My Facebook Adventure

Having been informed that to have any sort of writing presence, I had to be on social media, I reluctantly gave in. I realized that without a Facebook page, I would not even be able to bury my memoir in a sewer, much less sell it via an agent or publisher.

The last time I had a Facebook account was when my son created one for me on my birthday some well over a decade ago. In doing so, he informed the world (incorrectly) that I was 40 years old, that my favorite band was the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and that I collected Barbie heads. I think I acquired 2 friends. I regret now never developing that page and therefore acquiring the needed social media skills, that is to say, learning the art of confabulation.

Eventually my Facebook page sank into the sea like a downed schooner of yesteryear, the water washing over it for decades finally erasing every trace. Getting a new one turned out to be not so much fun. I hired a young, tech-savvy helper to kick-start my media profile. The idea was that he would build my social media presence and connect me with a like-minded community who might also be interested readers.

The first thing that happened was that I got banned. Don’t ask me why. It probably had something to do with my helper pulling the strings the whole way, i.e. signing in after I did. Also I had to make a video of myself, which no doubt involved sending my image to China, where they had a special school teaching social media companies how to detect dangerous people who must be banned.

After the second-try repeat ban, I got banned forever.

Now my helper had to figure out how to get around the banning. I would have to create a new identity. After several rounds, and because of my bad mood, I decided to call myself Debbie Downer. But really, would I want to haunt the internet as Debbie Downer, spreading misery? No! So I settled on Debbie Upper. I am now: Hi Debbie! I sort of regret that too. I think there was a shocking article written half a century ago about a nurse who helped a terminally ill patient hasten his death by upping his opioid dose. Her name, otherwise anonymous, was Debbie. Hi Debbie! Egad, why can’t I just be Caroline? Caroline is like one of those really kind nurses with a starched white cap taking care of wounded soldiers in World War I.

But back to my Facebook registration ordeal. A big problem in creating a new fake account as Debbie Upper was the video. For my first failed attempts, I had to succumb to a video profile: lifting my head up, to the sides, down towards the ground. I had done this several times before, and each time my attempt to join was torpedoed. So now, as Debbie Upper, which actually worked to put me in a more optimistic mood, I prepared to disguise myself in the video by placing ping-pong balls in my cheeks. Surely the algorithm wouldn’t flag me as Debbie Upper, the Chipmunk. Somehow–I have no idea how–in this last-ditch attempt as Debbie Upper, Facebook didn’t flag me. I was in.

Now all I have to do is ask my son to list my favorite music and actors (none of which I’d ever heard of before, like the Feminist Urge—I like the name though) Wish me luck! Yours sincerely, Debbie Upper.