Loss.

Let's make one thing clear, Instagram is not important. Except for when it is, specifically when you're (me) doing important work on it everyday. Every single day, you (me) pour your blood, sweat and tears into what....I dunno, what filter you're going to put on that photo that you snapped or the caption that really ties it all together (Instagram is a writer's medium and if you don't believe me then them's fighting words, pardner). It's a rigorous process that I don't think any of us take lightly.

 That's why it hurts when you lose a follower, or multiple. And I know what you're thinking, "surely this hasn't happened to Sam. The content he provides, daily(!) is the cornerstone to my day. Some people say 'don't even talk to me till I've had my morning cup of coffee,' well I'd say 'don't even talk to me till I've seen Sam's gram.' And I mean it." I can't blame you from having that thought, it's like you took it right from the horse's mouth, or rather from my brain. But as some of you know, I've got a pretty good grasp on how many followers I have at, essentially, any given moment. Right now it's at 183 (but we're always looking for more). Why do I do I keep a warden like gaze on an arbitrary number that doesn't matter? Because I don't hide up in some ivory tower like someone who's lost a grip on the world; I like to remember who I walk amongst and vice versa.

Now I'm a humble man (as seen above with that header image), void of bragging and name dropping, but if the subject of Instagram comes up while we're making small talk, or even big talk it'd be hard not to hear about one of my claims to fame on that ol' site. But alas, and this is a big blow, I can no longer stick to that claim to fame. It's been about a week since my follower number took its biggest hit in years. Was there a mass exodus? That certainly depends on what you'd classify as "mass." While in a numeric sense it was "just one follower" (that's you talking, not me) this was probably my most important follower: Alex Pappademas.

Do I know Alex Pappademas? No, I can whole-heatedly say I do not and unfortunately might never know him personally. It'd probably be weird if we ever cross paths, as I'm not prone to keeping my fullest composure when I'm around people who I respect on the tier of greatness I've placed him (full disclosure: he's one of my favorite writers and ever since Grantland died, it's been painful not having his takes on the going-ons of the pop-culture world). And let's not confuse this as not being weird, because it totally is. Really, I shouldn't be writing this, but the idea came to me when I was trying to fall asleep last night and I can't get it out of my brain; I probably shouldn't be writing a lot of things, but I'm doing it anyway!

I also don't want this to look like a plea to get him back to following me on that garbage/important/unimportant social media platform. I'm not desperate, honest. Though should he feel so compelled to do so, no judgement or shade will be thrown his way (because in all actuality, I am desperate-I've written over 500 words here so far, which is medically proven to be desperate, probably).

And while my content continues to soar, as we just wrapped up #NoFoodNovember and are making steady headway into #DeckTheHallsDecember I have to wonder if my antics are starting to infringe on uninteresting. Maybe it's not Instagram that isn't important, but the content I'm putting out?




No. I don't think so either.
And this is in no way, shape or form me trying to shame or blast Alex Pappadeams, frankly I'm surprised he stuck with my nonsense for as long as he did. I've never met him and he lasted longer than people I actually talk to on a semi-regular basis. And I'm incredibly flattered by that, if anything it kept me going; likes aren't important (except that they are) and while I value each and every one of yours, I knew I had put out a legitimately good thing whenever I saw a notification pop up on my phone reading "pappademas liked your photo." But, unfortunately, those days are long gone. But it's not about the destination, it's about the journey. I should know, I'm reading Lord Of The Rings for the first time (shouts to Tom Bombadil and his worthless chapter).

Just a li'l taste-yuh welcome

So when the new year comes around and we're past this month's trend that is sweeping the nation (#DeckTheHallsDecember) I hope I've fully recovered from this. As of now I've found myself listening to a lot of Bowie and The Velvet Underground/Lou Reed, because it's like they're the only ones that understand my troubles ("Satellite's gone" is taking a whole new meaning, friends). But it's okay, because I'm slowly transitioning into a Yo La Tengo run as well as a Prince one (though that will most likely take place post-Christmas) and I think that'll be good for me. Don't worry everyone, it's all gonna be okay. Thank you for reading nearly nine hundred garbage words about nothing, and also don't hesitate to throw a follow my way. Not that I'm desperate for those sorts of things. Unless your name is Alex Pappademas, in which case I am very desperate for it.