I am tech savvy and enjoy
a lot of the perks technology has to offer, though more often than not the loop eludes me. Whatever the fad is, I
get there way too early or much too late. Sometimes I don’t get there at all. Case
in point – social media. I’m that anomalous entity without a Facebook account.
And I make no apologies. I don’t want a Facebook account and no matter how many
people think I’m wrong in that regard, I think I’m right to steer clear.
Back in the dawn of time,
when snail mail was the only form of correspondence my sister wrote a letter to
Roberta Gellis and the author answered back. I thought being a pen pal with an
author (if one can count the exchange of a single letter as pen pal) was the
greatest thing.
Not a tangent, but a
segue: my level of excitement may be a tad over the top, but when I receive a
free book – I make no apologies – I get ridiculously happy. I’d gotten a free
book from an author, with the unlikely moniker Romeo Alexander. The book and
the subsequent correspondence were really nice, but then he wrote again. He
asked me to join him in social media, which for me is not possible.
I don’t do social media.
There is something a bit unsavory about the whole thing. I get the connection
as it relates to advertisements of films, books and music. I really don’t get
anything else. Seriously I’m dumbfounded by politicians thinking social media
is an appropriate venue to address constituents, but that’s a different blog.
(The one in which I vent about the average vote determining popularity and the
Electoral College selecting the president. What the f-?)
So, I composed this long
letter in my head to Mr. Alexander and had written none of it. Life, as it
always does, got in the way of my oration. The long and short of it’s content
was mostly about George Orwell turning over in his grave.
Big brother doesn’t have to watch us when we are all screaming in unison, “look
at me, look at me.” Every aspect of everyone’s private life is up for public
consumption and it is no longer an invasion of privacy, because we are collectively
handing over even the irrelevant minutiae of every hour of all our days. Still
I cringe when I sign into my email and read this:
- We’ve updated some
of the ways we collect and analyze user data in order to deliver services,
content, relevant advertising and abuse protection.
- This includes: analyzing content and information when you use our services (including emails, instant messages, posts, photos, attachments, and other communications), linking your activity on other sites and apps with information we have about you, and providing anonymized and/or aggregated reports to other parties regarding user trends.
Not only does this crap all over The Bill of Rights in its entirety, it directly violates the Fourth Amendment. Moreover I’m outraged when I read something like this. This is in no way comforting. (The Second Amendment, as per usual, remains
completely unscathed. What the f-? –
Take two.) Dressing it up as a way to provide better service
is just insulting to my intelligence. If they want my civil rights, they can
take them while I’m kicking and screaming, not aiding and abetting.
As I’m currently blogging
about the whole ordeal, I guess this falls more under the heading of bitching
and moaning than kicking and screaming. Still, I cannot friend anyone in any way. I do have a Goodreads account, but my
three friends are related to me by blood – a sister, a niece and a daughter. Liking
the sentiment Mr. Alexander wrote in his letter in no way makes me want to login
and create an account.
When all is said and done
I’m still alone on the wrong side of the masses. But I still believe I am more
than right in my aversion. In this day and age when it’s wrong to be right, I
embrace the wrong.
© Lillian Carrero
