The One Where I Become A Dictionary Editor

My question is why do people not capitalize the “e” in Earth when they are talking about our planet? They are the same people who capitalize the “m” in Mars, and the “j” in Jupiter and they always seem to capitalize Hell and Heaven, but for some reason, they must think they are talking only of the dirt, not the planet, when they are actually talking about the planet Earth. How about fixing that?

I want to be a dictionary editor because I am tired of their criteria. Specifically, one criterion—the one where if enough people use something incorrectly for long enough, it gets voted in as a proper use of the word, no matter how it may add nothing of value to the language.

An annoying example:

Entitled: Used to be that a book couldn’t be entitled but a person could.

Because so many people thought they were writing or talking “up” by erroneously using “entitled” where “titled” should have been, those of us who knew the difference and loved the difference in meaning are now forced to put our knowledge aside and dumb down.

By talking up, I mean, for example, the millions of speakers at podiums everywhere and on radio and TV who think they are coming across as emphatic intelligentsia when they use the trite phrase, “each and every ...” Makes me shudder every time. STOP SAYING THAT!

Another one:

“Myriad.” So many people use it as a noun instead of an adjective. To be sure you are using it properly, think of the word “many.” If “many” can be used in place of “myriad,” then you are using it properly.

Proper: “She counted myriad species of fish in the enormous tank.” “Many” works just fine in place of “myriad.”

Improper: “He removed the myriad of ties from the closet.” Would you say, “He removed the many of ties from the closet”? You might, but you’d be wrong and you’d sound wrong.

Before some of you get all wadded up, I already know: I checked the online dictionary and the improper use of myriad has snuck its way in there already. I’m brokenhearted, again, and taking it all too personally.

What is the point of learning this stuff and being good at it? “It” being the only thing I could point to as my personal academic strength. It is where I shine, just like a full moon in my own personal orbit.

Most of the time in the newsrooms I worked in, I was the go-to for spelling and correct usage —I was the walking reference, the person people asked instead of looking it up, because they knew I’d know and it took less time to ask me. If I wasn’t sure, I wanted to look it up. It also made me happy to be helpful. And to be right. I love being right.

That’s probably the real reason this distresses me so—I’m not right nearly as often now that our language is declining at this disturbing, faster-than-you-can-say-perspicacity pace. In the time I took to write this, I discovered this pet peeve I have is fast becoming a waste itself, like a cow’s opinion. You know, “It’s moo.”