Define-a-thon

Summer officially kicks off in Chicago when the city is flooded with street fairs. From the Blues Festival to the Pride Parade to Pizza Fest, there's certainly something for everyone. Plus, Chicagoans always come out in droves, since the sunny weather is so ephemeral. This weekend marks the Printer's Row Book Fair in the South Loop. It's an adult version of the Scholastic truck at your elementary school, but with smaller font and fewer free bookmarks.

Having been spoiled by the Ithaca Book Sale, I love looking through bookstores, especially used bookstores with very loose organization. There was a decent selection of tents with used items, but a fair number of shelves were devoted to rare books. If only I could afford to own a library with leather-bound copies and gilt-edged first editions. Aside from booksellers hawking their wares, authors were also present to give lectures, plug for their books and sign copies. I came across S.E. Hinton, author of the middle school classic, The Outsiders, who had her hands full scrawling signatures for the serpentine line behind her. Other literati present included Augusten Burroughs (of Running with Scissors fame), and writer and historian Studs Terkel.

The highlight of the afternoon had rather little to do with books though: a Define-a-thon was taking place. What does that entail? In a twist from your standard spelling bee, the definition of a word was read, and from a set of 4 options, you had to choose the correct synonym or antonym. In a spirited moment of chutzpah, I decided to sign up (the list was capped at 17 or so entrants). Then, I started feeling nervous. Oy veh, what if I am the first person knocked out? I moved a step closer to finding religion.

As we gathered for the start of the competition, I began sizing the others up. Mostly women, and mostly over 40, though there were a few young guys who caught my eye. Maybe they'll be knocked out first, I thought. The woman sitting next to me asked why I'd decided to participate. Oh, I tend to teach my friends new words, I replied. Also, I've played a fair amount of Free Rice. Have you played that before? She said yes, and I gulped inwardly. For a distraction, I started staring at David Kipen. He's the National Endowment for the Arts Literature Director, and was present to announce and play emcee for the event. That's right, we were in the presence of the nation's most eminent literature maven, complete with full shock of Malcolm Gladwell-like white hair. I shifted nervously in my chair on stage, and the Define-a-thon began.

The first round of questions came from set 1 (there were 3 total), and were fairly simple. I answered my question correctly and breathed a sigh of relief as I passed the microphone to the lady behind me. An element comprising 80% of the earth's atmosphere, Kipen asked, is it dirt, helium, nitrogen or ozone? She stalled and asked for the question to be repeated. I held my breath; this seemed a little unfair for a set 1 question, since it depended on having scientific knowledge. She hazarded a guess. Ozone? I'm sorry, that's incorrect, the answer is nitrogen. Oh, how embarrassing! She exited the stage. I felt some schadenfreude.

The questions continued coming rapid-fire, and we moved into set 2. I was asked for an organism, such as a fungus or mold, that derives nourishment from organic remains. (The answer was saprophyte.) A few more people got knocked out of the competition, but overall, the group was still doing quite well, spitting out words like "penumbra" and "diphthong" without breaking a sweat. 35 minutes into the game, we moved into set 3 and I started to really worry.

What is the antonym of riant, Kipen quizzed a guy in the front row. (Thank you, Free Rice, a word I learned from that site actually came in handy!) The gentleman stumbled and did not pick the right answer (dour), and set 3 began knocking out a slew of contestants. Including myself. When asked for a coal miner, I decided to guess "dowser" (the answer was "collier"), and gracefully accepted the applause as I left the stage. It was probably for the best, as the questions were only getting more ridiculous. In Sanskrit poetry...with 8 syllables in a pada...gee, you know it's hard when there are words you've never seen before in the definition itself.

In the end, the pool was narrowed to two finalists: Elizabeth, the librarian, and Sean, the um, temp worker (and one of the guys I thought would be knocked out early on). I was rooting for Sean, of course, as they competed for the grand prize of American Heritage Dictionaries. The runner-up would receive a somewhat smaller college edition, while the winner would get the standard version. As the final minutes ticked, Elizabeth got a question right, which meant Sean had to answer this next question correctly, or face public ignominy: a grey-breasted wading bird? After asking for spellings, he guessed hallux. Alas, the answer was whimbrel.

Aside from reading a lot, and actively learning vocabulary, it seems like specialization in lots of subjects would be the best way to go about winning this contest. Unfortunately for me, there was only one question which smacked vaguely of economics (on cartels). No matter, I plan to play a lot of Free Rice between now and next June.