Erika Raskin's Blog

I can argue both sides with such finesse I wow myself with previously untapped debate skills.

Should I keep perusing and posting political protestations (and maybe a little snark)-- or pull out of the fascist billionaire boys' club altogether so as not to feel like a hypocrite?

In other words, should I leave Facebook the way I did X? (I signed off around the time Alex Jones came back experiencing both FOMO and virtuosity) but FFS--really? And recently when Bezos put his thumb on the electoral process I cancelled the WaPo subscription. (I maybe shouldn't have done this unilaterally -- as we are both serious fans of the Post's journalists, my spouse was um, 'surprised' by my decision.) I'm also in the process of transferring recurrent subscriptions from Amazon, which will also include Audible (sob). On the flip side we'll get rid of that voluntary spy device, permanently unplugging Alexa, who has been known to replay whole "private" conversations with aplomb.

Now, post million dollar donation to Trump's inauguration by Meta followed by the company's decision to do away with fact checkers and DEI, I am seriously considering leaving Facebook, too.

Which hurts.

A lot.

The idea feels like choosing to exchange a cozy house with a comfy window seat overlooking a lovely garden -- to move into an abandoned shopping center that's got mold marching up the walls and rats rearranging the manikins.

In other words:

I

Don't

Want

To

Go.

I've loved the platform.

As a dyed in the wool introvert with a touch of prosopagnosia, being able to check in and crack wise electronically has been huge. Connecting with friends from different chapters of my life, peeps scattered all over the world (or just sitting down-couch) about family, health, the upcoming GOP Armageddon, is like an ongoing cocktail party without the anxiety of trying to recognize anybody. As someone who would appreciate mandatory name tags in general, being able to click on someones's 'about' button for identification has been a serious social game changer.

Some of my peeps show up in my feed with regularity others only in a cobalt moon. While I'm sure there is a way to adjust this, I've never figured it out. Which is probably for the best. As a quintessential addictive personality, I know myself well enough to not quench unfettered appetites. When I used to partake in Marlboros I never let myself light a cigarette with its predecessor. I'd hold back a respectable fifteen minutes. (For the most part.)

With Facebook I just limit reading updates to the first page that pops up when I sign in. Scrolling down indefinitely has never been on the menu.

Checking in with those who share the same values is basically, um, life affirming. Which is why I was so rocked by that one 'friend' who came after me when I had the audacity to criticize Nehanyahu's disregard for innocents. He said my page was no longer a "safe space" for him.

(Adios.)

Otherwise I've deeply appreciated having a place to park irrepressible observations when I may have outworn the welcome mat of my nearest/dearest. As such I'll grieve all of the words that will just be etherized if and when I hang up my membership. Which does beg the question: Where do defunct comments actually go?

Tennessee Williams wrote "for time is the longest distance between two places." I'm experiencing anticipatory grief about losing touch. I'm thinking about using my blog and website (erikaraskin.com) as a carryall for everything. If I do leave and can figure out the transition I hope we can continue to connect.

Or, you know, just talk me out of signing off. Especially since I learned that the CEO of Apple (upon whose Mac I'm typing right now) also directed a million dollars to Trump's sycophant-ridden inauguration.

Ugh.