The other night I was mercilessly bombarded by commercials for Ancestry.com, those ads where people learn something about their ancestors that they end up really proud of. I imagine a site like this won't be needed as Facebook documents the rest of our lives, our children's lives, and sooner or later starts auto-generating profiles for our long-gone ancestors.
In the end, I didn't give my own family information to the website. I don't want to know if my grandmother's claims about my ancestry is true. To be honest, I prefer the magic and mystery in imagining that I'm somehow actually related to Henry VII, Pocahontas, and my Father. Instead, I entered the birth credentials of a Snickers chocolate bar I was keeping safe for somebody (sorry, Jordan. Someone ate it). The very next day, a little green leaf appeared on Ancestry.com, and you'll never guess what I learned from there.