It's getting a little awkward around here. I'm breaking up with Facebook and I've already started packing up my boxes. I've been cheating on it for a little while now and I figured I owed it some truth.

Facebook,

• You used to poke me. Now, I think you're a prick.
• In a world of open-source, you won't even let me change the colors of my layout.
• You're letting a movie about you, starring Justin Timberlake, be made.
• You've become a fan page free-for-all (more on this in a bit).
• You make it my responsibility to opt-out of dozens of questions and surveys like, "What color is your heart?"
• You subversively partnered with vendors to track my credit card activity and then posted that on my profile.

So, peace.

Caught in the middle, there will be family and friends who don't understand. Some of us have only recently finally linked on Facebook.

But I gotta go, baby. I gotta go.

Let's just talk about the fan pages for a second, though. Courtesy of the worst facebook fan pages, I found a shining example of exactly the kind of celebration of moronicity I'm talking about. Six hundred thirteen thousand people are a fan of "I wet my toothbrush BEFORE I put the toothpaste on it." Let me repeat that: six hundred, thirteen, thousand.

Really.

Also, FarmVille is not the new Oregon Trail. It just isn't. I know this opinion is unpopular, but so help me if I see one more invitation to raise a virtual pig or harvest digital corn!

I should take a moment to breathe.

Okay.

Where was I? Right. I'm leaving for Virb. It might not be a long-time thing with Virb, but it's definitely cool for right now. The best part? The content it brings me isn't alerts of people becoming fans of stuff like "You Do Realize That You're Not Cool And Everyone Wants to Punch You Right??" Nope. I literally clicked twice, on "Explore" and then "audio," and found this, for instance:

And then I clicked on "Explore" and then "photos" and found this. Virb sorts through member content and highlights awesome, rather than letting it get drowned out.

I know this all sounds obnoxious; that it sounds a lot like I think I've found the cool table and I'm picking up my lunch tray and leaving what has worked for years behind. Well, you're right. That's exactly what I'm doing. I'm going to the cool table, with no pause or hesitation. Social media is supposed to be cool. When's the last time you thought, "Whoa. That's cool," when you looked at Facebook? 2005?

Starting on Monday, work changed for the absolute better. Which is good, because it means life, more generally, changed for the absolute better. Three cheers for progress!

This also reminded me that I hadn't changed my LinkedIn profile since, oh, I don't know, 2006? 2007? So if you've got a pending invite to me, I'm getting there; I'm getting there. For now, three boos for stagnation!

But, like the title of this post implies, this is not a new story to anyone who has read any personal blog, by anyone, for at least a month. We all go through a week or so when the posts are few and far between and we leave at best mere traces of footprints online at all, barely commenting, tweeting sparingly, like we're on a social media diet and 140 characters:fast food :: blog posts:carbs.

And so, stop me if you think that you've heard this one before:

There was this one post I almost wrote for Wednesday. And then this other post I almost wrote yesterday. And then this idea I had this morning that I couldn't fully execute. Oh; and there's the reading of blogs not written by me (hint: by you and yours) that I haven't gotten to, this week.

Blah, blah. Plus, yadda.

What I really mean is that this whole interactive thing is as good as it gets and you make me want to be a better blogger.

What?

I know; I know. I'm laying it on a little thick because it has been days since I've had a chance to say something to make us all feel a little awkward.

Anyway.

It's Friday, so I probably owe you some music. I wish I could embed the song which inspired the title - I think Daniel Merriweather is great - but the YouTube tells me that would be illegal. So you'll have to click through. It's not new, but it's definitely cool.

Here's hoping that, like, I'm better, and stuff, with words, and things, next, week; knowaddeyemean?

... someone somehow connected to a movie you've never seen!"

This is what I expect to hear over and over again from my TV on Sunday, when the 82 Annual Academy Awards glaringly point out all of my entertainment-viewing failings.

And, yes: by "you" I expect the presenters to specifically mean me. I believe that all word-using people on TV are addressing me directly when they use personal pronouns.

What? You don't?

I see. Well, that makes one of us weird.¹

Anyway, I also safely assume that the presenters won't use titles and/or names, but instead will dampen the celebration of the various achievements by handing off the statuettes with all of the very same ambivalence I'm feeling from at home on the couch, because the Academy knows that it's all about the viewer.² Hence, the "someone" and the "somehow."

Where is any of this going?

Nowhere. This is going nowhere. And that's been my destination all along, apparently.

You see, all week, you'll hear about the "Road to the Oscars." Well, ladies and gentlemen, my "Road to the Oscars" is more like a cul-de-sac.

I had all these great plans, not the least of which was to see the free lineup of four complete Oscar categories at the National Archives. But I have executed virtually zero of them. I think the only thing I actually did was load my Netflix queue with as many titles as were available, but then, of course, watch only three.

One of those three was Food, Inc., which inspired me to at least think a bit more about what I eat.

But one of those three was 9, which inspired me to consider never watching anything animated but not stamped with "Disney," "DreamWorks" and/or "Pixar" ever again.

And so here I am. Five days out, every-movie-ever-made-(it-seems) to go. And I'm not going to get there. I know this. You, now, know this. And the Academy, now, knows this.

I guess there's always next year.

¹Me. Definitely me.
²And the viewer is me. PBS even says so. Remember "Viewers like you?" Yep. Me.

I like compartmentalizing. It is the fun and it leads to the happy. In my brain, ideas are generated by two separate yet equally important groups: the "there's an app or rule for that so fall in line" cells and the "make it up and insist it's fact" neurons. This is one of those facts.

Fact: there are three types of people.

Yes, three. No more; no less. You can argue this all you want but I began with "Fact" so I'm clearly right anyway.

As I was saying, three types. And they are all part human and part fluorescent light bulb. Oh, and they also all co-opt spirituals to describe themselves in song. See below.

Category 1:

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. Let it shine as-bright-as-I-want-even-if-it's-blinding-others; let it shine; blinding shine."

Category 2:

"This little light of mine, I'm turning off its shine. It won't shine; it won't shine; never shine."

Category 3:

"This little light of mine, sometimes I'll let it shine. Sometimes shine; sometimes not; maybe shine."

Category 1 people are on the brink of insufferable. You and I might as well not even exist. These people think the pursuit of happiness is a no-holds-barred pay-per-view WWE match and they will stop at nothing to assert the importance of themselves. I'm talking Stage 5 codependency.

They must be seen at all times. This means we must be looking at them at all times. And if we're not getting the hint, we will be bludgeoned with information about their lives until, they hope, we just give in and accept that the made-for-E! True Hollywood Story lives they're living are worth at least putting up with.

We engage them for as long as we see value in damage control.

[Note: I tend not to like Category 1 people.]

Category 2 people hide from their own light. If they've ever done anything great, the only way you'll ever hear about it is from someone else. They're usually really kind and reserved, though sometimes to a fault. They're often so shy that they could wear some sort of scout merit badge for demonstrated shyness on their lapel, but, you know, that would draw attention.

We pull for Category 2 people. We want nothing more than for them to have something so unbelievably amazing happen to them that they can't help but celebrate wildly because they deserve it.

[Note: I've rarely met a Category 2 person I didn't like.]

Category 3 people are, thankfully, probably the lion's share of the population. There's such variety among them because they're marked by neither extreme. For the most part, though there are obviously exceptions, these people have internal Clappers. When they achieve something noteworthy, clap on! But when it's time to step back and let someone else have a moment, they know how to execute the world's most undervalued skill and clap off!

Most of us probably think we're Category 3 people, but there are Category 1 wolves in sheep's clothing among us, so be careful.

[Note: I think I'm a Category 3.]

This post has been a fact.