Of Snobbery & Wordsmithing: How I Let A Spelling Error Ruin My Good Time

This could honestly be a series of blogs.

I think I've lost count of all the days nearly spoiled by someone who can't manage to spell my name right in an email—even though they're likely staring at it while they're typing, because... well, nevermind. You know how email works.

Anyway, this time was different, because it wasn't a typo or a name misspelling. This was a word I love very much, included in an interview article about a band that I also love very much.

And the word is.... (drumroll, please)... "timbre."

*sigh* Such a word... I don't care how nerdy it is (or I am), let us, please, take a moment to revel in the beauty of "timbre." It is, perhaps, the only thing I have retained from my college education (don't tell my parents) and I learned it in an audio course, where the professor not only taught us what it meant but, also how it was spelled and pronounced.

Because I'm suddenly lazy and eager to get to the rest of the story, here is the web definition (Google’s English dictionary provided by Oxford Languages):

"the character or quality of a musical sound or voice as distinct from its pitch and intensity."

Further, it is pronounced "TAM-bər," and there is an episode of The Office in which Gabe pronounces it wrong (TIM-ber, as in "shiver me." Maybe that was on purpose? Were the writers just giving us another reason to hate "GSL"?). It's just the worst.

But I digress...

Much to my delight, this word was used by one of the band members in the interview to explain a question that went something like, "Hey, man—what makes you so special?" To which, the member replied that the timbre (*swoon*) of the lead singer's voice was what set the band apart. I can't help but agree. In an effort not to "call out" the reporter who made this error (I really don't want to hurt anyone's feelings—I know it was an honest mistake), I won't mention the band by name. All you really need to know is that the voice in question is a deep, rich baritone capable of a far greater range and power than the vessel's delicate frame would, perhaps, suggest. (In one of my fits of awe and obsession, I actually mapped out his highest and lowest notes in one song on the piano and discovered that they were the same note, exactly three octaves apart.)

Anyway, I was elated to see that word in an interview. Except that the reporter spelled it "tambour." (Nooo!) I was devastated. Why, oh why hadn't she proofread her article better? Why hadn't she installed Grammarly, which keeps me employed on a daily basis? How could she have neglected to research the word she clearly didn't know? Because even though "tambour" wouldn't have prompted the wavy red underline telling her it was misspelled, it's not the right word, and is, in fact, a small drum and also an embroidery hoop.

And yet, through my anguish, I saw that little sparkle—the tiny point of light that told me all was not lost...

She had spelled the word "tambour," meaning that she probably scribbled it down in her notebook based on how it sounded. Which means that the band member probably said the word correctly. (As if I needed another reason to be completely enamored by this freaking band.)

Still, I had questions: Was it really better that the band member said the word correctly, even though it was misspelled? On the other hand, if it had been spelled correctly, I probably would have assumed that the individual pronounced it incorrectly. Also, should I let the reporter know about her mistake? I would (possibly—depending on my emotional state to chocolate ratio at the time) want someone to point it out to me. After all, I was recently mortified to realize that I had misspelled several big words in my first blog on this site before feeding it through Grammarly—one of them was "Shakespeare." *facepalm*

But I probably won't tell her.

After all, I spend most of my waking hours dutifully avoiding any sort of confrontation because I'm a big, fat wussy. And, again, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. (At which point, I wonder if dedicating an entire blog post to someone else's mistake really supports that assertion.)

Anyway, that's that.

I'm a wussy and a snob.

Bring on the tomatoes!