Tag Archives: leaving Facebook

A Month off Facebook

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After a month off Facebook, here’s what I’ve missed and not missed.

I miss:

People I barely knew being involved in my life. Because I’m an author, a lot of people I had never met but who read my books friended me. We kept up casually, oh so casually. There would be an occasional comment on a cat picture, a like for something I’d crocheted or canned, a laugh at the picture of me falling in mud. I miss the casual camaraderie of people I only knew because they read my books and decided they liked me.

Getting advice. I know a thousand people who are smart and savvy experts at something, often something obscure. I miss hopping online to ask “Is it okay to do the stitches backwards when you’re edging the blanket” or “what columns should a household budget have” or even “does this look like poison ivy to you?”  While there is a website response to every query put into a search engine, I miss the voices of people familiar to me, ones I trust not to steer me astray. That little blue star appearing in query responses now gives me the heebeejeebies. Its advice is just flat WRONG half the time, and in some cases that could result in blowing one’s house up (clearing a gas line; how long to pressure can meat). Ain’t listening to the little blue star; I miss those thousand or so smart, sensible friends.

Ironically, I also miss GIVING advice. I’m good at some specific things, but here in Wytheville where we know hardly anyone, people don’t ask me about radio reporting/storytelling/writing/canning/crocheting/swimming/foraging/homesteading/cats.

Where’s Wendy? I thought this was a dumb game I played because travel took me so many places where there were pretty pictures to be taken. Turns out, it grounded me back to my home base. When I traveled, it made me feel like people cared where I was; plus it was silly clean fun. A lot of weight for a small game, but there it is. I miss that.

I do not miss:

What I’m eating pictures. Most of my friends are foodies. Sometimes I got good ideas from them. Mostly I just had greens envy.

Feet pictures. For some reason, every time someone gets hurt, they post these pics online. It stands to reason we injure our feet more than other parts of us, given their suboptimal working conditions and general lack of care in our society. But yeesh. I don’t want to see your naked feet unless I’m teaching you to swim, kay, thanks. Now you know.

People talking politics in punchlines. I love a good political debate with a well-informed friend who challenges my thinking. I have a fair few friends who fall into this category, and I look forward to seeing them in person more now, because my ears are not full of the white noise from online memes and punditry. Savoring a good conversation has become an art form, but it’s almost weird to ask friends to Zoom with you just to see each other because, hey, you know, we have social media for that. We don’t have to be intentional. Do we?

People I barely know getting involved in my life. Yes, I know. While I miss the casual, friendly reader who decided they liked me, I don’t miss the friends of friends who showed up to yell that I am part of the Great Evil because a) I don’t attend an evangelical church (we are Quakers) b) I don’t agree with all the parts of all the scripts of the political party I align with (“BUT HOW CAN YOU DENY THE RIGHTS OF…”) I do not miss the virtue signalers convinced that dismantling unjust systems means only those who deserve to will get hurt. Ha.

Reels. You suck, Zuck. Great timewasters of unsafe viewing; some of those “animal rescue” videos are pure evil.

Doomscrolling. I’m astonished, absolutely astonished, at having enough time to learn a new pattern, write the notes for the last chapter, try a new recipe, learn why carrots and cauliflower should be planted near each other, research writing grants at the end of the day. I always told myself I was too tired, too emotionally and intellectually drained to start something new after dinner. Ha. New life, new fun, new ideas, new ways to pursue old interests. The time I’ve gotten back is indescribable, and I don’t want to sound like someone who is encouraging others. We all make our own decisions. Just, don’t let anyone tell you the time is not real, when you get it back. It’s amazing. And fun.

More things to talk about later, but here it is a month in: no regrets. Not even the advice. :]

Customer versus Crop

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When I was working on the conspiracy theory book that came out in late 2020, I interviewed a couple of internet specialists, professors of sociology and business who talked about social media.

One of them, Daniel Ray, said to me, “Anytime you are being given a free platform online, you are not a customer. You are a crop.”

Meta proved this over the past week. I was hacked on Thursday evening a week ago. Facebook finally sent me a notice this Thursday that my page violated their policies for fraud and impersonation. This was after friends in the non-profit world and people who were fans of my books all sent report after report to Meta.

Word on the street is it takes 500 reports for Facebook to pay attention. Make that a thousand, because that’s at least how many times my friends went to bat for me.

The hackers will put their email into the list of emails getting codes and updates. When you try to update, they will change the password again because you can’t get any farther than password changes; they have changed the two factor authentication number. Well, masked it. Facebook will have your number but there is a device on your phone that forwards the codes it sends to the hacker.

So you keep asking FB for new ID, and FB sends it to the hacker. And then Meta broke, quite literally, on Monday past. Every time you try to get a code, you will put it into the recovery page Meta keeps sending (to you and the hacker) and the code will be “wrong.” But it isn’t; it’s number perfect. Check out the frustrated people on Reddit talking about this. (And the astounding fact that at any given moment in America more than 3 million people are experiencing some form of hack/data breach.)

I assumed the code trouble meant the hackers were scrambling the codes, but it turns out Meta rolled out AI on “services” to hacked accounts and it’s broken.

All that tech stuff above to say: you are literally one in 1.6 billion to Meta, and you are not going to get your account back. A friend who works in cybersecurity spent three hours with me Thursday morning trying to get in some back doors, and the back doors were locked.

So, my account is gone. 2200ish people, some of whom I never met, who liked my books and wanted to read other stuff and keep up with me casually. Just good clean fun.

My friend Susan was hacked right after me (same guy; used the same email umswczre@telegmail.com). And she runs some cancer sites, moderates some forums for people with serious illnesses. People rely on her like a rock for her medical knowledge and personal experience. Her stuff is gone too.

That’s a pity. That’s a real pity.

I’m not in a hurry to get back into any social media. Because of writing, I’ll need some form of online presence, but perhaps this blog will become more of a website presence, and that will be that.

The police in Wytheville were very kind in helping me report some compromised documents related to the hack, just in case the identity theft went deeper. They were so very helpful.

I say that to preface saying that being hacked is like having your house robbed, but you’re walking around inside it and the robbers are still in there making themselves cups of tea and you can’t get them to leave and the police don’t care. The hackers start selling your stuff on eBay while you scream for help and everyone, hackers and law enforcement included, ignores you.

You will also find out who your friends are. Getting hacked feels emotionally like getting COVID. It’s not a moral failing of course, except people act like it is. A few friends go out of their way to help you, and a bunch of others stay the hell away so you don’t infect them.

Many thanks to Elissa, who knew I would lose the site and began downloading the photos from it for me. She saved about eight years’ worth of memories. And to Julie, Tamra, and Ashley who offered various technical help. That nothing worked doesn’t negate how much time and care you showed in this very strange situation, or how deeply it was appreciated.

My account is suspended and I have 180 days to appeal. But since I can’t get into the site to appeal, methinks my FB presence is gone for good.

Okay. :]