Son of look it up

Speaking of deficient dictionaries, I wrote an unanswered—or more accurately, an unsatisfactorily answered (same diff)—letter a year or two ago to a vice president at Wiley Publishing, where the default dictionary used by the Associated Press comes from, suggesting the overwhelming need for a compact dictionary (i.e., 60,000 entries or fewer) containing big words only. And by "big" I don't necessarily mean syllables up the butt.

I asserted in my letter that there's a niche going unfilled for a compact dictionary for people who already know the definition of tree, but not necessarily of twee. A dictionary a grad student could conveniently carry around in a backpack, or a dude (e.g., me) could effortlessly snatch from the nightstand while reading by flashlight in bed.

I mean, what in the heck are all these compact-dictionary publishers thinking? Ninety percent of the words collegiate types and voracious readers of challenging content want to look up aren't going to be found in a compact dictionary. And a regular dictionary is too doggone heavy to lift through a smooth arc with a single outstretched arm while supine in the sack—short of incurring tennis elbow.

So I think they need to publish a compact dictionary chock full of such less commonly encountered words as dirigisme and quiddity, with words like dog and quiet left out. I've already written the letter; somebody else can do the petitions.

Oh-oh. The clock on the wall says it's Tangent Time. Let's go off on one. ...

My son and I were watching Wild Things the other night. The episode concerned the Thompson's gazelles inhabiting that stupendous grassland known as the African savanna. It focused almost exclusively on the growth and development—from birth through first birthday—of one adorable little male gazelle. At the end of the program the narrator noted that the yearling would now have to fend for himself. To which Daniel quipped, "So he has to find his own grass?"

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