Facebook unfriend
Last night (Monday, November 28, 2011) yrs trly successfully reduced his Facebook “friends” list from about 47 down to 35.
35 is not 1,035.
Facebook is something I put up with, a little.
I keep Facebook historied on my browser, so I don’t have to log into it, but I hardly ever look at it.
It’s a royal pain to navigate, and has locked this computer.
The fact I even have a Facebook is due to a fast-one on their part.
An old friend sent me a Facebook “friend” invite, so I responded favorably.
“To respond favorably to a Facebook ‘friend’ invite, you must have a Facebook of your own.”
Okay, so be it, little knowing what I was getting into.
I therefore inadvertently set up a Facebook of my own, wide open to targeted marketing.
My friend has since dumped her Facebook, tired of the vapid comments and targeted marketing.
I’ve been tempted to dump my own, but I let it keep going because so many of my actual friends use Facebook.
But I pay little heed to it — I hardly ever fire up my news-feed.
Facebook has a word-limit.
This makes utterly no sense when you can upload videos with 89 bazilyun bits; way more than a word-post.
I never can say much to anyone.
Just “burp” and “fart” and “belch.”
Obviously critical-thinking is uncrunchable; too many words.
It seems critical-thinking has disappeared for the Facebook crowd, replaced by simple vapidities, like “congrats” and “you go girl.”
If I wrote a cogent dissertation of multiple phrases (I can), it wouldn’t get read by Facebookers.
Multiple words equals boring.
What they want is a few simple words like “congrats” and “you go girl.”
So I had only 47 “friends” in my Facebook friends list, proving I’m a pathetic loser, refused social interchange — must be my politics or something, like I’m a Democrat (Gasp!).
And out of those 47 there were only a couple I actually heard from.
Facebook was always sending me “friend” invites, none of which I responded to.
Why bother? “Friend” someone on Facebook, and never hear from them again.
Like the mysterious Al Repko (“rep-ko”), a classmate in college, who apparently got a Facebook a while ago, friended me, and I haven’t heard from him since.
Or Russell Donovan, a high-school classmate, who asked if I was who he thought I was, I responded favorably, and into the ether he disappeared.
That was almost two years ago, and I haven’t heard from him since.
I sent him a Facebook message, and no answer.
A guy I graduated college with, an actual friend, doesn’t have a Facebook, and refuses to get one.
“Just a few friends is enough,” he tells me. “I don’t need 89 bazilyun Facebook ‘friends.’”
So how does anyone “unfriend” someone, people I never hear from?
“I’ve done it before, but that was years ago.”
I fired up my Facebook tab, and studied the interface.
As usual, totally incomprehensible, accompanied by the usual weirdness of targeted marketing, my age, the fact I’m a railfan, and I like Bach and cross-country skiing.
“Home refinance,” it blared; and “Obama help for the elderly.”
At age 67 I don’t yet consider myself elderly.
Plus Amtrak and model railroading — I don’t even like model railroading.
And the usual lithesome lassies trumpeting people-searches: “I’ve been looking for you!”
I don’t touch that targeted marketing with a ten-foot pole.
Once they even had one my own pictures, stolen from this blog (or PhotoBucket, where I store ‘em).
Plus it wasn’t actually my own photograph. It was a screenshot of someone else’s photograph I’d used as illustration.
Yet since I floated it, it was my photograph.
Weird!
Nothing; I didn’t see an “unfriend” option.
“Well, I guess I gotta Google,” I said.
“Facebook unfriend,” I entered.
A hit; actually quite a few.
How many times have I used Google to figure out how to do something?
“Bring up your friend’s profile-page, click “friends,” and you get an option-menu.
Find ‘unfriend’ and click that.”
This is not how I actually did it.
If I fired up my own friend-list, I’d get the same option menu for each friend.
I didn’t have to bring up their profile-page to “unfriend” them.
So zap! 47 down to 35. At least 35 is better than my aunt in south Jersey, who has only one “friend,” my brother who set her up.
Out of that 35 I have only one “friend” who responds consistently, Paul Long of Danville, VA.
Paul and I used to work at the Messenger newspaper in Canandaigua, although I never knew him at that time.
(I retired from the Messenger over five years ago. It was the best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years. A class act.
“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
Paul was sports-editor, and I was sort of an editorial-assistant.
I send Paul a lot, probably more than I would any one else, because I can count on him to read it.
And he usually responds immediately; to everything.
So out of 35 remaining Facebook “friends,” a have only one actual “friend,” or so it seems.
35 is not 1,035.
Facebook is something I put up with, a little.
I keep Facebook historied on my browser, so I don’t have to log into it, but I hardly ever look at it.
It’s a royal pain to navigate, and has locked this computer.
The fact I even have a Facebook is due to a fast-one on their part.
An old friend sent me a Facebook “friend” invite, so I responded favorably.
“To respond favorably to a Facebook ‘friend’ invite, you must have a Facebook of your own.”
Okay, so be it, little knowing what I was getting into.
I therefore inadvertently set up a Facebook of my own, wide open to targeted marketing.
My friend has since dumped her Facebook, tired of the vapid comments and targeted marketing.
I’ve been tempted to dump my own, but I let it keep going because so many of my actual friends use Facebook.
But I pay little heed to it — I hardly ever fire up my news-feed.
Facebook has a word-limit.
This makes utterly no sense when you can upload videos with 89 bazilyun bits; way more than a word-post.
I never can say much to anyone.
Just “burp” and “fart” and “belch.”
Obviously critical-thinking is uncrunchable; too many words.
It seems critical-thinking has disappeared for the Facebook crowd, replaced by simple vapidities, like “congrats” and “you go girl.”
If I wrote a cogent dissertation of multiple phrases (I can), it wouldn’t get read by Facebookers.
Multiple words equals boring.
What they want is a few simple words like “congrats” and “you go girl.”
So I had only 47 “friends” in my Facebook friends list, proving I’m a pathetic loser, refused social interchange — must be my politics or something, like I’m a Democrat (Gasp!).
And out of those 47 there were only a couple I actually heard from.
Facebook was always sending me “friend” invites, none of which I responded to.
Why bother? “Friend” someone on Facebook, and never hear from them again.
Like the mysterious Al Repko (“rep-ko”), a classmate in college, who apparently got a Facebook a while ago, friended me, and I haven’t heard from him since.
Or Russell Donovan, a high-school classmate, who asked if I was who he thought I was, I responded favorably, and into the ether he disappeared.
That was almost two years ago, and I haven’t heard from him since.
I sent him a Facebook message, and no answer.
A guy I graduated college with, an actual friend, doesn’t have a Facebook, and refuses to get one.
“Just a few friends is enough,” he tells me. “I don’t need 89 bazilyun Facebook ‘friends.’”
So how does anyone “unfriend” someone, people I never hear from?
“I’ve done it before, but that was years ago.”
I fired up my Facebook tab, and studied the interface.
As usual, totally incomprehensible, accompanied by the usual weirdness of targeted marketing, my age, the fact I’m a railfan, and I like Bach and cross-country skiing.
“Home refinance,” it blared; and “Obama help for the elderly.”
At age 67 I don’t yet consider myself elderly.
Plus Amtrak and model railroading — I don’t even like model railroading.
And the usual lithesome lassies trumpeting people-searches: “I’ve been looking for you!”
I don’t touch that targeted marketing with a ten-foot pole.
Once they even had one my own pictures, stolen from this blog (or PhotoBucket, where I store ‘em).
Plus it wasn’t actually my own photograph. It was a screenshot of someone else’s photograph I’d used as illustration.
Yet since I floated it, it was my photograph.
Weird!
Nothing; I didn’t see an “unfriend” option.
“Well, I guess I gotta Google,” I said.
“Facebook unfriend,” I entered.
A hit; actually quite a few.
How many times have I used Google to figure out how to do something?
“Bring up your friend’s profile-page, click “friends,” and you get an option-menu.
Find ‘unfriend’ and click that.”
This is not how I actually did it.
If I fired up my own friend-list, I’d get the same option menu for each friend.
I didn’t have to bring up their profile-page to “unfriend” them.
So zap! 47 down to 35. At least 35 is better than my aunt in south Jersey, who has only one “friend,” my brother who set her up.
Out of that 35 I have only one “friend” who responds consistently, Paul Long of Danville, VA.
Paul and I used to work at the Messenger newspaper in Canandaigua, although I never knew him at that time.
(I retired from the Messenger over five years ago. It was the best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years. A class act.
“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
Paul was sports-editor, and I was sort of an editorial-assistant.
I send Paul a lot, probably more than I would any one else, because I can count on him to read it.
And he usually responds immediately; to everything.
So out of 35 remaining Facebook “friends,” a have only one actual “friend,” or so it seems.
Labels: Facebook
posted by BobbaLew at 7:08 PM
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