Misanthropic Tendencies and My Desire for Less Noise
I’ve long argued that social media is merely a tool and, like a hammer, can be used for a positive outcome (hanging a picture) or negative (bashing a hole in the cranium of someone who cut in line in front of you in a grocery store). I still believe that.
My general manager at the casino has never had any use for that tool. He’s never had a Faceborg account, never even seen Twitter, and looks at me like I’m speaking Swahili when I mention Instagram, Snapchat, Tick Tock, or any number of the second-tier platforms. He has never felt the need to hang a picture or crush a skull so he never bought a hammer. He sometimes feels a bit left out of things, he’ll confess to me, when so many others are in the club.
I’ve been in that club for a good long time. I had a MySpace account. I engaged heavily in LiveJournal, Friendster, and Blogger for years. Message Boards of all stripes were the jam. When Faceborg came along, I jumped on it. Twitter took me some time to get the hang of but I greedily dove in as I did with Instagram. The point was to see and be seen. To promote your ideas and listen to others, to market your small business or advertise for your favorite bands, movies, restaurants, you name it. Social media connected me to everyone and made me feel as if I were a part of a larger community of people.
Except people became immersed in it and it changed how they behaved. As those who were too sensitive to exist in the world realized there were others just like them, the formed groups and cliques, and almost overnight, the platforms became exactly like high school. Overly dramatized bullshit pervaded. Guys who would never throw a punch became bold and confrontational. Anonymous accounts popped up in record numbers to level insults, calls for violence, and death threats.
Unlike my general manager I had immersive experience in this world. I could say I was quasi-addicted as I loved wading into the fray and arguing with, well, everyone. I found myself posting opinions that I knew would elicit those kinds of vitriolic responses and trolling, as myself, those folks I considered stupid and dogmatic. It was fun for awhile.
Last year, after moving to Vegas, something snapped. I had nearly 4,000 Facebog “friends” and only perhaps 500 whom I could pick out in a lineup and maybe 100 I could say I really knew and could call even friendly acquaintances. At the pool on top of the Strat while Dana and our friend Kelli swam, I sat in blistering heat and started deleting friends. Most were connected so I could market this digital ‘zine and events we did. It took a few hours with breaks in the pool. At the end of the purge I had 495 left.
With the bitter partisanship of our current moment I found myself blocking genuine friends because we might disagree on certain issues that ended up threatening the relationship. I continued to maintain that this was all just a tool that I was figuring out how to use in this expanded cyber-community.
I read about how Russian hackers used Facebot to influence disinformation and attempt to tip the 2016 election. I read that Zuckerberg’s monster was a breeding ground for the fascist Right and that Twitter was becoming the home of the equally vicious woke Left. As I perpetuated my own presence I began to disdain humanity. My time on these platforms was soaked in disgust at people, anger at bullies, and a gnawing and growing hatred for everyone around me.
Earlier this another snap. These platforms made me miserable. I spent hours checking in every day and then dwelling on everything I read that infuriated me. It was like willingly drinking acid daily. So I deleted my Fuckface account. I deleted my Twitter account. Friends wondered how long it would be before I returned like I was taking a break. But I didn’t miss them. At all. My days became less anxious. I chose what I wanted to read online and wanted each article to have been thought out and reasoned.
I did keep the Literate Ape Twitter account as well as my personal Instagram. For the most part, I just looked in. I tried to avoid retweeting or commenting. I played around with IG Stories. Slowly, I started engaging more. Retweeting perspectives I agreed with that somewhere in my snakebrain knew would stir up those dipshits back in Chicago or anti-maskers here in Vegas. I put more and more political pictures up in my IG Stories. I was getting sucked back in.
I couldn’t watch more than a collected thirty minutes of that first Trump/Biden debate. It made me want to destroy something beautiful like Edward Norton smashing Jared Lito’s face to much in Fight Club. Why would I want to sit and watch this fucking bully asshole yell and interrupt and lie and taunt anyone and especially a nominee I believe is simply a very good, empathetic gentleman.
Wait. Everyone at some point becomes Trump online. Everyone.
There’s something to be said about dealing with real in-person human beings in the casino at the end of the world on a daily basis — anti-maskers, degenerates, hopeful gamblers, low-rent prostitutes, MAGA hat wearing truckers — that diminishes the optimism required to push forth. It’s a bit of a grind to deal with people seeking instant gratification and striking it rich against all odds. Adding to that the condescension, outrage (both genuine and signaled), and intractable certainty of zealots online is like taking it up the ass by a bull moose and choosing to eat some shit at the same time.
I don’t need Trump in my life. I don’t need to be reminded that a vocal minority in the country use this brilliant and extraordinary technology to mimic his tactics. I have an almost primal desire for less noise and, always a stripe of a misanthrope to begin with, my retreat to the less noisy, more substantive digital world has become a matter of sanity. No more Instagram. No more Twitter. No more Linked In. I am becoming a Las Vegas version of that guy holed up in a bunker or a throwback to a time when knowing everyone else’s opinions about everything else was a sign of lunacy.
As the blackjack dealer when being shifted out for a new dealer waves her hands to demonstrate no cards are up her sleeve, I clap my hands, wave my hands, and walk away to a place where the things I read have merit and the conversations I have are focused on common purpose rather than hostile power grabs.
I’m glad I played in these sandboxes for so long. Social media is a tool and sometimes it is a teaching tool. I’ve learned what I needed and am content to disengage.
I recommend you do the same.
