Ever since the Germanic chieftain Hengist—or was it his
co-chieftain Horsa?—landed on the shores of Celtic Britain in 499 and uttered
the first word of Old English, “Hwaet!” English spelling has been the subject
of much debate and grief. As an English teacher, I can attest to the creative
spelling that some students resort to in their writings. Every reader of this
blog—admit it—has a spelling story lurking somewhere in the past. In the old
days of writing letters in ink on paper, a certain friend always wrote to me in
red in order to discourage me from correcting the spelling, which I never would
have done, but even if I had, I customarily graded in green.
To a certain extent, spell check has given relief to
legions of frustrated spellers. However, we all know that spill Czech dose knot
catch awl eras. (Nor did grammar check flag the preceding clause, by the way.)
As computer technology advances, auto-correct has added another facet—sometimes
funny, sometimes frustrating—to the challenge of spelling as it anticipates the
writer’s thoughts.
For instance, my nickname among family is “Donner,” as in
the reindeer. Recently, I dashed off an e-mail only to realize after I had sent
it, that auto-correct had signed me off as “Donned.” I am not sure why
auto-correct felt compelled to announce that I was clothed, or had donned
clothing according to the second usage in the American Heritage Dictionary
on-line, as I sent the message. Nor were any of the first usage definitions
relevant, as I have not been “Donned” (or labeled as) a Spanish man, a college
tutor or professor, a mafia boss, or “an important personage.” (I do know some
very nice men named “Don,” though.) Now I pay attention when I sign off,
whether I have donned clothing or not.
Recently, I had another amusing episode with auto-correct.
I intended to write the word “Facebooker,” as in someone who uses Facebook, in
an e-mail. Auto-correct suggested “face poker” for my consideration. Had the
Three Stooges or some coder with a sense of humor hacked my auto-correct? How
did the word “poker” become a viable suggestion for “booker”? Couldn’t
auto-correct intuit that a “face booker” might be someone who schedules
appointments at salons for make-overs, and provide that suggestion, instead? Or
perhaps a “face booker” might be someone who schedules head shots for models or
actors? Had I been writing about playing cards, “poker face” would have made
sense. But FACE POKER?!?
Of course, the obvious solution is to disable my
auto-correct. However, eye be leave aye well con tin ewe two sim plea take mai
chintzes. Besides, thus far, I am still a better smeller—oops, I mean
speller—than auto-correct, even if auto-correct has a weird sense of humor.
NOTE: Even though spell check suggested “Facebooked” and
“Face booker” as replacements for “Facebooker,” the Merriam-Webster dictionary
associated with my version of Word has no definitions for those suggestions,
nor does the American Heritage Dictionary. The American Heritage Dictionary
on-line could not find a definition for “mai,” suggesting “mai tai,” the rum
cocktail, but the Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines “mai” as “a slow Japanese
folk or theater dance featuring hand gestures—distinguished from odori.” Again,
grammar check did not flag the second sentence of the above paragraph.
