I quit facebook back in April 2012, and at the time I thought the break would be temporary. I was fairly certain that my need to keep up with lapsed friends, random acquaintances, and middle school crushes would, eventually, lure me back. It has not. I don't miss it at all. Turns out, falling out of touch with people is often a natural consequence of time and distance, and it's really ok to start forgetting the names of people you knew in high school.

At the time I quit facebook, you couldn't actually delete your account, you could only "suspend" it. This basically made you invisible; your profile would remain forever in hibernation somewhere in the ether of the internet. Last week I learned that this changed, and you can now delete your profile forever. So I can now confirm: my Face has been deleted from the Book.

Mostly everyone I know is on facebook, except for Josh and my parents. (Or it seems like everyone is on it; I have no way of checking.) What strikes me is that, whenever I mention I'm not on facebook, the response is always some version of "Oh, I wish I could quit!" I never suggest that people should quit, but they seem compelled to tell me they want to. Then they invariably explain why they can't: they use it to stay in touch with family/friends/former nemeses, they enjoying being voyeurs and don't post anything personal, the connections are more valuable than the timesuck, etc, etc. All fine reasons, I can't quibble with them.

The strong implication, however, is that I have done something noble and good by (mostly) exiting the social media landscape. (I say mostly because you can find me on instagram and linkedin, though to say I fly under the radar there would be an understatement. And of course I write this blog, which has 4 readers. (Hello, friends!)) I know that not being on social media is good for me personally, but it's hardly a noble sacrifice. If you're worried about facebook rotting your soul, here's a pro tip: it's optional. Just click "cancel." And similarly, I don't get all the hand-wringing over social media in the wake of the election—misinformation and uncivil discourse aren't exactly new. This is not to minimize our current societal problems, which I think are great; I'm just pretty sure that something as superficial as facebook is not the cause of them.

The best metaphor I have for social media is that it's like sitting at a cafe and overhearing the totally mundane conversation of the couple sitting next to you. Some people love to eavesdrop, and others will immediately put on their noise-canceling headphones. Some people love to be overheard, and others want privacy. I'm in the latter category on both counts. At my most basic level, I don't care that much about what the hive mind is thinking, and I certainly don't want the hive mind to be thinking about me. I also don't have much of an interest in what most people are up to in their daily lives. I don't care about my second-cousin's political opinions, or the new house the dude I sat next to in calculus just bought, or that pie my middle school acquaintance baked for Thanksgiving. I do care about my family and friends and coworkers, though, and I like to know what they're up to. I also enjoy receiving pictures of their babies/pies/pets/new houses.

And I care what you're up to, Dear Reader. Write me a letter! Give me a call! I'm pretty sure you all have my number.

From a New York Times article, referring to the 2016 presidential candidates:

"Perhaps the biggest drags on voter turnout in Milwaukee, as in the rest of the country, were the candidates themselves. To some, it was like having to choose between broccoli and liver."

This is testament to the fact that you can't write anything without irking someone: broccoli and liver are two of my very favorite foods. Choosing between them would only be hard because I like them both so much; not a problem for anyone this election. They are also both very high in iron, so if you are anemic I encourage you to write an impassioned letter to the editor about their lack of sensitivity to anemia issues. Every voice matters, right? 

the &*^%$ side of history

There are a lot of trite and meaningless phrases in the world, but "the right side of history" is by far my least favorite. I detest it. Probably because the whole point of my dissertation was that it's a lazy, useless idea. And probably more so because no one ever read my dissertation (not hyperbole) so no one understands why I care so much. Or why I get so frustrated when they try to argue with me about it and I inevitably descend into rant-mode.

(As an aside: I don't understand why some people ask me about a point of political theory, listen inattentively to my answer, and then immediately disagree with me. A general rule of thumb: if someone has a PhD in a particular esoteric subfield, please assume that they know a bit more about it than you do. And yes, this applies equally to quantum physics and political theory. Really.)

Why am I blabbering on about this now? Because the detestable phrase seems to be everywhere this week. I understand why; many people just got slapped in the face by the present and they are trying desperately to assure themselves that history (whatever that is!) is still gonna come out right (whatever that means!) in the end (whenever that is!). Sorry, folks, but there are no assurances that tomorrow is even going to happen, much less happen the way you think it should. You can run all the regression analyses that you want: the future (or providence or kismet or whatever you want to call it) does not issue advance warnings or moral directives. I mean, it's possible that you will find a burning bush tomorrow, but until that happens you're down here swimming in uncertainty with the rest of us. 

Here's what I do know: First, history does not have sides. Second, history itself is not a moral force. Third, I'm not certain about either of these premises, but because we are living in history we cannot, unless we transcend time itself, comprehend the entire narrative arc of human existence as being right or wrong. If history does have sides, not one of us mere humans is capable of comprehending them. And if you are outraged at these blanket assertions, I invite you to read my dissertation. It has citations and everything. 

Better yet, read Augustine. I totally stole the argument from him. 

When I was awake at 2am this morning, I was thinking about this passage from the opening of The Federalist:

"It has been frequently remarked, that it seems to have been reserved to the people of this country to decide, by their conduct and example, the important question, whether societies of men are really capable or not, of establishing good government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend, for their political constitutions, on accident and force. If there be any truth in the remark, the crisis at which we are arrived may, with propriety, be regarded as the period when that decision is to be made; and a wrong election of the part we shall act, may, in this view, deserve to be considered as the general misfortune of mankind."

I have always thought this was a beautiful, uplifting passage about the capacity of men to determine their political destiny based on informed reason and reflection. But earlier this morning I was thinking about it in a...somewhat different light. It reads more like a warning than an affirmation. 

Also: one of the best parts of writing a blog is that you get to revisit what your past self was up to in, say, November 2008. Quite a different time, and yet I don't disagree with anything I wrote then. Here's to 2020, I guess?