The Power of the Purple Thumbs

I THINK IT’S TIME TO RE-POST THIS FROM 2012!

The Power of the Purple Thumb

I was reading an article on Hugo Chavez from the BBC (via Drudge) and the possibility that he might lose the election to his challenger, Henrique Capriles.  Couldn't happen to a nicer socialist - Chavez has essentially destroyed entire industries by a combination of nationalization, seizing the engines of economic growth, and cronyism profiteering.  But that wasn't what really caught my eye.

_63344568_venezuelaembassy

It was a purple thumb.  This picture of a young lady in England who has just voted in the Venezuelan election.  She is giving a clear thumbs up on her vote and, one presumes, the right to vote. And clearly in the picture was a purple thumb.  The purple thumb has come to symbolize a free and fair election.  Once marked, the person can not go back and vote again, limiting voter fraud, a real problem in most of the world - those parts that bother to hold elections.  Too many people take democracy for granted and forget that it is a fragile system that exists in a minority of countries.

We don't have purple thumbs here in America, the birthplace of modern democracies.  As a matter of practical fact, we lack any means of determining the validity of a voter.  In the election that elevate Al Franken to the Senate in 2009, 1100 felons, ineligible to vote, voted anyway.  Cases of voter fraud with people voting in two states have been documented in Florida and New York this year.  In the spirit of bipartisanship, Florida now has active investigations into both Democrat and Republican organizations for voter fraud.

At the same time that the complaints of tainted voters and outright fraud are increasing, efforts to increase accountability have run into roadblocks disguised as judges.  The usual argument follows the lines of "it's a hurdle designed to constrain the minority/poor/elderly vote."  Yet, in a test case in Philadelphia, Viviette Applewhite, 93 years old and wheelchair-bound lost her case that it placed an undue burden for her to obtain a Sate-sponsored photo ID.  One day after losing the case, Viviette went to the DMV and got her identification.  As it turned out, she didn't even have to leave the nursing home she was at - she already had an ID that was compliant with Pennsylvania law.  According to CNS,

Ironically, Applewhite probably didn’t have to make the long trip to the DMV at all, Cooper said.

“She actually did have a form of ID that would have allowed her to vote,” he told CNSNews.com. “She did not have a state-issued equivalent to a driver’s license, but at the care facility where she’s been living, they had an ID card for her that they used to make sure that she was getting her medicines, and all that – and she actually could have used that.”

 Vote By Mail

Here in Washington State, along with Oregon and under consideration in a growing list of other states, we no longer go to the polls.  We have vote-by-mail instead.  Voters under the age of 35 in this State may have never gone to a poll - individual counties began to switch to the vote-by-mail method starting in 1993 when the state allowed permanent absentee balloting to occur.  Eventually every county except Pierce County had made the switch.  The State legislature passed new requirements in 2011 to force Pierce to adopt the same standard as the rest of the state.

Since I moved in from another state - California to Idaho, Idaho to Washington - plus my age, I remember going to the polls.  I remember voting in Maryland and the voting machines.  Punch cards in California and, after the Florida debacle, taking care not to leave a hanging chad.

I remember taking my children with me, telling them that what I was doing was the most important civic duty a citizen has.  Giving them my little "I Voted!" sticker and, because we had three girls, asking the poll attendants for an extra one so each girl got the sticker.  Educating the next generation of voters on the importance of civic responsibilities.

Now, if they were still at home, they would be justified in thinking that the right to vote, the most sacred of American rights, the right that supports all the rest, is slightly more important than paying the bills.  It comes in the mail and gets set to the side, disremembered and neglected until the due date.  Then, a frenzy of scribbling in boxes, and placing this most important document in the mail.

Does it get to the election office?  I don't know.

Does it get counted? I don't know.

Did someone else also vote in my name? I don't know.

When Americans can no longer trust in the voting process - suspect that their vote was lost in the mail, devalued by people voting multiple times, dead people still on the rolls, illegally present immigrants with voting cards - they themselves will not feel constrained by the rules.  One belief that must be shared by the members of a representative republic such as ours is that their vote does truly count.

So my solution is simple.  I want what that Venezuelan girl has.  What this Iraqi girl has. I want proof that I voted and that my vote was counted.

I want a purple thumb.

Iraqi purple thumb

Try THAT in Seattle!

The mask-burning party was last night and, to be honest, I was nervous. I had no idea if anybody would show up, especially on a Wednesday night, and who would show up if we did get some attendance - Constitution-loving people, the cops, or the whack jobs that act like fascists while looting and burning.

For starters, no police despite a sign in front of my house announcing the party. Second, no whack jobs. Yea!

We did have about a dozen people show up. Those that were hungry were fed and most pitched in with a little dish or treat. I forgot to put out the speakers for Christmas music. By the time I remembered, we had a bunch of small groups going, all having their own conversations. So, I skipped the music.

We held off on the mask-burning until about 8PM because everyone was enjoying themselves. When we did finally get around to it, it seemed anti-climatic. As I stood watching the people there, I realized that the mere act of gathering was far more powerful than tossing a mask into the fire pit. Still, that part was so popular that we did it twice.

Interesting note: the masks melted before they burned. Makes me wonder what the heck we’re inhaling chemically off store bought masks. Yeech!

The other thing that struck me — and I joked about it — was that there was plenty of laughter. We were peacefully protesting and even had a our little fire just like the big city, but instead of mindless rage, there was laughter. Try THAT is Seattle, city of the angry army of imbeciles.

Tyranny hates laughter, especially at its expense. More of this is absolutely needed - and we can have fun doing it.

When we finally broke for the night, everyone left in good spirits and energized, with a commitment to do this again. Hope and camaraderie are powerful emotions. With those, we can get a lot done.

Did we change the world overnight? Nope, but we did take a baby step.

The next baby step will happen next month. I’ll keep everyone posted and let you know when and where.

Also, I have some other thoughts triggered by the conversations last night. I’ll share them in the next couple of days.

Be safe everyone - but remember . . .

Live is for living, not cowering. Stand tall.

Bring Your Masks, I'll Provide the Matches

The mask-burning party is tonight at my house. Bring your masks - my granddaughter wants to burn a mask but not the one she likes, so we’re giving her a different mask to torch. I’ll have a small cozy fire pit to lob the little face diapers into. We don’t need the Fires of Mount Doom in Mordor for this project. All we need is a little fire, a lot of mockery of the petty tyrants like Dear Governor, and the pleasure of like-minded friends committed to the proposition that we will not allow obnoxious and foolish progs to restrain our natural rights.

I bumped into one of our city council members and gave him a heads up that the party was happening. His response? “Naked Faces Matter!”

I’m stealing that. I also invited him to the party. He’s one of us.

At the risk (substantial) of making a big fat target of myself, the address is 308 2nd Street, Asotin, WA. Parking is whatever you can find on the street. After school hours, the bus parking is usable.

The nearest restrooms are around the corner at the Zip Trip.

I’ll have the grill fired up around 5:30PM. I’m cheating and using gas. Charcoal tastes a lot better, but really isn’t designed for mass production. I’ll also have some coffee on hand, hot water for hot chocolate, pop, egg nog, and water. If you want to bring a small dish of your own, that would be great but not required.

In the event we get crazy people showing up to ‘counter-protest’, the game plan is to treat them with kindness. I really doubt we’ll get any, but better to have a plan than not. We’ll offer them coffee and pop, burgers and dogs. I guess, if they’re vegan, we can offer potato chips. We’re not going to argue with them. Their minds are not open to our viewpoint, and we won’t waste our time and energy on them. Deal?

Informative Article on Masks - Using Actual DATA!

I know, the headline is a bit sarcastic. Humor, though, is a great weapon against both depression, which many people are being inflicted with, and against propaganda, which our self-proclaimed elites are promulgating.

So, from Michael Talmo, masks - what are they good for?

Read and find out. The Plain Truth About Face Masks

A Thank You and a Book Recommendation

First, a big THANK YOU to David Knight for having me on his show. It was an pleasure to chat with him, and he made it such a relaxed conversation that I regretted that it needed to end. Behind the scenes, Travis helped everything flow smoothly - which, given this is the first time I’ve ever done such an interview is a testament to his patience and skill.

Also, a couple of folks have emailed asking what books I had read on propaganda. I think the most informative, for me, was The Rape of the Mind: The Psychology of Thought Control, Menticide, and Brainwashing by Joost A. M. Meerloo in 1956. Amazon link here. (I don’t get paid by Amazon - I recommend shopping around to find the best deal.)

It is somewhat dated but the core information is very accessible - and terrifically frightening.

Time to Party Like It’s 1773!

On December 16th, in honor of those Bostonians who dressed like Indians (and thus committed a terrible hate crime) who had the audacity to dump King George’s tea into Boston Harbor rather than pay the King’s tax, I will be holding a Mask-Burning Party, my place, at 6:30 PM PDT. If you would like to participate, drop me an email and I’ll send directions.

The colonists protested taxation without representation and the suspension of their rights as British subjects.

Me, I’m not protesting a damn thing.

I AM asserting my rights as a free American citizen. I have the right to free speech and the right to peacefully assemble. These are not rights conferred by government, nor are they rights the government can revoke; they are granted to me by a power greater than the government. I intend to exercise my rights fully, despite the unconstitutional edicts of Governor Inslee.

I further assert that I have the right to pursue happiness – and the non-scientific twaddle about masks gives me the sads. So, I’m going to burn some of mine in my front yard. That will make me happier. I’m inviting friends, all three of them, neighbors, and random passers-by.

The only people not invited? Well, the petty tyrants, of course. And, those folks who are in the danger zone for the WuFlu – elderly, one foot on a banana peel, the other in the casket. We’re Americans – we’re capable of good judgment. (Most of the time and when it counts, that is.) This flu is dangerous to one group. Toast us from afar, please, and we’ll return the compliment.

If you can’t make it to my Mask-Burning Party, I understand. Wednesday nights are a tough party night, and I live in the middle of nowhere, the epitome of fly-over, drive-around, you can’t get here territory. So, consider having party of your own. The Boston Tea Party wasn’t the only event of its kind – there were similar splashes up and down the Eastern Seaboard. Go wild, have your own party, laugh at the progs, remind them of who and what you are .

Ornery. Independent. Americans.

________

Joining me? Holding your own party and want to swap pictures and video?

Building a Solar Collector

Things get slow over the winter season for me and, as they say, idle hands do the devil's work. In this case, they built a solar collector for my garage.

The project did not require any fancy materials and the basic plans were available on the internet (though I tweaked them considerably.) All told, the project took a couple of days. For someone handy, it would have been a single day project, but my fine carpentry skills start and stop at the "Honey, where's my sledge hammer?" stage.

Building the Collector

My first step, after gathering supplies, was to build the collector itself. Since I can’t follow a simple recipe, this is where I began deviating from the plans. The collector sits inside the frame and absorbs the solar energy. I intended to use a small duct fan to boost air flow, so instead of designing the system to flow up the screen using natural convection, I made it a down-draft panel with the cold air coming in at the top and the fan sucking the warm air from the bottom.

Then I made three more changes. The original plans called for two layers of mesh. I went with five. I also changed the material from the plastic mesh to black aluminum screeen. (In hindgsight, I think the black plastic mesh would work just as well.) The final change in the collector was to add black plastic to each layer in a staggered pattern so that the air is always in contact with a solid, warm surface.

To anchor all the mesh, I used a frame of 1x2 lumber and mounted each layer on lathe strips (because they are skinny and cheap.)

Building the Box Frame

This is where my general lack of handiness asserted itself. This was combined with at least one moment of total nit-wittery. We’ll get to that shortly.

I spent a bit more money to buy pressure treated 2x12 lumber for the exterior frame. It can be done with less expensive materials, but I paid the additional cost in the dual expectation that the collector would work (there were doubts among friends, family, and the neighbors) and that it would last the next 20 years.

I cut the wood to fit with the bottom edge of the supporting side beveled to improve my angle to the sun. Then I inserted the top and bottom planks and proved to myself that I can be an idiot.

I built the collector to be four feet by eight feet. When I inserted the top and bottom, they were slightly larger than four feet so I could get the collector in without busting it apart. So far, no problem. I bolted everything together, easy as pie. Then I tried to drop the collector in – and discovered my little math error. The collector wouldn’t fit by 1.5 inches. When I measured for the longer axis, I neglected to account for the thickness of the bottom board.

Crud. Given no choice but to undue my work, I did. Re-measured (carefully this time!) and put everything back together. This time, the interior collector fit, if a bit snugger than I intended.

Insulate, Seal, And Ductwork

The next phase was to insulate the box with foam and caulk seal all the joints. Pro-tip for homeowners – if you want to save money on heating and cooling, don’t by a fancier furnace or expensive windows. Insulate and air seal – you’ll get your money back in a year or two.

Once the insulation was in and I got caulk smeared everywhere, I added the ductwork using inexpensive dryer ducting. I insulated that, too. Flipping it over, I caulked the plexiglass to the front of the frame and the collector was ready to move to the south side of the garage.

Remember the bevel cut at the bottom? The second purpose for that was to add stability to the whole frame so I wouldn’t need to screw it to my wall. The frame is heavy enough that wind will not bother it.

The ductwork extended past the back of the box enough to enter in a window. Just as I didn’t want a dozen screw holes in my siding, I didn’t want to cut holes into it, either. So, the window. I framed out ducts with more insulation, sealed with expansion foam and used the window to lock things down tight across the top the same way you would with a window air conditioner.

On the inside of my unheated garage, I ran a 20 foot length of dryer duct and added the fan. The discharge point is right over the laundry machines. The fan is on a timer.

So Does It Work?

Better than expected, actually. The heat on a sunny day coming from the collector exits at better than 100 degrees. Remember that this piece of ducting is 20 feet long, so there is considerable temperature loss along the length of it. When I measured the immediate discharge piping with my infrared camera, the temperature was over 140 degrees. Very pleasing!

On really cloudy, rainy days, it works, but not as effectively. The heat output is usually between six and ten degrees above the input temperature, so it is still heating.

During an average winter, the garage gets down to freezing and stays there. This year, it has gotten as warm as a balmy 63 degrees.

All in all, a fun project that will also save me money in the long run, and it’s kind to Mother Nature. I think I’ll build another one next year for my office.

I Have Angered the Tech Lords

Following up on my previous post about the unsocial media, I apparently have triggered some algorithm in Facebook and now they have locked me out of my new account. 

I say new account, because I closed the old account. Based on Facebook's record of respect for privacy and invasive tracking of users, I decided to create a new account that served a dedicated purpose.

I got far enough along to set up an author page and a business page for the home inspection side of my life. Then, I started adding people to my list of contacts, primarily the writers I met at the Superstars Writing Seminar in Colorado Springs since they were the only reason I didn't leave FB entirely. Those folks are THAT awesome.

Within a couple of days, Facebook locked me out. Not permanently, mind you. They sent this message when I tried to log in Wednesday:

Upload A Photo Of Yourself
Please upload a photo of yourself that clearly shows your face. We'll check it and then permanently delete it from our servers.

The reason stated was that there was 'suspicious activity' on my account. They did not detail what the suspicious activity was nor did they offer an opportunity for me to review the activity. Big Brother was there to make those decisions for me and, if I would just send them a picture of my face, they'd let me back into the cool kid's club. 

I'm not a cool kid. I'm actually turning into a bit of a curmudgeon. I do believe that they will delete the picture. I also believe that they will extract the data points from the picture so they can recognize you here ever after. No thanks.

I will be the first to admit that I have major trust issues when it comes to social media and the tech giants like Google. To be fair, they have done everything they can to exacerbate those trust issues by tracking our every move, snooping into every aspect of our lives, and selling our data to the anyone who ponies up some cash.

This not being nearly abusive enough, both Facebook and Google decided to up their game. Facebook has introduced facial recognition and kindly offered to let you opted out. My guess is if you do, you'll eventually get hit with the same warning I got and coerced into getting with their creepy program.

Google is worse. Their smart home plans are so invasive, to the point of coaching you on child-raising, that they are frightening. They want sensors and cameras that can tell when a kid is near the liquor cabinet. Good, right? 

They can tell when adults are there, too, and how much you drink. Then they can sell that information to whoever wants it. 

Like your health and life insurance companies. They'd sure like to know and would adjust their premiums accordingly.

It can tell if your child is near your bedroom - and sound an alarm. Of course, it will not recognize that the child is suffering night terrors and needs comforting, child/adult/bedroom and decide that mischief is occurring.

 So, back to my lock-out on Facebook. I did submit a picture. I just didn't use one of my face. I made this one for them. I send it once a day. They reject it once a day. Someday, they'll terminate my account entirely and I will not even notice. 

Odds and Ends - New Year edition

Yep, I know. New Year's day we make resolutions. I procrastinated and just got around to it now. 

I did, however, take some actions. Facebook and Twitter are gone from my personal life. I'm not on either except in a very limited sense to promote my business, my books, and other people's books. As best as I could tell, both are bad for my mental health, so both are on very short leashes.

I've also (as evident by this post) decided to start blogging a bit again. It will be on stuff that interests me and will be a mostly politics-free zone. I know that authors John Scalzi, Anne Rice,  and Chuck Wendig are big on pontificating on the liberal side and there's Vox Day with his sycophants on the other, so the field is already over-saturated with such lunacy anyway. 

Expect pictures on places I go or things I find amusing. 

Maybe even some video. 

I'm sure I'll try some other stuff but we'll just have to wait and see. I'm winging it on content which is exactly the opposite of all the recommendations for having a profitable blog, but I think it will be more fun this way. 

Take care!

Today's hike was in the Garden of the Gods in Colorado. Yes, it should be snow-covered. Instead, the weather was wonderful.

Yet Another Reason to Appreciate William Shatner

Randy Pausch, in his book The Last Lecture, wrote that every little boy of a certain age wanted to be Captain Kirk. Not quite true but his statement certainly captures the verve of Kirk in Star Trek. Since then, William Shatner, who proudly counts himself as a 'working actor', has taken dozens of roles of all sorts. One of his best, though, came last night, playing himself, on Twitter. (Yes, I know I rant about Twitter and the rise of the perpetually offended. Not this time.)

It started like this:

I evacuated; now watching #Irma track right towards our home in #Tampa. We're newlyweds. Sigh.

— Mary RS Bracy (@MaryRSBracy) September 10, 2017

What followed was incredible. Shatner spent hours responding to, comforting, and encouraging people in the path of Irma.

I am honestly scared right now and thank you kindly for asking. God bless, hugs and please keep us in your prayers. #HurricaneIrma #Florida

— 👑 Kᗩᖇᕮᑎ ᗰ KᑌᑎKᒪᕮ 👑 (@KarenMKunkle) September 10, 2017

You have our good thoughts, prayers, fingers crossed 🤞🏻, etc... https://t.co/mDtgIVXhJL

— William Shatner (@WilliamShatner) September 10, 2017

I'm worried about my dad, he's in Sarasota... he didn't evacuate because he doesn't think it'll be bad, but I haven't gotten an update...

— Courtney (@CourtneyWRocket) September 10, 2017

Anyone in Sarasota who can give Courtney an update on at risk areas? https://t.co/Ql3JpnPCpD

— William Shatner (@WilliamShatner) September 10, 2017

I am, with a wife who is 30 weeks pregnant and freaking out.

— Mike Wëwerka (@mikewewerka) September 10, 2017

She needs to calm down. The last thing she needs is to stress out the baby. Find something to occupy her mind. Reminiscing works. https://t.co/eAFsqfPSBk

— William Shatner (@WilliamShatner) September 10, 2017

This morning, Bill Shatner picked up where he left off last night, offering encouragement, linking to sites with good advice (DON'T shoot into the storm! Really? People amaze me) and basic human decency.

Bill Shatner is the real deal. Heroes lead by example and he's out front right now.

Why Are So Many Writers Such Frickin' Pansies

Get on Twitter, they said. Facebook, too. Instagram, Snapchat, and Pinterest, woo-hoo. It's all great for marketing books, they say. They, of course, are people that have their heads up their collective rear-ends. For most writers, there may not be a worse way to present yourself to a wider audience than being yourself on social media. First, most of us are simply not very interesting which is why cat and food pictures feature prominently on some feeds.

Some writers are a bit delusional on this score, but let's face it, we sit around and make stuff up. In our pajamas. If we get fancy, we put on pants and go to the local coffee shop. Unless you get caught up in an episode of Friends, the excitement factor is somewhere south of 'snooze.'

Second, and more importantly, we are supposedly masters of story-telling. This is a nice way of saying that we are all a bunch of drama queens and a goodly number haven't matured all that much since junior high school.

All this first occurred to me when I read a retweet by Chuck Wendig back in April or June. I'd link to it but Chuck blocked me a while ago. (The reason for that will be a different post tentatively titled "Dude, Your Bullshit Detector is BROKEN.") The subject of the tweet was how dare a mere mortal publicly tell a writer that his book sucked. Chuck, as is his wont, felt free to tell people what horrible people they were if they did such a mean, mean thing.

My response on Twitter was that it was a good thing the writers in question weren't home inspectors as we get called idiots three times a week. Most writers aren't nearly mentally tough enough to handle the profession.

At the same time, it got me thinking.

What is it about being a writer that's supposed to be so damn hard?

So someone tells you that your book sucks. Or that you suck. So what? It doesn't stop you from putting fingers on the keyboard and putting words on the page.

Writing, like running, is about effort. Yes, there are a talented few that will be superstars. I'm not one of them in the running world - lousy oxygen uptake, too big, etc.

I might not ever be a superstar in the writing field either. It's way too early to tell and I have a ton of practice in front of me, but it's long odds against. To become competent, though? That's a practice and persistence issue. That's on me. Why would I let a negative nellie discourage my effort?

So, advice.

If someone offers creative criticism, take it. If someone is poo-flinging, ignore them.

You own the space between your ears. You get to decide where to apply yourself. Don't surrender your control.

Now, go out and do something great. Screw the odds and screw the naysayers.

It's your life - live it big.

Contest for Free Kindle and Books

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In addition to the awesome All-New Kindle E-reader – Black, 6” Glare-Free Touchscreen Display, one lucky winner will receive…

Echo of the High Kings by Kal Spriggs.

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Scales: A Mermaid Tale by Pauline Creeden

Honor by Rachel Rossano

Fallen Emrys: Niawen’s Story by Lisa Rector

Aerisia: Land Beyond the Sunset by Sarah Ashwood

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Entries accepted until September 18, 2017.

Hump Day

I was supposed to write a blog post on protecting your mental space today, but . . . I spent all night dreaming about rattlesnakes. I'm afraid of rattlesnakes, so it was not pleasant nor restful dreaming. And, yes, I got bit.

So, in lieu of a long blog post, here is a cute picture instead from out my front door.

I'm skipping my trail run and sticking to pavement, just in case dreams do have predictive power.

Have a wonderful day.

Attention Thieves – The Electronic Iteration

Guard Your Mental Space, Part II

Happy Hump Day! Let’s get to work.

Work, that thing we do when we aren’t distracted. Play, too.

The Old Days

Distractions aren’t new. People have been ranting about television commercials almost since the invention of television. Ditto for radio. Phones used to be anchored to walls and you had to literally dial numbers, one at a time, to call someone locally. When salesmen discovered they could always find people at home during dinner, the useful telephone became a primary annoyance.

Even your home was not fully insulated from distractions. Back then, salesmen knocked on doors selling brushes, pots and pans, vacuums, and life insurance.

These were all obvious efforts to gain attention, first, and sales, second.

Killing the Old Ways

There is a difference between voluntarily watching a show - “I want to watch Raylon Givens take on Boyd Crowder tonight” and being involuntarily pummeled by car ads. The thieves say we give permission by watch the show. That is a provable falsehood. They could offer shows the same way movies do. Produce them and charge for each show, an honest exchange on the open market. Why don’t they? Because their revenue would leave a smoking crater on the balance sheet. They know this. Stealing your attention with advertising is more profitable for the producer and the captured attention of the audience means that the advertiser doesn’t have to hand sell individually like the old door-to-door salesmen.

People adapted. The popularity of TiVo and Netflix is directly related to the ability to avoid commercials. Spotify and Sirius Radio do the same with music. People ditched landlines in droves.

Each of these was a way for ordinary people to minimize the efforts of attention thieves.

New Days

One defining characteristic of a marketer is they don’t quit. They invent new ways to capture attention and the creation of the Web made their job easier. We changed mediums, they changed delivery systems. Web banners, flashing ads, auto-launch video and audio, and a dozen other methods are used to distract you. No one reads an article in magazines or newspapers anymore. Those are dying as ad revenue dries up. Instead, we catch the last clickbait-y article on endurance training or world affairs (if you think it isn’t happening in standard news reporting, you’re not paying attention).Everyone of them has at least a couple of ways of sidling ads in under the radar.

They also figured out that getting paid by the click required more clicks, so now we have the “Top Ten Reasons You Won’t Get Laid Tonight” type of clickbait spread over eleven web pages. Sure, they could put it all on one page, but that’s bad for revenue. Both the title and the layout are designed to steal your attention for as long as possible.

Attention Thieves Turned Drug-Pushers

The rise of social media escalated this to new heights. They create an intentionally addictive system to capture and hold attention. Facebook and Twitter are the two leaders for now, with Snapchat, Instagram, and a host of others not far behind. New versions come out daily like Gab. (Disclaimer: I am an investor in Gab.)

The first means they use to addict you is the network effect. Simply put, you need to be on the platform because you may miss out if you aren’t. Network television pioneered this, but Facebook took it to a whole new level. Instead of “Who shot JR?” conversations around a water cooler, we now have constant conversations online.

Facebook has a notification feature that reinforces this, as do the other social media sites. You open a FB page and the first thing you get is a little red emblem with a number. Ever wonder why it is red? Go check your FB page. What else is red?

The second means is the near instantaneous speed of communication. Someone says something dumb, and you can correct them in a nanosecond. This is a particular problem for me. I have tendencies toward playing the part of Don Quixote, but instead of tilting at windmills, I aim for hypocrisy (others hypocrisies, mind you, not my own.) and stupidity. The end result is squandering emotion and energy into a black hole, but because the inclination of people is to seek a point of status superiority, it is addicting.

Equally addicting and for the same status-seeking reason is the effort to rebrand other people as undesirables, deplorables, or untouchables. Ostracizing a person for wrong-think is a trait that predates modernity. If you were too lazy to hunt, you weren’t going to get fed. If you wanted to upset the established order, the established order would dispatch you from the tribe. It was, and is, an effective form of control.

Social media has elevated the sayings of shibboleths to a daily ritual for a great many users. Use the term SJW? You must be Alt-right! Note that both sides have their tests. Well, make that all sides. Social media has a tendency to fracture everything into “Not my tribe” for every activity.

Ostracizing is still happening, it's still a form of bullying, and that isn't going to change any time soon.

What To Do

Television I control by paying for Netflix. No commercials. I use Pandora Plus for music. The landline is gone and the business phone is on mute. I answer my personal phone only for friends and family.

I have three ad-blockers on my web browser. If sites demand I remove them, I keep moving and close the page unless I really want their content.

I have mostly weened myself from Facebook. I’m still there but on my own terms, participating in a few groups. Some of the family is there, so I keep up with them, though daughters still, and will always, get a phone call at least once a week. I limit my time and stay task-focused.

Twitter is my demon.

My tendency to call out stupidity? I have lost hours on Twitter making points only to watch goalposts get moved. Then they invariably block me. For a little while, it was a game. How fast could I get someone to block me using purely rational arguments? That fun fades fast on that, by the way, and I gave it up.

This past week, I tried the Lincoln method to manage my Twitter-bursts. Lincoln famously would write a letter excoriating a critic. Once complete, he put it in his drawer. Days later, feeling better, he consigned it to the dustbin. Over the last week, I probably composed a dozen replies that I ended up erasing. Anne Rice, in particular, seems to have been a catalyst.

The act of writing the tweet was satisfying. The act of deletion was more so as it demonstrated that I was indeed in control.

When most people preach awareness, they talk about in the environment around you. A higher level of awareness is to see and understand how you react to that environment – and adapt your reaction to your goal. Try it. See how it works for you.