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” someone, somewhere, is shouting over the din that passes for conversation at Applebees.“I’m trying to find some Ke$ha GIFs.” While the world swarms around what’s trending, I’ll be talking to a neighbor on the front porch, playing cribbage and chuckling with righteous pleasure, and no one will know about it.Television, smart phones, the Internet itself—there are many contributing factors to the adverse effects of the phenomenon I am calling “social media.” But it is that makes the Internet sizzle with the illusion of life. From the moment he was born I have been possessed by an impulse to photograph him with my i Phone. I want him to grow up in a home that is a safe haven, not a stage. We are in flight from the sacrament of the present moment, and we are using social media as the vehicle for that flight.The comment boxes and share buttons are what turn the screen into a simulacrum of the barbershops of yore. To conform to its methods of relating to people, its conventions and systems, is to risk deforming the face of Christ in our neighbor. After years of embroiled use, a bad break up, a nasty spat, a vague feeling of listlessness, another Luddite throws up his hands and renounces social media with—of all things—a tweet or a Facebook status: “Friends, I’m deactivating my account in a week. Email me instead.” A handful of friends say he’ll be missed, though most of us aren’t exactly complaining. No one is surprised to see him back in a month or two with a new profile picture—the one where it looks like he cropped himself out of a selfie with his college girlfriend at a dance—and a new habit of punctuating his soliloquies with fruit emojis. Deleting your Twitter could become the new normcore (wearing “normal” clothing to blend in with the crowd).After the eleventh picture of what he ate for breakfast, we discreetly hit the “unfollow” button and consider quitting Facebook altogether—but wait, isn’t that trending? Deactivating your Instragram could become the new moonwalk—you know, that gliding motion that makes the dancer appear to be moving forward when in fact he is moving backward.—as you choose which filter to use on Instagram and write a caption with your index finger: “My little princess.” All this storytelling needs more story, and a lot less telling. The bodily of social media is hunched, cross-eyed, trifling, reptilian.

The human form engaged in social media is a bent, fastidious, anxious thing.Taken as a whole, over the ten years I’ve had a Facebook account, these minutes have turned into twenty-four hour days, seven-day weeks.Yet for all the pokes and likes and comments, I don’t have a single story worth telling. I am literally no longer in the room with my happy boy. I thrust the toy block at him and coax just one more grin for the camera. I think of a clever hashtag, and “share.” It took only a minute or two, but my desire to capture the moment ruined the moment. Mixing social media with daily life diminishes daily life.Somewhere a child is pulling her mom’s hand in the condiments aisle: “Just a sec, sweetie.I’m trying to compose a tweet.” “Can you give me a few minutes?Like grandma’s tawdry jewelry, the medium solicits a servile display of exaggerated flattery or affection that is—literally! For years, I have tried to connect with distant relatives and friends through status updates, throwing intimate details of my life (the pie I baked, the smile of my newborn son, my wife’s new glasses) into the void. She’ll definitely “like.” The librarian I e-mailed to sort out my fines? After years of scanning my newsfeed, let me tell you: no emoticon can express the raw pulse of deactivating your Facebook account.