Originally published on Facebook on 16 January 2015.

“Unfollowing” is different than “Blocking.” Blocking means that I want nothing to do with you at all. Unfollowing means that while I don’t mind you participating in discussions on my wall, or seeing your contributions to discussions I have elsewhere, I don’t particularly need to see your status updates.

Unfollowing is a simple process that you can do gradually, by clicking on the less-than-compelling messages you find on your feed. It can be amazing how quickly it results in a feed becoming more compelling.

If I don’t know you personally, or by reputation, and I can’t remember the last time you said something interesting, I unfollow you.

I unfollow people who post daily updates of what they ate (or cooked).

I unfollow people who excitedly catalogue their daily grocery haul.

I long ago unfollowed a couple of people who were daily overwrought over the dogs and cats on death row, at the pound, and who daily filled my feed with photo after photo of adorable creatures who only I could save by making a call RIGHT NOW; I sympathize, but I am full up and the photos are only bummers.

I unfollow the guy who posts daily tributes to his weaponry.

I may still be your friend if you post idiot conspiracy theories, like the guy I respect artistically who wants me to know that Obama is a communist: but I don’t need to listen to that shit. Unfollow.

I unfollow people who post daily pleas for sympathy. I give this more patience than I give some others, especially for folks with genuine problems, folks actually suffering a recent tragedy. However, if I get months of “I’m about to be thrown out of my house!” on end, I unfollow you.

I unfollow writers who turn every topic into an excuse to trumpet their own accompIishments, real or (as has happened in the case of at least two fabulists I can name), imaginary…sometimes to the point of outright impossibility.

I unfollow you if you’re a struggling writer who has gone straight to e-book who has on numerous occasions slammed the New York Publishing Industry for being unable to see your genius, and who goes on to slam every writer who gets paid for being part of the conspiracy, even if some of them have tried, at length, to explain things to you. I unfollowed the guy like this who wanted me to know that he knew more about publishing than I did.

I unfollow people whose observations are platitudes.

I unfollow the daily upbeat affirmation.

I unfollow folks who can **only** rehash pop culture complaints.

The converse of unfollowing people who can only rant about their pop culture obsessions is unfollowing those who will only be satisfied with me agreeing that they’re right and that the things I like suck. This is different from actual debate over likes and dislikes, which I enjoy. This is a manifestation of obsession, and it’s worth saying that on at a couple of occasions, this is the same thing as the guy who’s the victim of the publishing conspiracy. If you will only be satisfied with me ripping entire sections of my childhood out of my skull and spitting on them, then you are not worth my time.

I unfollow pigs and racists.

I unfollow people whose only agenda is declaring their hatred for friends of mine. (You don’t have to LIKE my friends and you can even mouth off about them; if it becomes your daily go-to, I bail.)

I unfollow dead people to avoid getting ghost notifications.

That’s a good start.

These are two things I don’t unfollow but find amusing:

The folks, usually elderly, who don’t quite get the Facebook thing and have a wall that is entirely made up of what are clearly attempts to google something. (“Chinese Restaurants near 10804”; “Mapquest routes to New Hampshire”).

My mother-in-law has a facebook wall entirely made up of several repetitions of the word “Nothing,” thanks to her answering the status prompt, “So what are you thinking about today?” on the several visits she made before she decided it was pointless.

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