
“The print dictionary market is just disappearing,” reported Nigel Portwood, chief executive of Oxford University Press, in The Sunday Times. “It is falling away by tens of percent a year.”
With news of the popular dictionary’s threatened press-life, I revisited the weathered pages of my own Webster’s New World Dictionary, seeking words that describe the book and its electronic replacement.
• An’-ti-quate’: (verb) to make old, out of date, or obsolete; (adjective) an’-ti-quat’-ed. Some would contend that today’s online dictionaries antiquate the hard-copy edition that still stands ready on my office cubicle shelf.
Likewise, today’s high school students would consider my high school homework sessions antiquated — flipping through the pages of my paperback dictionary while typing term papers on a blue-screened word processor.
These digital days, online dictionaries offer immediate gratification for those word-struggling students who, like me, wait only hours before a deadline to finish a report — or a column.
• Im-me-di-ate: (adjective) without delay; instant. Our growing tech-savvy population seeks the convenience of instant search engine results from free online sources, like www.dictionary.com. With a single click of “enter,” a list of definitions, word origins and history, and even famous quotations appear on a computer screen that only seconds earlier was blank, save a sundry of Internet advertisements. No time-consuming turning of pages to search for sought-after word meanings. And no aroma of ink.
• aroma: (noun) a pleasant odor; fragrance. Although I reference online sources while writing, I likewise thumb through my dictionary, sometimes dealing the pages as a poker hand just to get a whiff of the ink. As peculiar as this practice seems, I savor the smell of ink. Besides, a scratch-and-sniff session with my computer screen would appear more eccentric — and wouldn’t grant the same olfactory satisfaction derived from my book’s printed pages.
Despite this joy, some environmentalists would argue I consider Mother Earth over my ink-smell fixation. These conservationists, sometimes called tree huggers, would ask that I forsake my fondness for print dictionaries to save ... well, the trees.
• con-ser-va-tion: (noun) conserving; the official care or management of natural resources. I’ve been told the Internet can decrease the amount of paper used for books, manuals, charts and other work-related products. With computer software systems replacing “out-dated” corporate procedures, as well as human bodies, I have observed the efficiency of such idealism — most notably in the overflowing trash stash and recycling piles by office printers. But, let’s face it. We’re a work-force and world that’s increasingly dependent on digital.
• de-pend’-ent: (adjective) determined by something else; relying (on) for support, etc. A few days ago, I reached for a calculator to compute a work equation. Midway through entering the data, I stopped. “You don’t need a calculator!” I fussed at myself, as I mentally solved the mathematical equation.
Aside from minimal mathematical calculations, there are few work functions I perform without Internet and software programs. Production halts when power outages strike or our system server fails. At the mercy of power and IT companies, my colleagues and I wait ... and wait ... until the hums and beeps of technology jolt us back into production mode.
Due to such inevitable, albeit temporary, Internet glitches, I’ll hold onto my hard-copy dictionary. I’m certain some folks consider it antiquated, as they seek immediate results from its online counterpart. But I’ll gladly relinquish my dictionary.com dependency for my dog-eared high school dictionary.
If for no other reason, I like the way it smells.
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