Great. It’s Monday and I’m already ranting!

So lately I’ve been kicking myself for not posting the already-drafted posts about the three novels I’ve read since beginning my PhD, yet somehow when an issue like this comes up, I have to stop what I’m doing and vent about it.

Where do I start? D’y’know hyperlinks? Those nifty pieces of text that you can click on to provide you with text that clarifies or provides further information about what you were initially reading? It’s genius and it’s everywhere these days. In fact, although I cannot say who this was, I know someone who became so acclimatized to the world of hypertext that, while putting together a corporate e-blast, simply underlined and coloured the text blue, assuming that that’s just how links are made!

Well, I can’t jump to judgement anymore. Opening up a couple glossaries of literary terms today, I was inundated with the bold print associated with cross-referencing terms. At one point, I involuntarily ran my fingers over a bolded word, hoping it would redirect me to the cross-referenced term. No joke. And then I tossed the text aside in frustration of the text’s user-unfriendly interface. Also not a joke.

Does this mean that this old Shakespearean is ready for the age of the iPad?

Damn you, spell check! (I never thought I’d say those words)

Having just gotten a newer model Mac, I was looking forward to learning about new settings and discovering what kinks Apple has sorted out since they produced my beloved white (now various shades of gray) laptop. With a new computer comes the need for new word processing software, and I tend to stick to Word, though only out of habit. The newest version has really improved on itself (yay MLA citation wizard!), although I’m not a huge fan of the default settings, which I’m still working on changing. Cambria? Really? I like it, but is that all of the sudden our standard font?

One specific thing that changes over time is our use of language. You would think, therefore, that with our changing command of the language would be accompanied by changing computer dictionaries, but no. Therefore, I’d like to take a moment to argue that, even though these computers are seemingly faster and stronger than their predecessors, some things just go overlooked, and don’t change! Blog? Blog. Not a word. All Word wants me to know is that I’m wrong, its ‘friendly’ prompt marked by a menacing red underline, which can be right-clicked to elaborate upon the idea that I’d better consider bog or bloc as alternative word choices, even though their meanings are entirely dissimilar. And perhaps even worse, the one word I try to use in every English paper, if only because reflecting on its status gives reminds me to broaden my scope of thought: Liminal. Liminal. In between. On the cusp. Transitional. How the heck does the system not recognize it as a word?? I’m spelling it right, yet can I even state that if the dictionary says that the term doesn’t exist?  Was the writer of this dictionary that averse to change that it, like Winston Smith in 1984, must wipe out the idea that the painful bridge between past and present ever existed?

Needless, to say, I’m frustrated. I want to write a kick-ass paper, seminar, blog post, and there is that red line, once again, telling me that my work does not meet the ‘standard’ of proper writing. Telling mi that mi work does not meat the standard of proper righting. No red line, no problem! Forge on with your misuse of homonyms! Waste your valuable seminar preparation time by yelling at your monitor, revising your auto-correct settings, and ranting to your readers. Much more appropriate use of time. Wait – wasn’t this technology supposed to make my life easier?

Now you tell me: what word that you love to write does your word processor hate to read?