Make Facebook Fun Again

In the past two years, I have learned an awful lot about myself.

I have learned that my opinions are ignorant and stupid. If I do not support a certain agenda, I have no class and no morals.

I have learned that I am not worthy of associating with certain people because my beliefs are not exactly like their own.

I have learned that I am un-American because I criticize my government.  And I thought that the First Amendment guaranteed my right to speak out against those in power. Silly me.

And I have learned all of this courtesy of my Facebook "friends."

This is not to say that everyone on my list of Facebook associates engages in these mind-boggling behaviors.  In fact, it is only a small percentage.  But it seems as though the posts from this small group were the ones appearing in my newsfeed most frequently.

I can't figure out what inspires so-called intelligent people to behave in this manner.  I have decided that they either: A) Have a pathological need for attention; or B) are so insecure in their own beliefs that they need to denigrate the opinions of others to prove their superiority.  I suspect it is the latter.  Playground bullies behave in the exact same manner.

It would certainly be easy to unfriend these people.  But I do not want to do that for two reasons.  First of all, everyone is entitled to their opinion.  If I were to block them based solely on the fact that I do not agree with their political opinions, I am behaving no better than they are.

Secondly, I friended these people in the first place because I genuinely like them.  I do not accept friend requests simply because having 1,200 friends would look impressive.  I have nowhere near that number.  If you and I connect on social media, it is because I admire you as a person.  You are here because I know you, and I like you.

You're welcome.

I might not like their approach to politics, but these people may be an animal lover and are staunch supporters of prosecuting animal abusers.  Perhaps they are great cooks and post terrific recipes.  Or they may be family, whom I have to like.

All kidding aside, I want to see the good things that these people post without having to be insulted on a daily basis.  Fortunately, Facebook has a way to make this possible.

Therefore I am initiating a campaign to Make Facebook Fun Again.  And you can do it in a few simple steps.

I began to notice that most of these insults start flying when they share posts from other sites. There is little you can do about a general rant, but if it results mainly from obnoxious posts they share from others, you can keep them from appearing on your wall.

Say one of your friends posts something on their wall claiming that Obama's Kenyan birth certificate is hidden in the basement of a Washington, DC pizza parlor that is a cover for a sex ring run by Stormy Daniels and Rush Limbaugh.   And if you don't believe Obama is really a Kenyan operative placed in the White House as a Manchurian candidate by Al Qaeda, you are a communist and (the ultimate insult) A LIBERAL who will soon be indicted for hiding Hillary's missing emails, which you apparently shredded in the said pizza parlor and disposed of by passing them off as a mozzarella cheese substitute.  And by the way, you're stupid.

At the top of this friendly little post, there will be something like this: "Joe Schmo shared a post from Americans Standing Too Close To Microwaves and Losing Brain Cells." To the right of this, you will see three little dots.

By clicking on these three little dots, Facebook gives you several options.  You can save or hide this particular post.  You can snooze Americans Standing Too Close to Microwaves or snooze Joe Schmo for 30 days.  You can unfollow Joe Schmo, or hide all from the post's originator.  By clicking on "Hide all from Americans Standing Too Close To Microwaves," you will never see a post from that particular organization again even if your friends continually share them.

By choosing the last option, you are not only saving your sanity, but you will no doubt be doing your part to cut down on the spread of misinformation by troll sites. People who tend to spread these posts are generally too busy believing in anything that backs up their own biases to bother checking for truth or accuracy. And everyone knows that pizza parlor is actually in Hoboken, NJ.

I started doing this on a regular basis, and a surprising thing happened.  My newsfeed suddenly got happy.  I started seeing posts from people who had been missing on my Facebook feed for months.  I saw more funny cat videos and fewer posts telling me what a horrible person I must be. Rather than seeing the worst of my friends, I began seeing the best of them again.

And I don't block all political posts.  I don't mind knowing that my friends support a particular candidate or political viewpoint.  But when you have to insult others to make a point, don't assume that I, or anyone else, has to put up with it. Do it often enough and you will only be preaching to an ignorant and narrow-minded party of one.

Social media should be bringing out the best in us.  Not the worst.  Consider that you are posting this to people who are supposed to be your friends.  That should mean more to you than proving the superiority of your opinion.  And trust me when I tell you that insults do not make you seem superior. They make you look petty, immature and small.

Make Facebook Fun Again, people. I miss the days when the most controversial posts I saw were kids eating Tide pods.  Let's make Facebook a better place by going back to sharing pictures of our kids, dogs and vacations ad nauseam. The world will be a better place when we can once again return to watching cats stuff themselves in tiny boxes and see Grandpa lip sync to "Gangsta's Paradise."

Spread insights into your life.  Not insults to your friends.

When Old Eyes Are Straining

It began in my late forties.  I started noticing that book publishers were putting out books with much smaller type.  Then product manufacturers began doing it with labels.  The publishers of sheet music soon followed.

For some unexplained reason, they all began using smaller print.

It was like some vast conspiracy was overtaking this country.  All of a sudden, I could not read a newspaper unless my husband held it up across the table.  Menus looked like they were all written in very tiny Chinese characters.  And the instructions on prescription bottles could not be deciphered unless you were a flea.

That is unless you put on a pair of glasses.

Seemingly overnight, I had old eyes.

One of my favorite humor writers, Dave Barry, described when he first noticed the phenomenon in his book Dave Barry Turns 50:

At first, I thought it had nothing to do with me--that for some reason, possibly to save ink, the restaurants had started printing their menus in letters the height of bacteria; all I could see was little blurs.  But for some reason, everybody else seemed to be able to read the menus.  Not wishing to draw attention to myself, I started ordering my food by simply pointing to a likely looking blur.
 
ME (pointing to a blur): I'll have this.
WAITER: You'll have "We Do Not Accept Personal Checks"?
ME: Make that medium rare.

I had worn glasses for years when I was working on my laptop.  But all of a sudden, I had to wear them to read the clock on the wall.  So I bought a pair of those reading glasses they sell in drug stores to keep in the bedroom where I do a lot of reading so that the prescription pair could remain in my home office. And the packaging on those glasses may have well included the words "Welcome to Old Age." In a very large, bold typeface.

 Then I needed a stronger prescription pair following my next eye exam. I now have a pair of reading glasses in almost every room of the house since I can no longer thread a needle without the aid of a microscope.

There is a commercial where a couple is in a restaurant trying to order off a menu.  They tell the waiter they are not ready because they forgot their reading glasses and cannot read the selections.  The waiter then proceeds to bring them menus the size of a mini-fridge. I think all restaurants should have these available.

Either that or they should keep a basket of magnifying glasses in the center of the table for their middle-aged patrons with their ever-shrinking eyesight.  Or they can go the route of book publishers, who now offer a vast selection of large-print books, and offer us large print menus.  Otherwise, we can just ask the patrons on the other side of the restaurant to hold up the menu so that we can read it.

Rather than lament my aging eyes, I try to remember all the awesome movie and literary characters who wear glasses.  Harry Potter wears them.  Andrew Garfield wore them when he played Peter Parker in The Amazing Spider-man, and he got to swing around a city on webs and use his Spidey-sense to catch bad guys.  Harold Ramis in Ghostbusters and Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting were both bespeckled when they played professors, so wearing glasses obviously means you are smart.  Then again, Peter Griffin in Family Guy also wears glasses.  So much for that argument.

I choose to believe that wearing reading glasses makes me look intelligent, distinguished and important.  After all, Superman wore them when he was Clark Kent.  But as Dave Barry points out, "He takes off his glasses and becomes Superman; you put on your reading glasses and become...Old Person"

Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot

I, like many women my age, have been riding the happy hormonal roller coaster of THE CHANGE (cue ominous music) over the past few years. What no one tells you, however, is that your family members are forced to get on the coaster with you. And there is no amount of Dramamine that will cure the motion sickness of this up and down, multi-looping, gut-wrenching ride.

To all the gentlemen who have clicked on this and are about to think, "Oh, hell, no!" and switch over to YouTube or ESPN.com, bear with me.  This applies to you, too.

Menopause is in many ways like pregnancy.  Your body temperature changes.  Your clothes don't fit.  Your moods swing more often than a pendulum.  Only you don't get a bouncing bundle of joy as a reward for surviving it.  What you do get is clothes that still don't fit, the feeling that you are constantly in a state of PMS, and family members who think you are losing your mind.

I've had symptoms for the past few years, but they came on in full force this January.  I wake up in the middle of the night throwing off blankets, then wake up again about 30 minutes later because I am freezing.  I feel like crying over mundane things, one minute, then the next go on my merry way as if nothing has happened.  Half of what is in my closet does not fit correctly.

I began doing some research and trying some herbs that seemed to work for other women.  And, not wanting my family to contact mental health professionals, I tried my best to go on as normal.  And my family played along not wanting to release the hormonal she-beast lurking just beneath the surface. Everyone tried to act as though all was well.

But the truth was they were all on my nerves.  My husband was on my nerves.  My kids were on my nerves.  Even the dog was on my nerves.  My son would come in asking what was for dinner, and I would respond with whatever was on the menu for that night.  But in the back of my mind, I was thinking, "I don't want to have dinner with you people.  I want to have dinner by myself.  In a cave on the highest peak of Mount Everest only accessible to mountain goats." And by "dinner," I meant a five-pound box of chocolates and a bottle of anything that contained the word "alcohol" in the ingredients.

We all react differently to the magical world of menopause.  Some, like myself, could often fake it.  Others not so much.  I know a woman who got into an argument with her husband when he accused her of exaggerating her symptoms.  She responded by throwing a bunch of broccoli at his head.  Of course, it was better than throwing the knife that was in her other hand at the time.

She has my sympathy.  Been there, sister.

There are plenty of books and websites with advice for those going through menopause.  But I saw very little that offered guidance for the loved ones of hormone-ravaged women like myself.  Therefore, I would like to offer the following suggestions to those who are forced along on this hot-flashing, crying-jagging, Dr.Jekyll-and-Mrs. Hyde of a journey:

• If your significant other says, "It's hot in here," don't argue with her.  Shut your pie-hole and turn down the damn thermostat.

• When she is complaining about how miserable her symptoms make her feel, do not respond with "Well, at least you're not..." then launch into a litany of your own complaints.  Your one and only safe response to this is, "Here, have a glass of wine."

• When she opens yet another gallon of ice cream do not ask her, "Do you really need that?"  Ask her if she wants a glass of wine to go with it.

• If she asks if her outfit makes her look fat or if it appears she is gaining weight, DO NOT AGREE!!! Respond with, "That damned dryer is shrinking everything again!"

• When you have absolutely no idea how to respond to her moods, complaints or quirks, return to your safety mode, which is the phrase, "Here, have a glass of wine."

The good news for all of us that go through menopause, and those loved ones who are dragged along helplessly with us, is that it does not last forever.  I am almost to the point where I can wear sweaters again.  And the desire to throw cruciferous vegetables at the heads of family members is lessening.

So, to all my friends who are in the same hot, hormonal boat, and to those who love them, I say, have faith.  This, too, shall pass.

And don't worry, ladies.  We're still hot.  It just comes in flashes now.