The first time I accessed Facebook was early 2011, a year before the 2012 Presidential election went into a full-tilt boogie. I had never been on a social media site though I’d heard of MySpace. My impression was it was where 12-year-olds went to pretend they were 16. (I was right.)

Initially, was surprised by Facebook. It was easy to use. I could connect with almost anyone. Anywhere. That warm fuzzy feeling evaporated faster than morning mist on the river. Facebook was very soon the most angry place on earth.

Everyone is pissed off about something, frequently for no logical reason. So much of the stuff on it is based on opinions which are based on rumor and some kind of bizarre obsession — nonsense or just plain scary.

Facts? We don’t need no stinking facts! This is Facebook! MY opinion is as good as anyone else’s (no, it isn’t). It seemed as if everyone was posting angry diatribes. From the left, right, middle and far ends of the universe, everyone had something to shout about. Whoa, I thought to myself. This could get ugly (I was right … it did).

Then I discovered games. I connected with kids (now grandparents) with whom I went to grade school or college. People I wanted to reconnect with. Then, with people I had hoped to never to hear from. The good, the bad and the wholly unattractive, all in one basket. Whoopee.

I began backing away as fast as I could. The games were cool, or some of them were. But the percentage of enraged people, illiterates, the mentally unbalanced, the lunatic fringe — all posting whatever was on their minds (perhaps “minds” is too strong a word) was too much for me. The temperature on Facebook was permanently in the red zone.

I continued to play games, which is why so many friends are those with whom I connected because we were playing the same game. The remaining 5% are real live people, some of whom I actually know. Personally. Among these, some prefer communicating via Facebook rather than email, telephone, or in person. To each his/her/their own. Who am I to judge? (Okay, I think it’s weird, but I try not to judge.) (I don’t succeed.)

In the beginning, I got upset when Facebook made blatantly exploitive changes to their site. Then I remembered: I don’t have to go there. I don’t need to post there. If Facebook vanished tomorrow, my world would not crumble.

By then, I’d found WordPress and begun blogging. The more into blogging I got, the less reason I had to visit Facebook … unless I was in the mood for a game. And of course, there is the convenience of using Facebook to publicize my blog. I may not like it, but lots of others do.

The thing is, you can’t completely avoid Facebook. Whether or not you post on it, so many places do — builders and electricians and plumbers and all of that kind of stuff — if you are going to find a local worker, that’s where you’ll end up looking. And that’s where you’ll get recommendations, too.

Facebook is the elephant in the room, the itch you can’t scratch.

The elephant in my (living) room

Moreover, a surprising (to me) number of authors and artists choose Facebook in preference to having their own website. Is it because Facebook offers wide open access and effortless connectivity? It is less demanding than a website. Since almost everyone already has Facebook access, so no one has to forge a new alliance.

Maybe that’s it.

For me, the open access of Facebook is a reason to avoid it. I want a modicum of control over who does what on my site. Others feel differently. Or as Mom used to say: “For everyone, there’s someone.” In this case, something.

Facebook is the something many people choose. It will never be my first choice, but freedom is one of my core values.  And, it’s the American way — or used to be. In the old days. When we lived in the real America.


I read a post about health care in which the entire comment column was made up of people fighting tooth and nail to get rid of health care. Most of the writers were obviously not well-educated people. That’s another way of my saying I don’t think I’ve ever seen such awful language pretending to be English. I’m not talking about typos. These are people who are, at best, barely literate.

And all of them, deeply and powerfully full of hate.

Photo: Garry Armstrong

They were frothing at the mouth with fury at the Democrat’s attempt to keep health care available to everyone. The very idea that this ought to be a battle about serving the health needs of the American people … and not about offering bigger tax cuts for people who already have more money than all the people I know — collectively.

They were furious. Enraged. Spewing violence and filth and hatred. To get rid of health care.

I did not get involved in this “conversation.” It was more an abscess than a conversation, a deep infection which will probably cause someone’s jaw to fall off.  Eventually. There would have been no point. These are not people who are listening to anyone but themselves. They have made up their minds — years ago I think — and do not wish to be confused with facts contrary to their preconceptions.

Aldrich Street as the sun sets

Imagine, for a moment, how much good these same people could do if they were fighting for something worth fighting for? If they were fighting tooth, nail, fang, and claw to keep the water clean. To stop air pollution. To keep developers from flattening every last tree and paving over anything alive and growing. Imagine, if you will, that all of these angry people could be persuaded to care about things that will matter not only to politicians, but to their grandchildren and the children who come after that.

Imagine the power we would have if we could stop hating and start caring.