If I can be a little narcissistic (ah, finally, the correct n-word) for a moment…
I think it’s funny – and sad – how sometime in the last seven years the critical measure of how good a birthday is is how many people post on your wall on Facebook. This is a measure not just of how many people care about you enough to post, but also of how tech-savvy you are, or perhaps how much of a sell-out to faddy social media you are. (Although, Facebook’s been around forever in internet terms, so I suppose that doesn’t really make it “faddy”.) Of course, there are always the people who don’t use Facebook or can’t be bothered to deal with birthdays (like me – sorry if I missed your birthday, but secretly I really hate Facebook). Basically, your popularity, success, and entire social life is reflected in your birthday-on-Facebook.
Independently of the fact that I evidently have more friends than I do fingers and toes (the number of wall posts minus family members who posted plus the people who couldn’t care less about Facebook – this is a very exact algorithm), my birthday was fabulous. We made an Indian feast and I wore my new apron. And felt like a ’50s housewife, which incidentally is very appropriate considering my recent obsession with Mad Men.
But I’m also glad my birthday is over so that when I check my email tomorrow morning I don’t have 50 new emails from Facebook telling me “Jimmy Dean* posted something on my wall”.
*I wish I was Facebook friends with Jimmy Dean.