary agent listening to me pitch a memoir of mine (Census Man) that I should really consider f*c*book as a means of publicity and promotion and information and all around good fun. It took me all of two days to give in and sign up (again) and begin harassing all of those good people who were once my online friends as well as clicking on anyone who showed up as a possible friend. At this point it is all about promotion of self. Something that gets under my skin, quite frankly, but if I don't do it, who the hell will?

So, welcome me back. I'm unhappy to be here.