The Joie de Vivre chain of hotels is really flexing its social media muscles by working the hell out of Twitter, Facebook and cell phones. Take note, hospitality industry. On "Mobile Mondays," you can send out a text to 888999 with the subject "JdV" and bang! you can opt in to sweet offers for the next seven days valid at JdV hotels in the Bay Area, Los Angeles, Santa Cruz, and Sacramento. You might get a coupon for free cocktails or discounted spa treatments.

Auschwitz, former death camp turned memorial museum has launched a Facebook page. The museum itself hosts millions of visitors each year, mostly young people who come to learn about the Holocaust. The Facebook page launch is a follow-up to the YouTube channel launched earlier this year, all in an attempt to educate younger generations about the Holocaust. "We're always trying for new ways of reaching people, and in today's world one of the most popular tools is the internet, and on the internet millions of people use Facebook," said Auschwitz Museum official Pawel Sawicki. "If our mission is to educate the younger generation to be responsible in the contemporary world, what better tool can we use to reach them than the tools they use themselves?" However, someone at the museum -- or Facebook -- doesn't agree, since the page has vanished.

Sydney tourism is flexing their Facebook muscles and offering a free trip to visit Australia if you become a fan of them on Facebook. Through October 31st, all you have to do to get a chance at winning a free trip is become a "fan" of Sydney on Facebook, and then make a comment on their wall about your favorite Sydney "Life Points" experience. This whole "Life Points" experience references the Facebook app that comes along with the fan page that details all kinds of experiences you can have while visiting Australia. Note, you will have to get this app to choose a "Life Points" experience. Some of the "Life Points" include climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge, sailing around Sydney, dancing around Sydney, and having a seaplane adventure in Sydney.

The tourism board of Northern Wisconsin’s Forest County Chamber of Commerce is taking some new media and mixing it up with old media in a cute retro way. They've put up a billboard on Highway 32 that is basically a screenshot of their Facebook page, letting passersby know to "search for "Crandon Chamber" to friend them on Facebook. It's not a bad way to go, actually -- it's a quirky way to let people know that this chamber of commerce is on the web, without just putting their URL on blast.

JetBlue's "All You Can Jet" program -- the $599 all-access monthlong pass to every destination the airline flies to -- goes into effect today. From now through October 8, pass-holders will be gallivanting around the country flaunting their privileges to the rest of the chumps who paid full price for their seats. The $599 pass was so hyped by the media that the total allotment for the passes sold out in record time, and several Facebook and Twitter groups sprung forth to follow the adventures of the lucky few who scored a pass.

Another day, another solipsistic Times trend piece -- this one on the slow, creeping exodus of sentient creatures from Facebook back into the agonizing throes of reality. Eerily enough, this particular observation seems to be grounded in actual reality, as I've even had friends mysteriously climb out from the cesspool of oversharing. Sometimes for good. And while some people cite parents, paranoia, or productivity, others point to the rapid-fire fweets (this is what we'll call Facebook's Twitter-like method of oversharing) pinging their newsfeeds. They're too narcissistic, too self-promotional, too politically ignorant, or worse, too inert. I tend to forgive people guilty of the first two because I'm probably guilty of similar fweeting habits. But a constant stream of boring or politically unaware updates could be enough to drive anyone over the edge, or at least away from the application and back into more worthwhile endeavors, like churning butter or cutting down timber. Many of these problems are, but never will be, solved by self-awareness and a sense of humor. And at the expense of a dramatically slimmed down Friends list, six offenders of bad fweeting poached from my newsfeed appear after the break.

When I phoned home last night, my mother skipped past all perfunctory greetings and nervously confided, "Facebook ... is like an addiction, isn't it?" I sighed long and deep before responding, "Yes." Then, a caveat: "But unlike me, you have a meaningful life outside of it, so I don't need you getting addicted to it." I've passed on friend requests from not only her, but also nearly 20 other aunts and uncles. Not necessarily because I have anything to hide, apart from an inexplicable photo series involving a red bird and I'm not about to take that down to appease people with ornithological hang-ups. I just don't want people whose last memories of me may involve me awkwardly plunking my way through a piano recital to ask me at a family reunion, over a decade since, "So I saw you're a Facebook Fan of Floria Sigismondi. Who or what is that?" Mostly since I'd respond, "Oh, um, I don't know, get away from me." Sadly though, like a stubborn case of ringworm, Facebook looks poised to stick around for the long haul. What this means for those of us who've been on since the dawn of time (2005?): More awkward family members trying to awkwardly friend us and sending us awkward private messages! All sorts of awkwardness!

Someday, I'm going to sit down my adopted boy or girl who was cruelly wrenched away from his/her/its loving family of Himalayan sherpas and explain, "Once upon a time, people used to have relationships. They used to exchange mixtapes that typically had horrible songs by Sophie B. Hawkins because they loved each other and that's what love used to sound like. They didn't have to worry about the needling scrutiny of 500-plus near-strangers, thumbing through their photo album about that cute date at the arcade, where they played Mortal Kombat and noisily slurped Big Gulps. When they weren't happy with each other, they would just sleep with each other's best friends, not post passive-aggressive status updates. And back then, no one really had status updates. People would actually live their lives, instead of writing about living out their lives. Yes, little Lha-mo, the 1990s were golden, wondrous times." But unfortunately, we're not so far along. So instead, let's wonder what the proper course of action would be for the latest member of the celebrity fustercluck to suffer break-up tragedy via Twitter: Lindsay Lohan. Seriously, who else would you be expecting?

If you're like me, then you tend to stall at the subway turnstile and hold up the line behind you, trying to figure out which version of "Teenage Dirtbag" best suits your commute: Girls Aloud or Wheatus? You probably also tend to occupy your idle hours de-tagging countless pictures of yourself because some friend of a friend decided it would be "cute" to single you out at an unsavory birthday party where you were lobbing Lindt truffles into an empty champagne flute. And if that's the case, then you're likely the type to scrub up useless Wall posts made by convenience friends and sometimes remark cattily to other friends' see-through attempts at social climbing on Facebook. But now, your life just got a lot more complicated! Say hello to the "Like!"

Many years ago, before the Twitterization of human contact and long before Facebook became the preferred method of networking among curmudgeonly media types, one of my friends had already unknowingly become the prototypical Facebooker, dreaming about entire rows of computers which all uniformly refused access to her account, then waking up with chilled sweats in the middle of the night. Now, millions like her exist, with their most important drama playing out on a medium that reduces the most important rites of passage to Wall posts, comments, and even that poignant, merciless act of de-friending. But now the emotionally unhinged backbone of Facebook is starting to wise up and ask questions. Most notably, questions like, "What the eff does Facebook mean that even if I cancel my account they own the rights to sub-license all my content? Bastards! I'm totally canceling my account now."