Capital crimes

English wasn’t always this standardized, with this many rules and regulations. There was room to grow and make mistakes. Even as America entered its early gestation period amid copious amount of spilled (wasted) tea, most of the Founders embraced irregular spelling. Washington was Washingtone, Jefferson was Jeffersone, Franklin was Big Boppin’ Frankie Baby with that smooth electric kite. Everything was up for debate and nothing was written in stone. An extra vowel here, an extra consonant there – it wasn’t the point. 

The closest thing that existed to modern day spell check was the domineering little man (Giuseppe X. Ortographia) who crouched under your desk with a red pen, ready to place a squiggly line under any word he deemed in error. This early editor didn’t have much by way of knowledge, but he had passion, verve, gusto and other words you'd find in your Thesaurus. His lines were the capricious marks of a crazed grammarian, who knew as much about language as you did. Only from his huddled hideaway was he that much closer to the page, getting eye-to-ink before informing you of a grave blunder.

Grammar has become much too complicated. You need a tax attorney to complete a proper sentence these days. This wasn’t always the case. We need to return to a time when everyone writes their own personal English. The easiest thing to do for the individual is to adjust your capitalization techniques. This is something 18^th century scribes knew all too well.

I do it without thinking. I’ve been capitalizing Sandwich and Bocce since the 5^th grade. There are other words that figure into this new paradigm like Paradigm and Porch, Chair and Bagel. They are all integral to my current lifestyle. But as much as capitalizing words that have endured as lowercase for centuries is a worthwhile endeavor, what’s more pressing is to to cut down those unnecessary words that have received praise and fame for undeserved prominence. It's why I’m done capitalizing connecticut. 

It’s what the Founders would’ve wanted. And I should know. I practically raised half of them. John Jay lived at my house for most of the 80s, reading my books, eating my cereal, petting my dog. But that’s a tale for another Time.