I hate Facebook

Sure, everybody hates Facebook these days.


But here's the deal: I just saw one of those unposed, candid shots of a woman I used to know. One that she has not chosen, and one that will not earn the comments of a her girlfriends telling her how fierce she looks in that ensemble.


A few decades ago, she was pretty. She broke hearts. She ruined herself by involving herself with a ravening vampire twice her age.


And now: She simply looks like hell. There's no particular shame in that. Most people look less seductive after they hit 40. Women, sadly, -- or  justly -- age worse than men, perhaps because they were so beautiful to begin with.


I didn't need to know that this particular woman has deep lines that look as if they were cut into her face by a rake. I didn't need to see that time has ruined her and destroyed the perfect oval of her face and the cameo like beauty that was never destined to last, anyway.


We all know that time is a ravening, hungry bastard that destroys cities, murders manuscripts and eats small children for fun. We all learn that we're not immune; we learn it slowly.


But having the photographic evidence of this slow rot constantly in your poor face is just too much. It's as if some cool machine is laughing quietly, saying, yes, meat puppet, this is your destiny, and this is the destiny of everyone you ever slightly cared about. You, sad fellow, are ruled by decay.  By Shiva.


You can practice all the philosophical detachment you want to, but to see your friends slow destruction at the end of your fingertips is a particularly modern cruelty.


Thanks, Facebook. Thanks a lot.