Corporate controlled social media

Leading up the election, I felt I was participating in too many things that go against my values, which ultimately go against my spirit and what makes me, me.

I try to be a careful voter, studying the ballot and voting my conscience.  It took me weeks to vote this year’s ballot.  If I wasn’t sure about something, I’d leave it blank to come back to it several days later after more research or mulling it over.

The vote for president was one I left blank for a long time. It was not because I was sitting on the fence.  I hated both candidates.  I kept wondering, “Is this the best our country can do?”  I have many liberal friends and according to them I should be voting for Clinton to keep Trump from winning.  But I couldn’t do that. I can’t vote for someone I don’t like and I can’t vote for a reality TV star. I was so fatigued from going against my conscience, I decided I needed a change.

One of those changes was leaving Facebook.  Every time I logged in, I felt I was participating in something that was similar to selling my soul. Very much like voting for someone I don’t like.

 

 

I left Facebook right after the election. Not that I was ever really there (for example I never installed the Facebook app on my phone).  But it didn’t really boil down to blaming my friends.  Yes, I blame them for (re-)posting so much propaganda, without checking the facts, just for the purpose of inflaming the other side. But the big blame goes to the Facebook corporation itself.

There are three (ok, four… no, five… wait, six… ugh, seven…) things that just infuriate me about Facebook.

The biggest thing I hate about Facebook is there is no transparency about the algorithm used to decide which posts to show in the news feed.  Over the years there are have been articles detailing psychological experiments that Facebook allowed researchers conduct on the unknowing user base. I’ve noticed certain things I’ve posted are effectively censored.  After a while I began to sense, even before I would post something, whether it would get censored or not. I’ve asked friends, “Did you see the thing I posted about…” and the answer was “no”. Along the same lines, the posts that interested me the most were buried in my newsfeed. That might have been intentional to get me to spend more time on Facebook digging for those nuggets.

Only short and sweet posts make it through to people. This very effectively dumbs everything down to expressing ideas or thoughts in two quick sentences. No different than what our mainstream media has become: inflammatory or sensational headlines and sound bites. No wonder everything has becomes so polarized.  No wonder this election was the ugliest and most unpleasant I’ve ever experienced.

Many things that my friends would repost were from non-reputable URLs, which would look like a news site, but wouldn’t contain anything factual.  Clickbait. Here’s an article about the “filter bubble” where Facebook only shows people what they want to see and how it influences things, Bursting the Facebook bubble.  I’m surprised at the number of people who only get their news through social media.

In the 1990’s and 2000’s, I would get a lot of forwarded emails from friends, which had been forwarded to them from their friends, etc.  These emails were often hoaxes, which gave birth to the hoax busting website Snopes. These messages had a life of their own, sometimes resurfacing years later.  Facebook is essentially the same thing, sharing stuff that may or may not have any factual basis. It’s a very low level of quality.

The final nail in the Facebook coffin was they kept locking me out of my account because I’d clear the cookies from my browser.  Having designed a number of websites, I know a few things about website security. But Facebook had some really bizarre ways of verifying my identity to restore my access to the site.  The primary one was I had to identify friends in various photos. But the photos they’d show me were probably photos their own facial recognition algorithm needed help with, like baby photos, or when a friend was wearing makeup for Mardi Gras or Halloween.  It was just ridiculous.  You’d think that 3 photos would be good enough, because anybody who was actually hacking my account wouldn’t be able to get that far, but no, it was 5 to 7. When my bank thinks there is something suspicious, they just send an email to my registered email address with a code or they ask a security question.  Much less creepy, a lot more transparent and simple.

Leaving Facebook feels like an amputation, because for a certain core group of friends, this is the only way we keep in touch.  I hope to replace it with spending more time with my friends in person or more direct ways of electronic communication.

 

Mountain Folks

Some friends took me to a concert last night in Denver (Ghost, which is probably described as death metal or death pop) and by the time I got back up to my home in the mountains, it was well after midnight.

This morning I decided to go to the Sundance Cafe for breakfast. I rarely go out for breakfast, but when I do, it makes the day special.

Even though I didn’t know anyone, when I looked around the restaurant I saw mostly locals. I’m not sure how I can tell. Maybe it’s the practical clothing and the lack of style. I think it’s the winters that make us that way, where all the trappings of the city are put aside for survival. In January, when the winds are howling, I just stop caring about style and wear whatever will keep me warm and dry.  I remember one night my first winter up here, I was startled when getting out of my car to go into the house. The wind was carving the snow into a moonscape and it was bitter cold. The cold was now serious business.

And the couple sitting at the next table somehow knew I was a local, too, because they struck up a conversation with me of local topic. All of the other conversations I overheard were about local topics as well. Perhaps it’s just because the locals know if you’re going to eat out on a weekend, breakfast is the only option before the hordes of tourists drive up from Denver.  By lunch time, the cafe will be packed and with a waiting list.

Even though I’m not very active in the local community, I am still part of it.

 

Fall foliage on the ground, Yankee Doodle Lake.

Fall foliage on the ground, Yankee Doodle Lake.

N160JN, Part II

Pilot, Michael “Myke” Henry Baar, 1942 – 1971.

 

Five years ago I hiked to the remaining wreckage of a airplane which had crashed December, 1971, in the Indian Peaks Wilderness. I subsequently wrote about it here in my blog. Earlier this spring, I was contacted by Suzy Holloran, the wife of the pilot who had died in the crash. Her 12 year-old grandson found my post while researching their family history. Suzy was surprised to learn that any wreckage of the plane still existed.  Back then, she had given permission to a salvage company to take the airplane. It appears they only took the stuff of high value, such as the instrumentation, radios, etc.

Suzy had asked me for the location and route to the crash, so that she, her husband, Mike Holloran, and her grown kids could go visit the site. I still had all of the GPS information saved of my hike to the plane five years earlier, which I passed along to Suzy, as well as an offer to take them to the site.  They took me up on that offer.

I met them at a nearby campground for dinner the day before our planned hike to the airplane.  A small anxiety had been building in me for weeks prior. Mostly it was fear of the unknown and unanswered questions like: were they going to be in good physical shape to do this hike?  Could they take responsibility for themselves? Were they going to blame me if someone got injured? Was I opening myself to liability?  Were they political or religious zealots? Did they wear flip-flops on long hikes? (This is an inside joke.)

My fears were quickly dispelled upon meeting them. They were welcoming, warm, gracious, fit and fun.  I would be joining nine on the hike: Suzy and Mike (both 72), and their grown children, Matt, Katie (and husband Damon), Michael, Greg, and Becky. (Note there are 3 “mikes” in this story:  Myke, pilot, Mike, Suzy’s husband, and Michael, son.) Also with us was Ron Baar, Myke’s younger brother.

When I left at the end of dinner and after the campfire, I was totally at ease and felt the the next day’s hike would go off without a hitch.

They picked me up bright and early and we caravaned to the trailhead. Suzy, who had physically trained for the hike, was full of energy and set off up the trail with all of us following. I had done several long hikes in the weeks prior to prepare, so I was confident I would be able to make it to the plane. Plus I had a better idea of the route after the hike 5 years ago, so it was going to be easier.

(All photos are clickable for larger versions.)

Mike and Suzy Holloran

Mike and Suzy Holloran next to Boulder Creek.

The mood of the hike was light and everyone was catching up after not seeing each other for a while.  Initially the weather was great.

Stopping to admire the views.

Stopping to catch our breath in the thin air and admire the views.

The flowers were gorgeous (after a dull season at slightly lower elevations) and the views spectacular.

Matt takes a photo of some Ptarmigan.

Matt takes a photo of some Ptarmigan.

 

Star Gentian

Star Gentian, one of the many species of flowers we saw.

 

It was a bit challenging as we approached the last rise. Five years ago there was more snow and in many ways it made it easier then. Now it was negotiating large ridges of rocks and boulders. I think it took a lot out of everybody.

Coming over the rocks and boulders. (Click for larger.)

Coming over the rocks and boulders. (Click for larger.)

We were a little spread out as we came over the last rise to view the lake and the airplane just beyond it. I felt an emotional weight upon seeing it.  I continued on, looking for the best route around the lake. Suzy was about 100 yards behind on the rise. I noticed she had stopped there with a couple of the others.  I’m sure it was an emotional moment for her.

Once past the lake, Suzy and the rest of the family approached the wreckage tentatively.  Some clouds had moved in and the wind picked up. Soon we were being splattered with snow pellets, which is not uncommon at this elevation (11,600 feet).

Approaching the wreckage.

Approaching the wreckage, with Suzy at the front.

Suzy rested her hands on the fuselage and recounted how she had sat in this seat with with her kids who were still babies at the time.  After the crash, she told of how a doctor was lowered by helicopter to save Myke, but he had already perished.  She was pregnant with their third child, who was born a week after the crash. I can’t imagine the emotional roller coaster she was enduring at the time.

Suzy had a simple plaque made and Matt and Michael affixed it to the fuselage. Ron is a firefighter and affixed a “Smokey The Bear” pin to the seat of the airplane.

After a while, reflecting the mood, the weather lightened and the sun came out. As I chatted with Suzy about another hiker who had found Myke’s wristwatch and sent it to her, her sons were analyzing the crash site trying to reconstruct in their minds what had happened.

Rear: Damon, Katie, Ron, Greg, Suzy, Mike, and Michael. Front: Matt and Becky.

Rear: Damon, Katie, Ron, Greg, Suzy, Mike, and Michael. Front: Matt and Becky.

We began the trek away from the inhospitable exposed rocks and back down into the tundra, flowers, forest, and eventually the trailhead. It was a nine hour hike, but all ten of us made it to the plane and back. It will be an unforgettable experience for the family and myself.  As Mike said at the end of the hike, “It was much bigger than I expected, big hike and big emotionally”.

PlaneHike-1185

Myke Baar was 29 years old, a first officer for United Airlines, a flight instructor, with 4200 hours of flying time.