The Loneliest Liberal: How to survive if you deleted your Facebook account

By James Knudsen

Recent news cycles have been focused on Facebook’s improper use of consumer data and possible links to Russian tampering in the 2016 United States presidential election. Outraged Facebook users had been reposting “Deep State” memes generated by Russian operatives, and some have gone so far as to delete their accounts – although I suspect some deletions were accidental, as we all know a retiree who confuses the TV remote for the mouse. For those leaving the social platform over deeply held beliefs about the foundations of liberal democracy, free and fair elections, universal suffrage, and Season 22 of the The Bachelor, the fact remains that a significant hole has been created in their lives, and some, if not many, are struggling with how to survive Facebook’s loss. Fortunately, technology has a solution to help us keep in touch with those far away. Follow along as I take you through this, step-by-step.

First, you’re going to need some paper. Blank paper works best. Color is up to you, but a light color is preferred, as it provides better contrast. Next, you’ll need some sort of writing implement. A pencil or pen – fountain or ball-point, or one of those fine-tipped Sharpies work great – or crayons or, if you’re in a real pinch, just jab a needle in the tip of your finger.

    Now, we’re going to write. Start with the letters of the alphabet, which will become words, and those words will form sentences and the sentences will form paragraphs. Pretty soon you’ll have a whole page and that page is known as a letter. You’ll want to end your letter with a closing, something like:

Sincerely, Calvin Coolidge; or
Affectionately, Emily Dickinson; or
Falling down drunk, Ernest Hemingway

The objective of the closing is to let the recipient of the letter, whom you hopefully identified in the salutation, know who you are; otherwise they’re going to think some crank is asking for money – unless you actually are asking for money; then it’s best to not sound like a crank.
    OK, now we’ve composed our letter, or “correspondence.” (Some people like to call them epistles, although most of those are long dead or have really, really big churches – like mega big.) So, now we need to send it.
    To send it, we’re going to fold the letter in such a way that it will fit into an envelope. You know what an envelope is, right? On the front of the envelope you’re going to put the recipient’s address. This is similar to an email address, but it will have the person’s actual name, so instead of dantheman@fedpen.gov, you’re going to write Daniel Smith, followed by the address, say:

Terminal Island Federal Corrections Institution
Cell Block D, Cell 27, Upper Bunk (he’s fresh fish, no way in hell he’s getting the lower bunk)
Terminal Island, CA 90761

    And now you need to take your addressed envelope to a post office. Depending on where you live, this will be in a modern building with Communist architecture or an older building constructed when people actually gave a damn about how things looked. Once inside you will buy stamps. Stamps are little pieces of paper with glue on the back for sticking to an envelope or package. You will stick the stamp in the upper right-hand corner of the envelope, and this will tell the post office people that you paid to have your letter delivered to your recipient.

Now, you may be thinking, Paid? I have to pay? Well, yes. But wait until you hear how much: fifty cents. No, 50, with a zero, $0.50. And your letter will be delivered anywhere in the United States and its territories. Want to send a Christmas party invitation to your friend six blocks away? Fifty cents. Want to let someone else know that they are not invited to your Christmas party because their sprinklers keep leaving water spots on your freshly washed car? Fifty cents. Maybe you want to send a birthday card to that nephew who never seemed right, but now that he’s in the Air Force, serving his country on the island of Guam, what the heck, it’s only fifty cents. FIFTY CENTS. GUAM! Augusta, Maine, to Agana, Guam, a distance of over 9,000 miles, fifty cents. I’m tempted to send a card to a complete stranger on Guam, if only because it makes me giddy to get such a great deal.
    If you want to include photos inside the envelope with the letter – because I’m told that photos are a big thing on Facebook, especially of food ( food?) – you may send them along with your letter, correspondence, or angry rant, and your recipient may then frame said photo and point it out to guests:

That’s a photo my nephew sent me of the steak dinner he had on Guam. They’re getting married next month.

    Now, you’re probably thinking, It sounds great, but is it secure? Well, compared to what? That email you sent, which is now being translated for Vladimir Putin? At least there are clear legal penalties for tampering with post office mail, as in, up to five years in prison and $250,000 in fines. That’s a much stronger deterrent than a frowny face emoji.

And letters, endure...just long enough.

This letter was sent to my late Aunt Margaret, Dad’s twin sister.
The man named John wrote to ask her to the movies.

    Electronic correspondence, who knows? Apparently, all of that data is stored in “the cloud,” which, according to Steve Bannon, is a liberal conspiracy run from a secret lab hidden in Cinderella’s castle at Disneyland. Allegedly.

Copyright © 2018 by James Knudsen