New Facebook Fonts

Things I post on Facebook are sometimes met with complaints from friends who don’t understand that a lot of my comments are satirical. I usually reply: “Sorry. I forgot to use the satire font.” (Cut me some slack when I say “font” instead of “typeface.”) Facebook doesn’t have a satire font. It has lots of emojis but only one font, a plain sans serif. One mean spirited complaint was a comment on what should have been a non-offensive post. I decided it was time to create some new fonts for Facebook.

 

For all of them, I used Facebook behavior as my guide. I realized that their app will automatically substitute some of these for you, whether you want them to or not. Others will be under your own control as to whether to leave the default FB font or replace it with one of your own choosing. Once you input your keyword, FB will automatically substitute for you. Of course, the satire font was first on my list.

 

Here’s an apt definition of “satire” that I found by Googling: “The use of humor, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people's stupidity or vices, particularly in the context of contemporary politics and other topical issues.” Boy, does that ever describe so many of my FB posts! I’m taking particular note of the word “exaggeration” in this definition. So FB’s new Satire Font can be any serif, 16 point, bold typeface, such as Cambria or Times.

 

A font that is sometimes confused with satire, or at least motivated by similar feelings, the new angry font should be sans serif and always bolded. When you’re angry, get right to the point, and help your reader get there, too. No getting distracted by squiggly lines at the ends of the letters. Verdana is a great choice for venting.

 

Are you planning to post on FB but you’re tuckered out? Go for the new tired FB font. Don’t overthink it. Sans serif Arial is easy to find, up near the beginning of the font alphabet. Go with whatever type size is the default in what you’re writing. It will probably be 10 or 12. You’ll want to lie down, so use the italic option.

 

Having a sad day? Just use whatever font is in front of you as you start typing. Chances are it will be serif if you’re composing on a word processor. If you’re writing on line, it will likely be sans serif. It’s OK to mix them. The sad FB font is flexible if nothing else.

 

Feeling silly? Comic sans is the perfect choice for this. Most people use it for all the wrong reasons, but silly is what it was intended for. I’m not sure if all platforms provide this option, but I believe that most do. If yours doesn’t, you’re entitled to use angry for this. Or sad. Whatever works.

 

The last FB substitution font under your own control is for when you’ve been insulted. Like the angry font, insulted is always bolded. However, it’s serif, because you want to take up as much time as possible from those who are reading your rant. It’s also a larger type size, because you want to be sure nothing gets overlooked.

 

Moving on to automatic substitution fonts, Facebook decides to take control of your posts whenever the spirit moves it. Animal Rescue Substitution Fonts are what you’ll see most often with my new Font Substitution option. Facebook will automatically substitute the faces of animals that need homes or are in danger, for the vowels in any words you type. Here are the substitutions you’ll see initially: A = cat; E = squirrel; I = rabbit; O = dog; U = raccoon. So “face” will read: “f [cat pix] c [squirrel pix]”. More animals for various consonants will likely follow.

 

The final font substitution that is under Facebook control is “Fake News”. If FB determines that your original post is not true or not correct, it will be changed to the Fake News font, aka Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire. You might see a flame coming out of one of the letters. Or FB might treat all the letters as though they’re on fire. If your system isn’t receptive to Facebook’s artsy attempts, you’ll just see a gray haze surrounding the fake news post.

 

I realize this is a lot to process in one post. If Facebook seems especially confusing in the future, don’t blame me. Blame my FB friends who didn’t know what “satire” meant.

 

Copyright 2022 Business Theatre Unlimited

 

  

A Burst of Joy on Facebook

 

There are more than a half dozen reasons why I’ve stayed on Facebook for more than a decade. But this summer it brought me unexpected new joy. I originally joined Facebook for networking for not-for-profit business reasons. I was the newly installed Executive Director of a federation of NFP agencies. Rather than risk their reputations by making mistakes or violating Facebook protocol on my initial activity, I joined under my own name.

 

Since I still use my birth name that quickly led to reconnecting with old friends who found me. I promptly learned that people share all sorts of routine information on the site. Photos of the previous night’s meal are just one popular example. Imagine my surprise when one day some friends’ postings were anything but mundane. They can best be described as providing me with unexpected bursts of joy.

 

As I scrolled through my news feed on that particular day, two photos that were not too far apart in the feed caught my attention. They were anniversary shots of friends who had each found their soul mates later in life. One couple lives in my neighborhood in Connecticut. The other is in New Jersey and is part of what I think of as my extended family. Though many couples marry in their twenties or early thirties, later marriages seem to be more and more common. My current husband and I married later in life.

 

I was gob smacked at how deliriously happy these two couples clearly are. Their obvious joy created a similar burst of joy in me, so much so that their photos brought me to the verge of tears. Of all the reasons I stay on Facebook despite the rancor that frequently erupts, photos like these are a key reason I check in at least once a day to see what’s going on in the Facebook world.

 

My husband and I never had children with either of our marriages. Photos of adorable grandchildren are among the most frequent postings on Facebook and another top reason I log in. I claim that I live vicariously through the offspring of others. I used to get that only with holiday cards that had the latest family photos. Now I get them all the time online. Shots of family pets, also popular, easily catch my attention, too, especially cats that were adopted from shelters. Those of my friends who don’t have their own offspring are almost guaranteed to have pets that might as well be human. Their photos are in fierce competition for likes and shares with those of toddlers, preteens and teenagers. Ditto for accounts of their birthday celebrations.

 

Speaking of those celebrations, one of Facebook’s features is providing daily reminders of friends’ birthdays. I usually post a short greeting on their feed, even if I don’t know them well. I consider it a friendly thing to do and most of them seem pleased and acknowledge the greetings.

 

Someone who found me early on was my best friend from our New Jersey grammar school. We went our separate ways in high school. Not because we had a falling out. We just had different interests and followed different paths. For example, I joined the band; she joined the rifle club. We were coming up on our 50^th high school reunion and we wound up working together to spearhead our events, even though I now live in Connecticut. Previously, Facebook had also been useful for planning my college reunions and some other activities.

 

A more pedestrian benefit of Facebook networking is finding people and services for various needs. I’ve obtained recommendations for cleaning services that way. Other folks’ searches have turned up dog walkers. My own most recent request was for a wagon to help transport my saxophone, folding chair and music stand from a parking lot to an outdoor band shell for weekly practice.

 

Bursts of joy on seeing special anniversary photos. Pictures of new grandchildren. Shots of cuddly family pets. Those are some of the things that keep me on Facebook. Let’s hear it for vicarious pleasures!

 

 

Copyright 2021 Business Theatre Unlimited

Things That Are Scarier Than the Election

Like many Americans, I find the discussions surrounding the upcoming presidential election distressing. The prospect of who might win in November is a major source of anxiety for me. In hopes of making this blog less political, I won’t say which person alarms me the most, but you can probably guess.

Some people cope with their fears by going to a shrink, but that’s not an option for me. Those professionals are inundated with new clients; plus I’m on a fixed income. I’ve been considering other ways to address this problem. I’ve come up with a surefire way to stop worrying about who will be our next president. I’m gathering ideas that are even scarier than the possible (or—bite my tongue—probable) election results.

I considered fear of an economic meltdown and spiraling health care costs, but they cause me only mild agita. Besides, those are either cyclical, or their trajectory can be altered with committed changes in policy.  The explosive growth of bulletproof clothing and backpacks aren’t personally relevant for me. If I want to block out the election process, I need to focus on worries that will be irreversible and that hit me directly.

The first one that came to mind that met that criterion is our environment. And by “our” I mean the world’s. The consequences of climate change are just one aspect of what gives me a knot in my stomach. The arctic permafrost is thawing and there’s no return from that. There’s also air pollution, water contamination and the destruction of habitats for endangered species. Denial of global warming is just the tip of the environmental destruction iceberg. The rollback of regulations that were put into place to protect our world is making the prospects for our future even scarier. This is definitely something to keep me awake at night.

Here’s something else to keep me up: fake news. I’m not talking about the countless lies that are promulgated on Facebook and certain cable channels. I’m terrified about the direction that improved technology is taking us. Video editing capabilities are advancing rapidly. They will soon reach the point where even the most experienced techies will not be able to determine if a piece of taped footage has been altered.

I’m not talking about those ham-fisted memes any of us can tell have been doctored. In the future, even the experts won’t be able to detect fake pieces. That means one party to an argument will be able to put someone’s face on someone else’s body. They’ll be able to cobble together audio of a person’s voice to say things they never uttered in reality. This scares me even more than 1984’s Big Brother. Simply put, none of us will know what news is true and what’s fake.

If I reach the point where I’m inured to threats to our environment (unlikely) and to fabricated reality (a distinct possibility), there will always be mega companies like Amazon, Google and Facebook to set off my alarm bells. Some folks would include Apple on this list, but I’m a die-hard Mac user, so Apple doesn’t bother me. These giants are controlling more and more of our daily lives. From the products we use and consume to the information to which we’re exposed, a handful of Goliaths are spreading their tentacles ever deeper into our existence.

They’re increasingly forcing mom and pop operations out of business; not just brick and mortar stores, but also smaller on-line companies. Why “shop small” if you can get it cheaper on Amazon, and delivered quickly, at that? And you can’t easily buy from a local supplier if you can’t find them when you search using a monopolistic engine.

The end point of this control is that eventually we could all be doing the equivalent of driving black Ford Model-T’s in many aspects of our lives. Trading choice for convenience. And we won’t even realize it’s happening until it’s too late. Trivia note: from 1914 through 1925, the only color the Model T came in was black. If Facebook continues to expand, we may be unable to escape the manipulation of our social media lives as well. Scary prospects indeed.

So here are three trends that could easily paralyze me if I contemplate them too much. Their one redeeming quality is that they keep me from stressing over the upcoming presidential election. Right now that’s a swap I’m willing to accept. Feel free to make suggestions for other scary thoughts for me to consider. November is a long way away.

Copyright 2020 Business Theatre Unlimited

The High Road Is Not Easy

My Facebook friends have been posting some extremely funny comments about the upcoming Presidential election. I’ve sworn off sharing my own opinions on this on Facebook. Too many friends of a different political persuasion have added snarky remarks to my posts.

I recently made the following comment on a political cartoon on someone else’s page.

Oh snap. Glad I had deadlines the last few days and have been taking a break from CNN. Trying to stay on the high road is like having to pee something fierce, but there’s no bathroom nearby, and you’re forced to walk around with your knees pressed tightly together.

After I read what I wrote, I thought: There is definitely a blog post in this. Here then are some other things that staying on the high road is akin to.

It’s like going to confession as a teenager and telling the priest that your sin was that you lied to your parents. Meanwhile, you know you should really confess to what you and Buzzy were doing in the back seat of his car last weekend. But you also know that if you share that, there will be hell to pay. So the guilt is killing you.

Taking the high road is like going to a wine tasting when you’re the designated driver. You can have just a tiny sip of a few of the offerings. Meanwhile your friends are flying high on the Barolo, the Brunello and the Prosecco. You’re following the waiters around the room, eating as many canapés as you can grab off their trays, but you’re still bitter and resentful. Everyone else is having a great time and you… well, you’re committed to taking the dry road.

It’s like finding the quintessential pastry café in Vienna. Your tongue is literally hanging out as your mouth waters over the elegant sweets. Your traveling companions have plates full of the little morsels. You order just herbal tea, because you’ve promised your GP you will not put on one additional ounce during this trip. You’ll keep to 1100 calories a day, pushing toward your goal of losing another ten pounds.

Women who work in Manhattan will appreciate this high-road metaphor. You’re forced to wear five-inch heels every day so you look professional and have more height. What you long for is ballet flats. They’re so much more comfortable. But no; flats are not an option, because you’ve chosen a career on the high-heel road.

The cover story of a recent issue of Time magazine brought to my attention a reason why taking the high road is especially challenging. Those who treasure a well-turned phrase have dozens of zingers careening around in their brain, but on their restricted path, they can’t use any of them. I was particularly inspired by some of late-night-TV comedian Samantha Bee’s bon mots. (She has her own TBS show, Full Frontal.) Because I’m on that high road, I can’t tell you who her target was. You’ll just have to guess.

Remember: I’m not saying these things. “People” are saying them. OK. Not “people;” Samantha Bee. Here are three of her more imaginative aphorisms: “tangerine-tinted trash-can fire,” “screaming carrot demon” and “America’s burst appendix.”

Speaking of bursting, my brain is about to explode. It’s so full of colorful descriptions I’d love to hurl at someone who shall remain nameless. It’s a cruel world. And it’s even crueler up here on that high road.

Retirement Tools — Senior Spreadsheets

A recent Facebook exposé features a young man who keeps a spreadsheet on women he meets thru Match.com. He rates their appearance and other qualities, and comments on the dates. The guy told one of his matches about the sheet and—no doubt feigning serious interest—she asked to see it. He sent it to her and she posted it on Facebook. You can imagine how things went from there.

I understand the kerfuffle over his stupidity in sharing the document, but the fact that he has it makes perfect sense to me. I consider myself the queen of spreadsheets. There isn’t a job that can’t be made easier thru using one. At least half the aliases (shortcuts, to PCers) on my desktop are Excel files and they’re revisited almost daily. As part of my retirement planning, I created several spreadsheets to help smooth the way.

Some of you think I must be obsessive-compulsive to be waxing poetic about this tool. Or else that I’m getting nerdier in my retirement cocoon. Not so. That is to say, I may be getting nerdier, but that has nothing to do with my obsession. Spreadsheets are all around us, but most of us take them for granted.

Consider the spice cabinet that used to be on my kitchen wall. (My stager took it down when the house went on the market.) There’s a spreadsheet on its door. The column headings are meal categories and the rows are herbs and spices. Where they intersect shows what spice goes with a given meal. Under Fish-Game-Poultry, you’ll find that caraway works well in tuna casserole, whereas cinnamon goes with boiled fish. Neither of which do I fancy, but good to know if ever I have to gum my food.

Not convinced? Look at one of your vitamin bottles. Unless it’s a supplement sold only thru TV ads that air in the dead of night, it has a label with a three-column spreadsheet. The first is the vitamin name, the second is the amount per tablet and the third is the percent of daily requirement (RDA).

Spreadsheets are great for organizing large amounts of information into easy-to-read charts. But their real strength is in performing repetitive calculations. Some sheets come already populated with formulas and you just plug in the data.

I prefer to create my own, like my daily journal. It has categories for every expense and it keeps track of the average per month. This data in turn is fed into my retirement planning spreadsheet. It helps me figure out whether I can afford to buy more wine.

I also have a sheet that tells me a fair price for my house. I update that regularly, since the housing market still seems to be going down the toilet. It gives me prices per square foot and also as a percent of the assessed value. The trends are not encouraging. This spreadsheet generates the amount I’ll have available to put into a condo in Vermont. Naturally, that means I have a similar sheet on what condos are going for up there. None of this helps me sell the house, but it sure keeps me busy.

I’ve also been kept busy creating spreadsheets for seniors and retirees. A particularly useful one helps those who are colorblind or sartorially challenged put together outfits that won’t get them into trouble with the fashion police. Wondering if you should wear that checked jacket with those plaid pants? If there’s no “X” in the cell where the row and column intersect (and there won’t be), don’t do it!

Then there’s the game of Clue chart. If your memory is no longer up to Clue’s challenge, use this to keep track of what cards others are holding. The players’ names go down the left. The potential culprits, locations and weapons go across the top. When you figure out who has Colonel Mustard, put a check in that square by the player’s name. Eventually, you’ll have just one empty square for each clue. If you feel this is cheating, just think of it as leveling the memory playing field.

There are so many other uses for spreadsheets, like keeping track of how many calories are burned by each minute of each type of exercise you do. Not into exercise? I’m sure you’ll think of something worth charting, but be sure to keep yours to yourself.

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want my wine consumption chart plastered on Facebook. What if I want to run for president of our condo association when we downsize? Which, if it finally happens, will raise the question: what should I do with all my spreadsheets? I haven’t got a clue, and I doubt Miss Scarlett does, either.