It’s one of them dreary, rainy beach mornings. The rain kept me awake all night. On and off. When it just rains it’s great. You know, that soul searching trickle that seems to calm and subdue. But blasts of rain here and there? No fun. Until morn when mother wants her pancakes. I grab her daily paper in a soaked plastic bag and wonder once again why I can’t get her to unsubscribe to a newspaper since I got her an iPad. With lungs full of ninety-nine-percent humidity air I head back into the kitchen. I whip up some home-made batter, hiding from Mom. Have to home make it without mother seeing. She usually puts a box of whatever pancake mix by a stainless steel bowl and expects me, a man of the kitchen, to adhere to the strict directions on the back–except adding an extra egg because that’s the way she likes it. I stopped making pancakes out of box at least ten years ago. Other than visiting mother, I stopped eating them, too. My bowels have thanked me ever since. But. When in Rome… you better do what mother says. After throwing in a few blue-berries that look like they were picked long before their time, they whistled in the searing pan, their blue blemishes the pancake. I gave mother three pancakes and then two for me. She didn’t complain. But suddenly my pancakes were covered in fake syrup. How did that get there! While grabbing myself an orange juice, turning my back to reach in the fridge, my mother managed to pour a thick layer of fake pancake syrup over mine. Mother!, I said. I hate it when you do that! But there I was. Pancakes that I hadn’t eaten in at least three years were soaked in sugar-gook and I had to eat them. So I did. And while doing so I looked around as the fake sugar sauce oozed between my teeth and tongue and I struggled to get it down. It was all ruined. But. Hey. One of the blue-berries actually tasted like a blue-berry. Praise the pancake gods of yesteryear. Praise the blue-berry god, too. And then I noticed the syrup bottle my Mom used. I was staring at the back of it and this thought crossed my mind: It is finally the end of the beginning of the Interwebnets. See pic above. What does pic mean? Well. Obviously. Facebook has something going on with one of America’s fake syrup companies. Good for them, eh. But here’s the thing. What happened to social networking? Did the same thing that happened to the Interwebnets happen to social networking. Of course, as worst-writer, I was always skeptical of social networking. Where could this stuff go? Thank goodness that Twitter has turned out half-way ok–but the book is still out on that. The book is closed on Facebook. This technology (which ultimately is everything that AOL couldn’t be) has transcended the world of bullshit galore. And to think that it could have been something worthwhile. It could have been a platform where users, “friends”, could have complained and ranted about corporations and government and the idiosyncrasies of our fail-upward world. But no. The Zuck has found a way to turn it all into a platform for commercial promotion. Good for him, eh. Still the same for the rest of us. Yeah. Life sucks. And so too does fake pancake syrup. I guess.