When switching over to Vista (I’m still wondering whether or not that was a wise move), I discovered that the default typeface was no longer New Times Roman—the one I had palled around with for so many years. It was disconcerting to see my old friend disappear from the scene. Instead, I was suddenly confronted by a new and strange looking face, staring me in the face! Who in the world had ever heard of, or seen in public, such a thing as “Calibri (bold)?” Whatever possessed a person, with such a name, to force it upon an unsuspecting typeface that, in turn, would be foisted upon an unsuspecting public? To try to get used to this sans serif supplanter was bad enough. This Jacob, who stole the birthright from good old NTR, disturbed me more and more, until I sat down and thought about it—why? Why, indeed, should I become so frustrated with this interloper? It just didn‘t make sense.

Well, of course, there was the lack of familiarity. But that couldn’t be it—I usually like new, “bold” things. And, indeed, after the first shock waves had disappeared, I was adjusting nicely to my bold, new acquaintance—even to the bold look on his face. But as days went on, and item after item was printed out in Calibri, there seemed to be something radically wrong. It puzzled me, but for a time I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then—eureka! I discovered the source of my concern. No, not concern—downright disturbance—what I had been dimly been aware of. When it finally came to me, at last I clearly understood. I want you to know that it was a true Aha! moment—at last I had discovered what had been eating away at me for two months! It was the fact that this particular typeface was the jet-setter of all jet-setters! It virtually sucked the ink from my cartridges. Here I was buying cartridges by the bucket—all because of this birthright thief! Back to good ole’ NTR, I shouted! But then, I looked down the typeface options list, and lo-and-behold—shock of a lifetime—good old NTR was nowhere to be seen! Now, I was frustrated. But, knowing from experience something of the irascibility, and at times sheer frivolity, of Vista, fearfully, but plainly in bold Calibri, I wrote into the box next to the downwards-pointing arrow, the words “New Times Roman.” And, believe it or not–there it was, suddenly appearing from nowhere! But, then, a careful examination of my old friend told me that something was wrong. He too had developed something of the ink-swilling capacity that I found so irritating about in Calibri (bold). He just didn’t look right. His serifs were too small, the stems from which they spouted were too thick—Oh my—something terrible had happened to him. Maybe it’s only my eyes, having been squinting for so long at Calbri, that were deceiving me. So, what to do now?

After hours of considerable discomfort (a word I learned from my dentist who didn’t know how to describe pain), I thought of my old—very old Cambridge Bibles. [You know them, don’t you? They’re the ones whose bindings don’t split on the back edge like the Oxford ones do.] There was something I always liked about those Bibles—it was the font from which they were printed that made them so enjoyable to read. The typeface was Garamond. Garamond! Aha! Good old Garamond. So, I sneaked another look at the column of faces hanging from the toolbar, fearing they had overlooked him. But there he was! Joy! So, from now on I write—as I now am doing, while staring into his trustworthy old face (even though WordPress won’t let me use it on this blog page)— and feel satisfied and happy once again. [As an aside, counselors, notice that I didn’t only pine over the problem—I solved it!]. I have another affinity to Garamond—he was a French, Protestant, Hugenot, Reformed printer. Ha! Off with the Italian Calibri! I’ll bet he was a Roman Catholic! Away with the impersonal New Times Roman—give me good old Garamond from now on!

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