Bonnard

Took the iPhone to the bathtub and decided to check my Facebook account there, thinking it'd be a nice place to spend 12 minutes on a late Saturday night once the bath water is warm enough to log on to.

After stepping in to the tub I see at once that there's not much happening on Facebook, just enough to keep me interested enough to make sure I hold my iPhone slightly above the waterline.

I see that most of my Friends still have the same names with the same faces they have in real life, though some of them have become cats or dogs or other things that aren't really them at all.

Some are authentic Facebook artists, able to share important information with the rest of us, while some are also able to tell me almost everything about themselves and almost nothing at all.

How they're able to do this is a mystery to me.

There's Adele in Memphis, and Tara in New Mexico, and Tom traveling in northern France, and Karen who has a different picture of herself every time I look at Facebook, the new picture even more beautiful than the picture she posted before, which was more beautiful than the picture she posted the last time I looked at Facebook.

By this time I'm sinking lower and lower into the bathtub until I'm almost completely submerged in the water. It feels good to be almost completely submerged in almost anything, but being submerged in water is the best.

My name is Brooks Roddan, writer, and my Facebook password is Vedantabrooks.

His name was Pierre Bonnard, painter, and he was born in 1867 and died in 1947.