Seemingly, I am destined to die bitter and alone. Why? Well take your pick, as you could cite any number of antisocial indicators – there’s my inherent surly abrasiveness, my penchant for brown liquor, the fact that I’m currently growing Ted Kaczynski’s beard, or the fact that I own and wear Carhartt bib overalls.

But the latest and apparently most pressing portent to my hermitic fate is my outright refusal to sign up for Facebook.

Even as a young lad, I often wondered when society would pass me by. I was initially convinced it was the advent of reality TV, particularly the hubbub surrounding that ghastly social experiment known as “Joe Millionaire,” circa 2003.

But it looks as though that was just the beginning of the end, for without buying into this mandatory trend we call Facebook, I will no longer be able to keep in touch with ANYONE. EVER.

I won’t be able to scramble to a website and see that Jenny Sowanso, who sat three rows back from me in Mrs. Kisselstein’s third grade class is, “sitting on the couch with her kitten eating Haagen-Dazs.” And I guess I can’t go on without knowing that Bobby Hoodahell from my sophomore year macroeconomics class, who now lives 2,794 miles away in Bakersfield, Calif., is “going out for brewskis later.” And it sure is great to know that Frank Frathaus, the insufferable tool I gave my business card to at that convention six years ago, is “heading to town next week and looking for a good time.”

Sure, Facebook is a handy social networking site, but it’s in my nature to see the negative in everything. Besides, I have my own social networking site. It’s called the bar – and I already run into enough people there that I don’t like…

I’ll admit it’s somewhat tempting, but I won’t give in to that curiosity to “connect and share.” In many ways, Facebook is a social Jurassic Park. Sure, these relationships once existed, but now for whatever reason they’re extinct, and any attempt to resurrect them could have some unwholesome consequences.

Take my wife’s Facebook page. She now has over 100 friends, “way more” than I would ever have, or so she boasts. But among them she finds Johnny Jurkov, the class bully who punched her in the stomach at age 14, only to glibly inquire after these many years, “Hey, what’s up?” Now, there’s the sort of charming fellow you want to let back into your life...

She’s also reconnected with Brenda Breinvash, who has invited her to join her “in search of the true Spirit of the Lord.” Thank your beloved Facebook for giving the Jehovah’s another door to knock on...

Then there’s Lucy Lucatmee, the self-involved crazy chick she casually met at a party who is somehow able to update her profile on the fly. “What are you doing right now?” Lucy is “tying her left shoe.” Lucy is “tying her right shoe.” Lucy is “putting on her jacket.” Lucy is “walking out the door.” Lucy is “pissed off she just missed the bus because she wasted too much goddamn time on Facebook telling everyone the minutiae of her every movement.” Chrissake, Lucy, set up a webcam on a voyeur site if you think you’re really that interesting, you needy little narcissist. Daddy didn’t pay attention to you, and quite frankly we don’t want to either…

And yet despite all this rubbish, my wife is hounding me like a friggin’ Amway salesman to sign on for this crap.

And she’s not the only one. Currently I’m being inundated daily by these notices stating that “John Doe added you as a friend on Facebook,” yet I don’t even have a Facebook account. This makes me feel guilty, because nine times out of ten I actually like John Doe. But if John Doe is really that interested in talking to me, John Doe has my e-mail.

I’ve been able to maintain decent enough contact with my true friends over the years. We slip in and out of touch, but it’s easy enough to reach out from time to time and reconnect on our own. Fact is I waste enough time on the internet already – I don’t need some other online time vacuum exacerbating my chronic procrastination problem.

And I certainly don’t need to know that Lucy is “inhaling.” Lucy is “exhaling.” Lucy is “inhaling.” Lucy is “exhaling.” Lucy is “inhaling…”