How do you spell "ridiculous"?

Christ - it's much harder than I thought to come up with something regularly for this thing. Although, in the interest of full disclosure, I've sort of been held in thrall to a serial killer. "Dexter" is awesome. And I should know better than to go on imdb when I'm behind in my viewing; I'm forever accidentally spoiling myself. Actually, that was a good thing with "The Wire" one time, because if I hadn't known what was coming by spoiling myself, I would likely have soiled myself.

So what's going on? What do I feel like talking about? What's got me all in a tizzy? Well, nothing and everything. Men in general. Men specifically. The impending demise of the English language. My inability to leave the house without a liberal sprinkling of cat fur. The mutinous nature of my breasts. The high cost of furnishing a spare room.

I think, for today, I have an etymological bee in my bonnet. "Shit My Dad Says" is flying off the shelves, topping the NY Times hardcover nonfiction list, and yet comes news this week that the Oxford English Dictionary will likely never publish an updated hard copy edition again. I really hope your dad doesn't use a word you don't know, because that would be quite infelicitous.

I get that you can't continue to do something if it's a waste of time and money. But the dictionary? Curt Hopkins over at www.readwriteweb.com summed up what I've been thinking, though far more eloquently (odd, since lately, disagreeing with men is kinda my thing): "Although the OED is not a narrative, not scripture, not poetry, it is, nonetheless, transportive. The idea of flipping from one entry to another, following a line of inquiry...from one page to another, even one volume to another, is a sensual experience. I don't mean it's sexy (it is), but rather that it's an experience that encompasses sight, sound and touch and even hearing (the rustle of pages, the thump of the volume hitting the desk) to create the context for comprehension."

Word, Curt. Word.

I fear for this symbolic loss of language. Too many people rely on spellcheck and text speak. As a Twitter neophyte, I concede the occasional use of "2" and "U" is necessary in a 140 character world. But other than tweets, and unless you're Prince, spell it the hell out.

I adore words. Words are the backbone of my work life and the lifeblood of my down time. I still get a thrill, a little frisson of anticipation, when I happen upon a word I don't know. As Curt pointed out, words are sexy. I've been known to hit the pause button on a romantic evening when a spirited conversation calls for a defining moment. A hook-up look-up, if you will. Maybe I was having the wrong sorts of conversations. And maybe it was more the verbal tussling than the actual verbiage that I found so compelling. Maybe it was my sparring partner. But this I know for sure: while some guys reach for your bra strap to move the evening along, I prefer a man who reaches for the bookcase. And maybe that's the answer, the saving grace. I'll just bet if you tell the online dictionary generation that owning a dictionary gives them a far greater chance of having a serendipitous libidinous interlude, the OED just might give shit your dad says a run for its money. I know it works for me.