Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
Yeah, that's how it starts. The John Greenleaf Whittier poem, that is. From 1855. Last time I looked, it was 158 years later. We don't write poetry like that anymore, and we sure don't talk the way they did back then. Hell, they hadn't even heard of the typewriter, much less radio, TV, the Internet, YouTube comments ...
English is living, moving, growing, changing, evolving. Despite the deference shown to the Oxford English Dictionary and its etymological citations (which, it must be said, often substitute for actual answers on the site), I don't think a site about English should look like it was printed on vellum. I'm just saying.
I mean, it's a very nice looking site. No doubt about it. I'm sure Mrs. Johnson, my 8th-grade English teacher, would have loved it. I'm just wondering if it captures enough of the vibrant now of English as she is spoke today.
Ho-hum. Maybe I'm just tired. Tired and bored. But sepia and beige and Moroccan-leather red just aren't doing it for me anymore. Sorry.
Still raining, still dreaming
Is everyone still asleep in here? I guess the color palette did you in, yeah?