Remember "Stop Thoughting and Start FedExing"?
Here's another piece of evidence supporting the incredible flexibility of the English language: Dejobbed, Bewifed, and Much Childrenised.
Showing posts with label Linguistics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Linguistics. Show all posts
Friday, November 8, 2013
Saturday, September 15, 2012
What Foreign Language(s) Should I Learn?
One of the questions people have been asking me most frequently is: what foreign language(s) should I (my kid) learn? I get that all the time. ALL THE TIME. I'm not bothered in the least bit by it; though flattered, I just feel a little under-equipped to give them any advice. After all, I'm more of a linguist/grammarian/philologist than a foreign language expert. And linguistics and the study of foreign languages are not the same.
But I have studied several foreign languages both in school and on my own. So, for what it's worth ...
First, ask yourself why you want to study a foreign language. Is it for personal edification? Is it for a specific job (Chinese because I'll be working for a Chinese company), a specific academic program (Arabic because I'll be studying Islamic literature in grad school), or a specific circumstance (I'll be marrying a Russian girl and I think I want to learn Russian)? Is it to find a job in areas that require a foreign language (I want to teach X to high school students)?
If it's for personal edification as in I want to learn X because I like it, then, by all means, learn X for no other reasons than that it pleases you and don't look back.
If it's for a specific job, academic program, or circumstance which you have planned for the foreseeable future, then you don't have much of a choice. Whatever language is required of you, you learn it.
But if you don't really have any specific short-term or long-term goal, and you want to invest your time, money, and energy learning a foreign language in preparation for whatever opportunities that may come your way in the future, here's what I think.
1. You should go for languages that are spoken by multiple ethnic groups living in multiple areas of the world. You get the most bang for your buck that way. In light of this, it's not hard to see that Japanese, Thai, or German (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Map_German_World.png) will not create nearly as many career opportunities for you as, say, Arabic (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Dispersión_lengua_árabe.png), French, or Mandarin (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Mandarin_and_Jin_in_China.png) plus Chinese diaspora).
2. You should go for a language that shares the same family with other widely-spoken languages. Family members behave alike. Once you know one in a family, you pretty much know how to deal with the other members of the same family even though they all have certain features and idiosyncrasies that are unique to them.
Take, for example, Romance languages. Two major, major languages in that family alone: Spanish and French. (Italian, Portuguese, etc., are great languages to learn, I know, but see point #1 for the reason I've singled out French and Spanish.) This means, once you know French, adding Spanish to your repertoire at a later time is a piece of cake, and vice versa. Knowing French will serve you well in these areas: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:New-Map-Francophone_World.PNG. Knowing Spanish will get you places in these areas: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Castellano-Español.png. With either French or Spanish under your belt, if you have the time and the desire to study, say, Catalan, later, guess what? Easy.
This applies even to dead or ancient languages. Members of the Semitic family is well-known for behaving alike, very much alike. Pick one of them to study first, and you'll find that acquiring competency in the rest is a cake walk. Going from classical Arabic to classical Hebrew or from Latin to Attic or Koine Greek is easy, much easier than going from ancient Khmer to Sumerian.
So the whole biggest-bang-for-your-buck thing from point #1 also applies here: go for a large family with multiple influential members.
The question you may have at this point is: wouldn't studying a language that most people study make it hard for me to stand out, find a job, be considered unique and indispensable?
Yes and no. Some languages are more popular than others for a reason (which will be elaborated in point #3 below), and some languages are ignored for a reason also. True, there are a whole bunch of people who know Spanish, French, and Arabic, but how many of them know Hmong? What if I set out to become an expert in Hmong? Or modern Aramaic? Or Estonian? Or Ainu?
You can. But you're gambling. You could win big. You could also lose big. How to decide? Consider the worst case scenario, if you're okay with that, I'd say go for an obscure language or a language that may not be obscure but doesn't really have that much impact on the world compared to others (e.g. Catalan, German, modern Greek, Polish). But even with an obscure or a not-so-obscure-but-not-so-in-demand-either language, you probably also want to keep the following point in mind.
3. If a lucrative, financially-rewarding career (well, as rewarding as a career in the humanities is, anyway, which means not very rewarding) is a goal, then consider world events. Back in the Cold War era or even back in the early 90s after the disintegration of the Soviet Union, knowing Russian would definitely land you some really good jobs both in the public and private sectors. In the last decade or so, Arabic has become one of the top, if the top, choice among those seeking to learn a foreign language. Due to the war in Afghanistan, even the Pashto language (which is not nearly as widely-spoken as Arabic) has paved the way to many governmental jobs with ridiculously high salary. With the rise of China, Mandarin Chinese has also become an extremely popular choice.
Knowing a language that is in demand will naturally open up more opportunities for you than knowing an obscure language or a language spoken in areas of the world that aren't the current foci of the world's attention.
_______________________________
Now, once you've chosen a language that makes the most sense to your situation to study, what do you do with it? What jobs can you get with it?
Most people who get into foreign languages often harbor the dream of traveling extensively or living overseas. From my experience, though that's a real possibility, realistically, you're not going to be making much money at all. You could spend several years living frugally overseas only to find yourself back in your home country with no retirement funds. This has happened to people, mostly those who work for nonprofit religious organizations, whom I know personally.
There are people who live as expats overseas who make tons of money and can afford to live in apartments and homes priced in the range affordable only among the local elite. But 99.99% of the time -- fine, based on my experience, 100% of the time -- these people's jobs have nothing to do with teaching a foreign language or serving as a translator/interpreter.
Most likely, you'll end up teaching English or doing something for non-profit organization (read: not much pay).
Work as a translator/interpreter is best done as a (hopefully) paid hobby or a side job. Translation gigs are hard to come by, and when they do come by, they come by with very little money. In fact, when it comes an event or a task wherein translation of X into english and vice versa is required, most companies or hiring entities much prefer a native speaker of X who also knows English as a second language over a non-native speaker of X whose first language is English (assuming all of this takes place in a country where X is the official language).
But there's always the Foreign Service.
Quite honestly, if the goal is to travel and live overseas, it's best to make TESOL your main study and a foreign language a secondary endeavor. TESOL will land you a job overseas (teaching English, running an international school, etc.) much more easily than a major in a foreign language. Just my two cents.
But I have studied several foreign languages both in school and on my own. So, for what it's worth ...
First, ask yourself why you want to study a foreign language. Is it for personal edification? Is it for a specific job (Chinese because I'll be working for a Chinese company), a specific academic program (Arabic because I'll be studying Islamic literature in grad school), or a specific circumstance (I'll be marrying a Russian girl and I think I want to learn Russian)? Is it to find a job in areas that require a foreign language (I want to teach X to high school students)?
If it's for personal edification as in I want to learn X because I like it, then, by all means, learn X for no other reasons than that it pleases you and don't look back.
If it's for a specific job, academic program, or circumstance which you have planned for the foreseeable future, then you don't have much of a choice. Whatever language is required of you, you learn it.
But if you don't really have any specific short-term or long-term goal, and you want to invest your time, money, and energy learning a foreign language in preparation for whatever opportunities that may come your way in the future, here's what I think.
1. You should go for languages that are spoken by multiple ethnic groups living in multiple areas of the world. You get the most bang for your buck that way. In light of this, it's not hard to see that Japanese, Thai, or German (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Map_German_World.png) will not create nearly as many career opportunities for you as, say, Arabic (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Dispersión_lengua_árabe.png), French, or Mandarin (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Mandarin_and_Jin_in_China.png) plus Chinese diaspora).
2. You should go for a language that shares the same family with other widely-spoken languages. Family members behave alike. Once you know one in a family, you pretty much know how to deal with the other members of the same family even though they all have certain features and idiosyncrasies that are unique to them.
Take, for example, Romance languages. Two major, major languages in that family alone: Spanish and French. (Italian, Portuguese, etc., are great languages to learn, I know, but see point #1 for the reason I've singled out French and Spanish.) This means, once you know French, adding Spanish to your repertoire at a later time is a piece of cake, and vice versa. Knowing French will serve you well in these areas: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:New-Map-Francophone_World.PNG. Knowing Spanish will get you places in these areas: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Castellano-Español.png. With either French or Spanish under your belt, if you have the time and the desire to study, say, Catalan, later, guess what? Easy.
This applies even to dead or ancient languages. Members of the Semitic family is well-known for behaving alike, very much alike. Pick one of them to study first, and you'll find that acquiring competency in the rest is a cake walk. Going from classical Arabic to classical Hebrew or from Latin to Attic or Koine Greek is easy, much easier than going from ancient Khmer to Sumerian.
So the whole biggest-bang-for-your-buck thing from point #1 also applies here: go for a large family with multiple influential members.
The question you may have at this point is: wouldn't studying a language that most people study make it hard for me to stand out, find a job, be considered unique and indispensable?
Yes and no. Some languages are more popular than others for a reason (which will be elaborated in point #3 below), and some languages are ignored for a reason also. True, there are a whole bunch of people who know Spanish, French, and Arabic, but how many of them know Hmong? What if I set out to become an expert in Hmong? Or modern Aramaic? Or Estonian? Or Ainu?
You can. But you're gambling. You could win big. You could also lose big. How to decide? Consider the worst case scenario, if you're okay with that, I'd say go for an obscure language or a language that may not be obscure but doesn't really have that much impact on the world compared to others (e.g. Catalan, German, modern Greek, Polish). But even with an obscure or a not-so-obscure-but-not-so-in-demand-either language, you probably also want to keep the following point in mind.
3. If a lucrative, financially-rewarding career (well, as rewarding as a career in the humanities is, anyway, which means not very rewarding) is a goal, then consider world events. Back in the Cold War era or even back in the early 90s after the disintegration of the Soviet Union, knowing Russian would definitely land you some really good jobs both in the public and private sectors. In the last decade or so, Arabic has become one of the top, if the top, choice among those seeking to learn a foreign language. Due to the war in Afghanistan, even the Pashto language (which is not nearly as widely-spoken as Arabic) has paved the way to many governmental jobs with ridiculously high salary. With the rise of China, Mandarin Chinese has also become an extremely popular choice.
Knowing a language that is in demand will naturally open up more opportunities for you than knowing an obscure language or a language spoken in areas of the world that aren't the current foci of the world's attention.
Now, once you've chosen a language that makes the most sense to your situation to study, what do you do with it? What jobs can you get with it?
Most people who get into foreign languages often harbor the dream of traveling extensively or living overseas. From my experience, though that's a real possibility, realistically, you're not going to be making much money at all. You could spend several years living frugally overseas only to find yourself back in your home country with no retirement funds. This has happened to people, mostly those who work for nonprofit religious organizations, whom I know personally.
There are people who live as expats overseas who make tons of money and can afford to live in apartments and homes priced in the range affordable only among the local elite. But 99.99% of the time -- fine, based on my experience, 100% of the time -- these people's jobs have nothing to do with teaching a foreign language or serving as a translator/interpreter.
Most likely, you'll end up teaching English or doing something for non-profit organization (read: not much pay).
Work as a translator/interpreter is best done as a (hopefully) paid hobby or a side job. Translation gigs are hard to come by, and when they do come by, they come by with very little money. In fact, when it comes an event or a task wherein translation of X into english and vice versa is required, most companies or hiring entities much prefer a native speaker of X who also knows English as a second language over a non-native speaker of X whose first language is English (assuming all of this takes place in a country where X is the official language).
But there's always the Foreign Service.
Quite honestly, if the goal is to travel and live overseas, it's best to make TESOL your main study and a foreign language a secondary endeavor. TESOL will land you a job overseas (teaching English, running an international school, etc.) much more easily than a major in a foreign language. Just my two cents.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
I Love You with All My Bowels - Splanchna (σπλάγχνα)
This post was supposed to go up on February 14th, 2010. Alas, I was too busy being anti-Valentine and making pig ear salad that I never got around to writing it. And I can't really explain the procrastination, because it's not like it's a long post that requires a lot of thought; what I had to say could be said in, like, 5 sentences tops.
Anyway, did you know that in the Graeco-Roman world, the seat of emotion is in the bowels? The organ, heart, has come to represent the seat of emotion in modern times quite universally. But there was a time when saying, "I love you with all of my bowels (splanchna* σπλάγχνα)," made perfect sense. And it wasn't even meant to be funny.
Biblical books attributed to Saul of Tarsus, better known as the Apostle Paul, as well as a few other individuals contain several occurrences of the word and its various derivatives.
Were the writers conscious of what the word literally meant when they used it? Unlikely. It's kind of like how we talk about "heart" in the context of emotion without necessarily conjuring up the image of a four-chambered, fist-sized, blood-pumping organ in your chest.
*The "ch" is pronounced like "ch" in "Bach."
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Stop Thoughting and Start FedExing
The Thai language is, in many ways, one of the easiest languages in the world to learn. Its grammatical structure is dead simple, requiring little more than the ability to string uninflected words together in the right order. No conjugation. No tenses. No persons. No genders. No voices. No cases. No morphological changes whatsoever.
True, there are 44 letters and tons of vowels that go all over the place. You also need to be mindful of the tones in order to prevent misunderstanding. But that's about it. How hard is it to learn those two things?
If you think Thai is difficult, try Russian or Arabic.
When you grow up speaking a loosely-structured language such as Thai, the English grammar can present a challenge. I once lived a hellish life trying to master the general rules of English grammar while committing to memory the 100,765 exceptions to those rules. The quality of my life drastically increased only when I stopped caring.
But lately I’ve come to see that somewhere in the midst of the iffy rules and regulations of the English language, especially the American English, lies freedom as vast as an ocean. I just didn’t see it before. Let me explain.
I was there when this happened. A father, whose first language isn't English, was confronting his son, whose first language is English, about something the latter had done.
“Why did you …… blah blah blah …?” The annoyed father inquired. Attempting to justify his action, the son explained, “But I thought I could ….. blah blah blah …!”
“I told you not to …. blah blah blah …!” The father was relentless.
The son stuck to his formula, “But I thought you said I could … blah blah blah …!”
The dialogue continued in this manner for a few more minutes until the father couldn’t take any more of the son’s ignorance plea. Grabbing his temples in exasperation, the father made audible the sentence he made up in his head, “You thought, you thought, you thought, you thought, you thought. STOP THOUGHTING!!!!”
Complete silence befell the room. A few seconds later, we all burst out laughing. What makes it funny is that, "stop thoughting" made perfect sense to all involved; "Stop thinking" would have been grammatically correct, but it would not have conveyed the intended meaning.
From that day forward, I have come to see the English language in a totally new light. Ah, the freedom of being able to mess up the grammar royally while making perfect sense.
Still not appreciative of the freedom of English? How about this? Any noun can be verbalized. It’s not always right, appropriate, or even allowed. But it rarely fails to communicate. In addition to the verbalization of nouns, there is the nominalization of verbs. As if that wasn't enough fun, there is also a huge assortment of prefixes and suffixes at your disposal with which you can use to create pretty much anything you want.
Here's an example. Let's create all kinds of stuff with the brand name FedEx.
I am going to FedEx a package to my cousin.
This is because he said to me that he wanted the package FedExed to him.
While my cousin is an avid FedExer, there are times when he under-FedExes for various reasons. But even in the state of hypoFedExation, he still outFedExes anyone in the state of Illinois.
In fact, his over-FedExing has earned him the title, John the FedExist, in the family.
I guess if he could recruit a bunch of FedExists, he could totally become their archFedExist.
Me? I am an ex-FedExer. Hard to believe, because, in the old days, I FedExed so much I was once accused of hyperFedExing. But I'm now a UPS girl. Of course, I know that being kind of FedExish in their operation, UPS is a FedExoid; I just like their delivery guys' brown uniform.
Sure, my highly FedExous cousin has relentlessly tried to FedExize me, but it has never worked on this non-FedExer. My anti-FedExism is just as strong as his ultra-FedExism. Needless to say, I'm totally immune to his fervent FedExization.
It's kind of annoying. Why would you try to FedExate anyone? What are you, a FedExeer? Keep that up and people will think you're inflicted with FedExosis or something.
But I don't know. I mean, one of these days if the brown guys lose my packages, I may allow myself to be beFedExed by my FedExotic cousin. After all, I can see some of his points.
But if that happens, who knows how long that will last? In theory, that which is beFedExable can be deFedExable also. That means if I can be beFedExed, then I can also be deFedExed, right?
I love English. Do you?
True, there are 44 letters and tons of vowels that go all over the place. You also need to be mindful of the tones in order to prevent misunderstanding. But that's about it. How hard is it to learn those two things?
If you think Thai is difficult, try Russian or Arabic.
When you grow up speaking a loosely-structured language such as Thai, the English grammar can present a challenge. I once lived a hellish life trying to master the general rules of English grammar while committing to memory the 100,765 exceptions to those rules. The quality of my life drastically increased only when I stopped caring.
But lately I’ve come to see that somewhere in the midst of the iffy rules and regulations of the English language, especially the American English, lies freedom as vast as an ocean. I just didn’t see it before. Let me explain.
I was there when this happened. A father, whose first language isn't English, was confronting his son, whose first language is English, about something the latter had done.
“Why did you …… blah blah blah …?” The annoyed father inquired. Attempting to justify his action, the son explained, “But I thought I could ….. blah blah blah …!”
“I told you not to …. blah blah blah …!” The father was relentless.
The son stuck to his formula, “But I thought you said I could … blah blah blah …!”
The dialogue continued in this manner for a few more minutes until the father couldn’t take any more of the son’s ignorance plea. Grabbing his temples in exasperation, the father made audible the sentence he made up in his head, “You thought, you thought, you thought, you thought, you thought. STOP THOUGHTING!!!!”
Complete silence befell the room. A few seconds later, we all burst out laughing. What makes it funny is that, "stop thoughting" made perfect sense to all involved; "Stop thinking" would have been grammatically correct, but it would not have conveyed the intended meaning.
From that day forward, I have come to see the English language in a totally new light. Ah, the freedom of being able to mess up the grammar royally while making perfect sense.
Still not appreciative of the freedom of English? How about this? Any noun can be verbalized. It’s not always right, appropriate, or even allowed. But it rarely fails to communicate. In addition to the verbalization of nouns, there is the nominalization of verbs. As if that wasn't enough fun, there is also a huge assortment of prefixes and suffixes at your disposal with which you can use to create pretty much anything you want.
Here's an example. Let's create all kinds of stuff with the brand name FedEx.
I am going to FedEx a package to my cousin.
This is because he said to me that he wanted the package FedExed to him.
While my cousin is an avid FedExer, there are times when he under-FedExes for various reasons. But even in the state of hypoFedExation, he still outFedExes anyone in the state of Illinois.
In fact, his over-FedExing has earned him the title, John the FedExist, in the family.
I guess if he could recruit a bunch of FedExists, he could totally become their archFedExist.
Me? I am an ex-FedExer. Hard to believe, because, in the old days, I FedExed so much I was once accused of hyperFedExing. But I'm now a UPS girl. Of course, I know that being kind of FedExish in their operation, UPS is a FedExoid; I just like their delivery guys' brown uniform.
Sure, my highly FedExous cousin has relentlessly tried to FedExize me, but it has never worked on this non-FedExer. My anti-FedExism is just as strong as his ultra-FedExism. Needless to say, I'm totally immune to his fervent FedExization.
It's kind of annoying. Why would you try to FedExate anyone? What are you, a FedExeer? Keep that up and people will think you're inflicted with FedExosis or something.
But I don't know. I mean, one of these days if the brown guys lose my packages, I may allow myself to be beFedExed by my FedExotic cousin. After all, I can see some of his points.
But if that happens, who knows how long that will last? In theory, that which is beFedExable can be deFedExable also. That means if I can be beFedExed, then I can also be deFedExed, right?
I love English. Do you?
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Nominalization in English Can Be Tricky
Nominalization = Turning a verb or an adjective into a noun.
The process is fairly straightforward for the native speakers of English. You take a verb or an adjective and make a noun out of it.
In some cases, this can even be done without any morphological changes.
For example:
A - How could you insult (verb) him like that?
B - What?! You've got to be kidding me. That was an insult (noun)?! It was supposed to be a compliment!
There are no morphological differences between "insult" as a noun and "insult" as a verb. Other than the context, the only thing that sets the two apart is the accent shift: ínsult (n) vs. insúlt (v). Other examples include conduct (n) vs. conduct (v), progress (n) vs. progress (v), etc.
Most of the time, though, you see some changes. Speakers of English as an additional language (SEALs) with fairly advanced level of English competency are well aware of the various prefixal morphemes employed in the process of transforming adjectives and verbs into nouns.
dependent (adj) vs. dependence (n)
distant (adj) vs. distance (n)
generous (adj) vs. generosity (n)
remove (v) vs. removal (n)
depress (v) vs. depression (n)
consume (v) vs. consumption (n)
pronounce (v) vs. pronunciation (n)
Advanced SEALs are even aware of the trickier shifts in pronunciation and/or spelling in the process of nominalization - something that even some native speakers of English have not mastered.
Examples:
halve (v) vs. half (n)
bathe (v) vs. bath (n)
advise (v) vs. advice (n)
marinate (v) vs. marinade (n)
prophesy (v) vs. prophecy (n)
However, some SEALs, especially those in the basic level, often have a hard time with some verb-noun pairs that are etymologically related or morphologically similar but not used to denote the same meaning.
For example, consider these two verb-noun pairs:
deliver (v) vs. delivery (n)
deliver (v) vs. deliverance (n)
The first pair mostly occurs in the context that involves the post office or men in brown uniform driving around in brown trucks; the second pair is used a lot in religious texts. Most native speakers usually take this for granted until they hear someone who speaks little English talk about the miraculous delivery of the children of Israel from the hands of the Egyptians or how impressed they are with their UPS guy for the timely deliverance of their Amazon package.
Right part of speech; wrong word choice.
What about this pair: ignore (v) vs. ignorance (n)? This is a case of words of related etymology which have come to have different meanings in the current usage of the English language. You don't think this should present an issue for SEALs, but it sometimes does. Well, you've got appear/appearance, accept/acceptance, etc., right? So don't be surprised if a SEAL says to you, "Brad has been telephoning me every night and I've been ignoring him. Do you think he will understand that my ignorance of his calls means I'm not interested?"
Sometimes, mistakes stem from making a noun out of the wrong part of speech. I have witnessed several occurrences of misnominalization. Have you heard of the noun, "participance"? Here's how it came into existence:
We have three words here: participate, participation, participant. A participant of X is one who participates in X. Or you can say that one's participation in X makes one a participant of X. As mentioned above, nominalization stems from either a verb or an adjective. In this case, it is clear to those who know English well that participation (n) is the result of the nominalization of its verbal counterpart, participate. It would be silly to nominalize "participant" for it already is a noun.
What makes it tricky for some beginner SEALs is that the word "participant" looks a lot to them like an adjective even though, intellectually, they may know that it is a noun. There's something about the ending -ant that opens in some SEALs a floodgate of recollections of nouns ending with -ance which have been built on adjectival bases ending with -ant, e.g. distant-distance, vigilant-vigilance, important-importance. It may not make sense to you, but to some of us something like, "the host of the event was very encouraged by the enthusiastic participance of all participants," sounds perfectly fine.
Reliant-reliance. Arrogant-arrogance. Compliant-compliance. What else? Fire hydrant-fire hydrance.
In case you're wondering, this post was inspired by a letter I'd received from a friend in Czech Republic who solemnly shared with me his feeling about wanting to stay in one place for a long time instead of moving around wherever work would take him: "In my childhood, I and my parents moved to many places very much, and I always thought to myself that in my adultery I would not do the same."
Can you retrace his steps leading to "adultery"? This is very easy if you were once a beginner SEAL.
There's more to be said about this topic. But this is all for now.
The process is fairly straightforward for the native speakers of English. You take a verb or an adjective and make a noun out of it.
In some cases, this can even be done without any morphological changes.
For example:
A - How could you insult (verb) him like that?
B - What?! You've got to be kidding me. That was an insult (noun)?! It was supposed to be a compliment!
There are no morphological differences between "insult" as a noun and "insult" as a verb. Other than the context, the only thing that sets the two apart is the accent shift: ínsult (n) vs. insúlt (v). Other examples include conduct (n) vs. conduct (v), progress (n) vs. progress (v), etc.
Most of the time, though, you see some changes. Speakers of English as an additional language (SEALs) with fairly advanced level of English competency are well aware of the various prefixal morphemes employed in the process of transforming adjectives and verbs into nouns.
dependent (adj) vs. dependence (n)
distant (adj) vs. distance (n)
generous (adj) vs. generosity (n)
remove (v) vs. removal (n)
depress (v) vs. depression (n)
consume (v) vs. consumption (n)
pronounce (v) vs. pronunciation (n)
Advanced SEALs are even aware of the trickier shifts in pronunciation and/or spelling in the process of nominalization - something that even some native speakers of English have not mastered.
Examples:
halve (v) vs. half (n)
bathe (v) vs. bath (n)
advise (v) vs. advice (n)
marinate (v) vs. marinade (n)
prophesy (v) vs. prophecy (n)
However, some SEALs, especially those in the basic level, often have a hard time with some verb-noun pairs that are etymologically related or morphologically similar but not used to denote the same meaning.
For example, consider these two verb-noun pairs:
deliver (v) vs. delivery (n)
deliver (v) vs. deliverance (n)
The first pair mostly occurs in the context that involves the post office or men in brown uniform driving around in brown trucks; the second pair is used a lot in religious texts. Most native speakers usually take this for granted until they hear someone who speaks little English talk about the miraculous delivery of the children of Israel from the hands of the Egyptians or how impressed they are with their UPS guy for the timely deliverance of their Amazon package.
Right part of speech; wrong word choice.
What about this pair: ignore (v) vs. ignorance (n)? This is a case of words of related etymology which have come to have different meanings in the current usage of the English language. You don't think this should present an issue for SEALs, but it sometimes does. Well, you've got appear/appearance, accept/acceptance, etc., right? So don't be surprised if a SEAL says to you, "Brad has been telephoning me every night and I've been ignoring him. Do you think he will understand that my ignorance of his calls means I'm not interested?"
Sometimes, mistakes stem from making a noun out of the wrong part of speech. I have witnessed several occurrences of misnominalization. Have you heard of the noun, "participance"? Here's how it came into existence:
We have three words here: participate, participation, participant. A participant of X is one who participates in X. Or you can say that one's participation in X makes one a participant of X. As mentioned above, nominalization stems from either a verb or an adjective. In this case, it is clear to those who know English well that participation (n) is the result of the nominalization of its verbal counterpart, participate. It would be silly to nominalize "participant" for it already is a noun.
What makes it tricky for some beginner SEALs is that the word "participant" looks a lot to them like an adjective even though, intellectually, they may know that it is a noun. There's something about the ending -ant that opens in some SEALs a floodgate of recollections of nouns ending with -ance which have been built on adjectival bases ending with -ant, e.g. distant-distance, vigilant-vigilance, important-importance. It may not make sense to you, but to some of us something like, "the host of the event was very encouraged by the enthusiastic participance of all participants," sounds perfectly fine.
Reliant-reliance. Arrogant-arrogance. Compliant-compliance. What else? Fire hydrant-fire hydrance.
In case you're wondering, this post was inspired by a letter I'd received from a friend in Czech Republic who solemnly shared with me his feeling about wanting to stay in one place for a long time instead of moving around wherever work would take him: "In my childhood, I and my parents moved to many places very much, and I always thought to myself that in my adultery I would not do the same."
Can you retrace his steps leading to "adultery"? This is very easy if you were once a beginner SEAL.
There's more to be said about this topic. But this is all for now.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Racial Slurs in the Culinary Lexicon?
In writing about food, I sometimes find myself in a quandary.
On the one hand, I want to focus on just the food. On the other hand, I can't just turn a blind eye to linguistic (political, environmental, etc.) issues that have cropped up from time to time in the course of writing about food.
Case in point, Mr. @GarySoup recently tweeted: "Amazed that foodies still don't know (or don't want to know) that "kaffir" is a racial slur."
I recalled mulling over that issue a few years back.
It has been suggested that the kaffir in kaffir lime comes from the term كافر (kāfir), along with its plural form كفّار (kuffār) which features the reduplication of the second radical of the tri-literal root (hence the doubling of the f in kaffir, perhaps). Wiki has some information on this word.
Looking at a close relative of Arabic, while the cognate tri-literal root in Hebrew, כפר, primarily points to the idea of "to cover (one's sin)" or the propitiation of sin, it's been suggested that, at some point, the related form כופר has also come to be used to refer to those who have left the religion (source).
More lexical investigation is needed to establish firmly that the bumpy citrus fruit, heavily used in Thai cuisine, indeed comes from the derogatory kāfir. For now, let's assume that this is the case.
What am I supposed to do every time I write about dishes that contain that fruit? I certainly can't avoid it, especially when I write about Thai food. Do I always include a footnote? An apology? Do I, as has been suggested, refer to the fruit with its Thai name, makrut, and let folks figure out on their own what the heck I am talking about?
Do we go on calling the fruit "kaffir lime" as long as we use the term innocently?
Kaffir is far from being the only potentially racial slur in the culinary lexicon, though. Dig deeply enough and I'm sure you'll find a few -- if not a lot -- more. If we collectively change the way we refer to kaffir lime -- and I'm not saying we shouldn't -- we perhaps should also consider changing the names of many other things. Those who are offended by and campaigning against the use of the word "kaffir" in the context of "kaffir lime," -- and there's nothing wrong with that -- could be surprised that they, too, have been innocently using racial slurs to refer to other things.
As I'm composing this post, I have in the draft folder of my other blog a post on Thai fried bananas. This much-loved street food is commonly called in Thai, "kluai khaek" (กล้วยแขก). "Khaek"(แขก) is an old-fashioned catch-all Thai word for South Asian or Middle Eastern people. Sometimes, it even applies to fellow Southeast Asians of the Islamic faith. The term, "khaek dam" (แขกดำ), literally "black khaek," makes it more specific that the speaker is referring to certain sub-groups with darker skin color. Similarly, "khaek khao" (แขกขาว), literally "white khaek," refers to some sub-groups with fairer skin color. However you slice and dice it, we're tiptoeing in a very sensitive territory.
Personally, I have never sensed that it's being used by anyone I know as a racial slur, though. But that doesn't necessarily mean there will be people who find it derogatory or offensive.
Also, as any linguist/semanticist will tell you, meanings of words change over time. What wasn't derogatory (or used in an intentionally derogatory way) decades ago can become so in the current usage (based on this, it's not unfathomable that some words that are used derogatorily in the present were once completely benign (or even had positive meanings!).
So I am in a dilemma. Should I bring up the Thai name at all? Or do I pretend it doesn't exist?
The answer to my dilemma could be the use of the alternate term for these banana fritters, kluai tod (literally: fried bananas) which is more generic and politically correct. But it's not a common way to refer to this particular dish in Thailand and is quite inadequate as it fails to specify which of the various types of fried bananas is being referred to. Yet, even though I could manage to dodge the banana issue, more similar issues will soon crop up. For example, one of these days, I'm going to have to mention the Thai version of the Indonesian salad, gado-gado, salat khaek (literally: salad khaek-style) or a dish that has the Thai word for green beans, thua khaek (khaek's beans), to cite just a few examples.
And don't get me started on the term farang, used by the Thai to refer to Caucasian foreigners, (which could be derogatory or neutral, depending on whom you ask -- and, oh, this debate could go forever) and how often it is used in the culinary context.
Chewing gum (mak farang) = farang betel
Dill (phak chi farang) = farang coriander
Potato (man farang) = farang yam
Guava (farang) = just ... farang.
Etc.
Back to the "kaffir" issue: if we stop using "kaffir lime," must we also stop using other derogatory (or potentially derogatory) words currently in use? Maybe we should. Maybe we must. This, however, will involve analyzing a lot of things, linguistically, religiously, ethnically, historically, socially, politically, etc. It's no small task.
On the one hand, I want to focus on just the food. On the other hand, I can't just turn a blind eye to linguistic (political, environmental, etc.) issues that have cropped up from time to time in the course of writing about food.
Case in point, Mr. @GarySoup recently tweeted: "Amazed that foodies still don't know (or don't want to know) that "kaffir" is a racial slur."
I recalled mulling over that issue a few years back.
It has been suggested that the kaffir in kaffir lime comes from the term كافر (kāfir), along with its plural form كفّار (kuffār) which features the reduplication of the second radical of the tri-literal root (hence the doubling of the f in kaffir, perhaps). Wiki has some information on this word.
Looking at a close relative of Arabic, while the cognate tri-literal root in Hebrew, כפר, primarily points to the idea of "to cover (one's sin)" or the propitiation of sin, it's been suggested that, at some point, the related form כופר has also come to be used to refer to those who have left the religion (source).
More lexical investigation is needed to establish firmly that the bumpy citrus fruit, heavily used in Thai cuisine, indeed comes from the derogatory kāfir. For now, let's assume that this is the case.
What am I supposed to do every time I write about dishes that contain that fruit? I certainly can't avoid it, especially when I write about Thai food. Do I always include a footnote? An apology? Do I, as has been suggested, refer to the fruit with its Thai name, makrut, and let folks figure out on their own what the heck I am talking about?
Do we go on calling the fruit "kaffir lime" as long as we use the term innocently?
Kaffir is far from being the only potentially racial slur in the culinary lexicon, though. Dig deeply enough and I'm sure you'll find a few -- if not a lot -- more. If we collectively change the way we refer to kaffir lime -- and I'm not saying we shouldn't -- we perhaps should also consider changing the names of many other things. Those who are offended by and campaigning against the use of the word "kaffir" in the context of "kaffir lime," -- and there's nothing wrong with that -- could be surprised that they, too, have been innocently using racial slurs to refer to other things.
As I'm composing this post, I have in the draft folder of my other blog a post on Thai fried bananas. This much-loved street food is commonly called in Thai, "kluai khaek" (กล้วยแขก). "Khaek"(แขก) is an old-fashioned catch-all Thai word for South Asian or Middle Eastern people. Sometimes, it even applies to fellow Southeast Asians of the Islamic faith. The term, "khaek dam" (แขกดำ), literally "black khaek," makes it more specific that the speaker is referring to certain sub-groups with darker skin color. Similarly, "khaek khao" (แขกขาว), literally "white khaek," refers to some sub-groups with fairer skin color. However you slice and dice it, we're tiptoeing in a very sensitive territory.
Personally, I have never sensed that it's being used by anyone I know as a racial slur, though. But that doesn't necessarily mean there will be people who find it derogatory or offensive.
Also, as any linguist/semanticist will tell you, meanings of words change over time. What wasn't derogatory (or used in an intentionally derogatory way) decades ago can become so in the current usage (based on this, it's not unfathomable that some words that are used derogatorily in the present were once completely benign (or even had positive meanings!).
So I am in a dilemma. Should I bring up the Thai name at all? Or do I pretend it doesn't exist?
The answer to my dilemma could be the use of the alternate term for these banana fritters, kluai tod (literally: fried bananas) which is more generic and politically correct. But it's not a common way to refer to this particular dish in Thailand and is quite inadequate as it fails to specify which of the various types of fried bananas is being referred to. Yet, even though I could manage to dodge the banana issue, more similar issues will soon crop up. For example, one of these days, I'm going to have to mention the Thai version of the Indonesian salad, gado-gado, salat khaek (literally: salad khaek-style) or a dish that has the Thai word for green beans, thua khaek (khaek's beans), to cite just a few examples.
And don't get me started on the term farang, used by the Thai to refer to Caucasian foreigners, (which could be derogatory or neutral, depending on whom you ask -- and, oh, this debate could go forever) and how often it is used in the culinary context.
Chewing gum (mak farang) = farang betel
Dill (phak chi farang) = farang coriander
Potato (man farang) = farang yam
Guava (farang) = just ... farang.
Etc.
Back to the "kaffir" issue: if we stop using "kaffir lime," must we also stop using other derogatory (or potentially derogatory) words currently in use? Maybe we should. Maybe we must. This, however, will involve analyzing a lot of things, linguistically, religiously, ethnically, historically, socially, politically, etc. It's no small task.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Why Study Ancient Greek?
Whenever a budget cut rumor starts flying, people in the humanities division walk around with their hearts thumping nervously.
No need to get into details or the politics of it all, as that's not exactly the point, but if your world involves -- even indirectly -- this kind of thing, you know what I'm talking about.
Have the studies of ancient languages become irrelevant?
Just a few moments ago, a link to the Telegraph story on ancient Greek being taught in state primary schools in England was being circulated on Twitter (Thanks, RayBeckerman!). And I can't tell you how much joy that little piece of good news has brought to my weary, cynical heart. In fact, if I wasn't busy licking a melting ice cream cone to keep it from dripping on the computer keyboard, I -- no kidding -- might have even been moved to tears.
Why ancient Greek?
Well, it doesn't have to be Greek. It could be Latin. It could even be ancient Chinese. But starting off with the basics of the Classical languages is especially beneficial to those who seek to master the English language, the lingua franca of our time. And as we know, fluency in English is not the same as mastery of the English grammar.
I've said this over and over and over to people who are learning a foreign language for the first time. Your first foreign language, be it ancient or contemporary, is going to be the most difficult. This is because when you learn a new language for the first time, you're learning two things simultaneously: the language itself (vocabulary, orthography, pronunciation, etc.) and the method of learning languages (conjugation, parts of speech, verbs, verbal patterns, declensions, etc.).
The good news is that while the former will always be new or somewhat new to you every time you study a new language, the latter remains largely the same. Once you've acquired that knowledge, it will stay with you and see you through for the rest of your life. It helps build a solid foundation which supports all future linguistic endeavors. It works across the different language families.
A separate, more detailed blog post may be needed for me to explain more fully why I support the inclusion of classical studies in primary education. For now let me rejoice on behalf of those in England and express my condolences to those who aren't that unfortunate.
No need to get into details or the politics of it all, as that's not exactly the point, but if your world involves -- even indirectly -- this kind of thing, you know what I'm talking about.
Have the studies of ancient languages become irrelevant?
Just a few moments ago, a link to the Telegraph story on ancient Greek being taught in state primary schools in England was being circulated on Twitter (Thanks, RayBeckerman!). And I can't tell you how much joy that little piece of good news has brought to my weary, cynical heart. In fact, if I wasn't busy licking a melting ice cream cone to keep it from dripping on the computer keyboard, I -- no kidding -- might have even been moved to tears.
Why ancient Greek?
Well, it doesn't have to be Greek. It could be Latin. It could even be ancient Chinese. But starting off with the basics of the Classical languages is especially beneficial to those who seek to master the English language, the lingua franca of our time. And as we know, fluency in English is not the same as mastery of the English grammar.
I've said this over and over and over to people who are learning a foreign language for the first time. Your first foreign language, be it ancient or contemporary, is going to be the most difficult. This is because when you learn a new language for the first time, you're learning two things simultaneously: the language itself (vocabulary, orthography, pronunciation, etc.) and the method of learning languages (conjugation, parts of speech, verbs, verbal patterns, declensions, etc.).
The good news is that while the former will always be new or somewhat new to you every time you study a new language, the latter remains largely the same. Once you've acquired that knowledge, it will stay with you and see you through for the rest of your life. It helps build a solid foundation which supports all future linguistic endeavors. It works across the different language families.
A separate, more detailed blog post may be needed for me to explain more fully why I support the inclusion of classical studies in primary education. For now let me rejoice on behalf of those in England and express my condolences to those who aren't that unfortunate.
Monday, April 26, 2010
On Foreign Words Used in the American-English Vernacular - Part Two: Confused Parts of Speech
While Part One discusses what I believe to be a futile attempt to apply the pluralization rules of the original languages to borrowed words that have entered the English vernacular, Part Two (uh, yeah, this one) suggests where that vigilant energy could be better spent.
___________________________________________
*As a food writer, I use the word "sauté" a lot in my writing. And every time I look at the word in all its variations (sauté, sautés, sautée, sautées, sautéd, and sautéed), I always feel there's something weird about it. The verb in its original French infinitive form,"sauter," has most likely entered the English vernacular in its passive participle form, i.e. sauté (when used with a masculine singular noun), sautés (when used with a masculine plural noun), sautée (when used with a feminine singular noun), and sautées (when used with a feminine plural noun). Then the forms became "frozen" or "fossilized" and regardless of their functions in English sentences, the French passive participle forms are used. This is the only explanation I can think of.
For those who know French, you already know what I'm getting at. For those who don't, let's just say that "sauté, sautés, sautée, and sautées" are all analogous to the English "fried" as in, "the mushrooms are fried," or "broken" as in, "the glass has been broken." In other words, passive participle.
Just as "fried" is an inflected form of the naked form "to fry" and "broken" is an inflected from of "to break," "sauté, sautés, sautée, and sautées" are inflected forms of the infinitive "sauter." Saying, "I am going to sauté that piece of meat,"therefore, is akin to saying, "I am going to fried that piece of meat."
Throw in the variants sautée with an extra e (which in French indicates its agreement with the feminine gender of the noun with which it is used), and you get deeper into confusion.
This is a different issue from the use of fiancé to refer to an engaged man and fiancée to refer to an engaged woman. In that case, it's just a matter of using an extra e to indicate the feminine gender; the way the words are used in English still retains the French syntax, i.e. fiancer (infinitive) --> fiancé/fiancée (passive participles used as adjectives, then as substantives).
Using sauté as an infinitive in English, i.e. to sauté is a bit bizarre. As I mentioned earlier, it's analogous to saying, "to broken" a glass. Using sauté as a verb in the past tense in English as in, "she sautéd/sautéed the vegetables," is like saying, "she brokened a glass," in light of the French syntax.
So weird. So unfixable. So pointless. Yet it needs to be brought up.
___________________________________________
Amandine vs. Almondine
This one is a personal pet peeve of mine. Amandine is a word that indicates the manner in which something is cooked, i.e. with almonds. Almondine is an illegitimate child of French amandine and English almond and not recognized as a word despite its prevalent use. I'm pretty sure it will be soon, though. You start using a word often enough, it will eventually be included in the lexica someday. Heck, it's even found on the White House menu for the dinner honoring Queen Elizabeth II and her husband back when George W. Bush was president.
Dover Sole Almondine. (sigh) If the sole was made with pecans, would you call it Dover Sole Pecanine? Peanutine? Cashewine? Maybe I'm being ridiculous for thinking this is ridiculous, but I think it's ridiculous.
Paninis or gelatos don't bother me that much. But almondine does. A lot.
_____________________________________________
Au Jus
When something is served "au jus," it means that thing is served with its own juice which has been rendered in the process of cooking. "Au" is a preposition used in conjunction with its object "jus;" it's not part of the "jus" proper. When people say, for example, "a French Dip is served au jus," they mean the sandwich is served with the jus or "juice" of the beef (for you to dip your sandwich into). And saying something like, "the sandwich will be served with its au jus," is like saying, "the sandwich will be served with its with juice."
A crude example in English would be "burger with fries."
"Fries" and "with" are not of the same substance; their relationship is purely grammatical. Saying something like, "the au jus comes with the sandwich," is like saying, "the with fries come with the burger."
In short, I'd say a pizzelle maker instead of the more correct pizzella maker, but I won't say, "give me a beef sandwich with its au jus."
Ditto with au gratin.
*As a food writer, I use the word "sauté" a lot in my writing. And every time I look at the word in all its variations (sauté, sautés, sautée, sautées, sautéd, and sautéed), I always feel there's something weird about it. The verb in its original French infinitive form,"sauter," has most likely entered the English vernacular in its passive participle form, i.e. sauté (when used with a masculine singular noun), sautés (when used with a masculine plural noun), sautée (when used with a feminine singular noun), and sautées (when used with a feminine plural noun). Then the forms became "frozen" or "fossilized" and regardless of their functions in English sentences, the French passive participle forms are used. This is the only explanation I can think of.
For those who know French, you already know what I'm getting at. For those who don't, let's just say that "sauté, sautés, sautée, and sautées" are all analogous to the English "fried" as in, "the mushrooms are fried," or "broken" as in, "the glass has been broken." In other words, passive participle.
Just as "fried" is an inflected form of the naked form "to fry" and "broken" is an inflected from of "to break," "sauté, sautés, sautée, and sautées" are inflected forms of the infinitive "sauter." Saying, "I am going to sauté that piece of meat,"therefore, is akin to saying, "I am going to fried that piece of meat."
Throw in the variants sautée with an extra e (which in French indicates its agreement with the feminine gender of the noun with which it is used), and you get deeper into confusion.
This is a different issue from the use of fiancé to refer to an engaged man and fiancée to refer to an engaged woman. In that case, it's just a matter of using an extra e to indicate the feminine gender; the way the words are used in English still retains the French syntax, i.e. fiancer (infinitive) --> fiancé/fiancée (passive participles used as adjectives, then as substantives).
Using sauté as an infinitive in English, i.e. to sauté is a bit bizarre. As I mentioned earlier, it's analogous to saying, "to broken" a glass. Using sauté as a verb in the past tense in English as in, "she sautéd/sautéed the vegetables," is like saying, "she brokened a glass," in light of the French syntax.
So weird. So unfixable. So pointless. Yet it needs to be brought up.
Amandine vs. Almondine
This one is a personal pet peeve of mine. Amandine is a word that indicates the manner in which something is cooked, i.e. with almonds. Almondine is an illegitimate child of French amandine and English almond and not recognized as a word despite its prevalent use. I'm pretty sure it will be soon, though. You start using a word often enough, it will eventually be included in the lexica someday. Heck, it's even found on the White House menu for the dinner honoring Queen Elizabeth II and her husband back when George W. Bush was president.
Dover Sole Almondine. (sigh) If the sole was made with pecans, would you call it Dover Sole Pecanine? Peanutine? Cashewine? Maybe I'm being ridiculous for thinking this is ridiculous, but I think it's ridiculous.
Paninis or gelatos don't bother me that much. But almondine does. A lot.
Au Jus
When something is served "au jus," it means that thing is served with its own juice which has been rendered in the process of cooking. "Au" is a preposition used in conjunction with its object "jus;" it's not part of the "jus" proper. When people say, for example, "a French Dip is served au jus," they mean the sandwich is served with the jus or "juice" of the beef (for you to dip your sandwich into). And saying something like, "the sandwich will be served with its au jus," is like saying, "the sandwich will be served with its with juice."
A crude example in English would be "burger with fries."
"Fries" and "with" are not of the same substance; their relationship is purely grammatical. Saying something like, "the au jus comes with the sandwich," is like saying, "the with fries come with the burger."
In short, I'd say a pizzelle maker instead of the more correct pizzella maker, but I won't say, "give me a beef sandwich with its au jus."
Ditto with au gratin.
Monday, April 12, 2010
On Foreign Words Used in the American-English Vernacular - Part One: Pluralization
This subject has been on my mind for quite some time now, but the complexity of it had kept me from tackling it even in the most informal manner. Until now.
Several weeks ago, one of my Twitter followers retweeted a frustrated-sounding tweet from someone who didn't like the word, "tamale." To paraphrase the tweet (since I didn't bookmark the URL and it will take too long to search): "There's no such thing as 'tamale,' only 'tamal' or 'tamales.'" 'Tamale' is a well-known corruption of the Spanish tamal (singular) and tamales (plural). If I were to guess how 'tamale' came into existence in the American-English vernacular, it would be that someone, somewhere, at some point in history looked at the plural tamales and figured that the singular form of tamales would be derived from removing the final S -- the common plural marker in English -- from the form; hence 'tamale.' Unfortunately, there's no such thing as 'tamale' in the Spanish language and the frustration over such a prevalent use of it is understandable.
As a food blogger, I often find myself in a dilemma. Do I go mainstream and say, "paninis," (panini is a plural form of panino and saying paninis is like saying childrens or mices to the Italians) "gelatos" (the plural of gelato is gelati), etc., along with most people? Or should I stick with the pluralization rules of the languages from which these word come and be that person everybody hates? Did I just buy a pizzelle maker or a pizzella maker? (Pizzelle is the plural form of the singular pizzella and just as you wouldn't say 'waffles maker' or 'pancakes griddle,' you wouldn't say 'pizzelle maker.') Should I refer to the dough with which you make vareniki (plural of varenik) and pierogi (plural of pierog) as vareniki/pierogi dough (analogous to cookies dough) or varenik/pierog dough (analogous to cookie dough)? I should go with the latter, but people would think I'm weird. I hate this.
Examples abound and the post would end up being much too long if I was to list just the ones I have come across.
In explaining my position on Twitter in response to the tamal/tamale/tamales issue, I used the South American sandwich cookies, alfajores, as an example of how complex I thought this whole thing was. In Spanish, alfajores is the plural form of alfajor. So, technically, you should say, "Pass me an alfajor, will you?" as opposed to, "Pass me an alfajores, will you?" But let's face it, the people who say "a tamale" will also say, "an alfajores" (which, now that I think about it, is a much worse offense than tamale. At least with tamale, an effort goes into removing the plural marker, S, from tamales to get to the form tamale.)
The reason I used alfajores as the example was because the word has, for lack of a better way to put it, two-tiered etymology. The word has entered the English vernacular via Spanish. That's one tier. Alfajor is, in fact, an Arabic word الفاخر which had earlier entered the Spanish vernacular. That's the other tier.
What are we going to do with this word now that it has entered the English vernacular? Can we say that since it has come to us via Spanish, the Spanish pluralization rules apply? Do we ignore its Arabic etymology? The word still exists and is in use in Arabic. Who's to say that alfajor is more Spanish than Arabic? And if alfajor is both Arabic and Spanish, which set of grammatical rules applies here? Do we pluralize it the Spanish way or the Arabic way? This has nothing to do with the cookie itself or the tradition according to which it's made, but the name.
Localization, more specifically Anglicization (English is still undeniably the lingua franca of our time), of foreign words is a natural force that cannot be stopped. You can try, but eventually whatever is more popularly used will end up being "correct." Those who are strict about things like this, I've noticed, are those who know the foreign languages from which these words come. Those who know Italian roll their eyes when they hear, "I want a panini." Likewise, those who know Spanish get frustrated at every mention of "a tamale." Those who know Hebrew laugh at people who say, "Oh, that baby is as cute as a cherubim!" (cherubim being the plural form of cherub). Blini, is the plural form of blin and anyone saying, "blinis" would illicit an eye roll from anyone who knows Russian. Most Classicist I know are completely unable to say, "a criteria." It's always one criterion and many criteria (no such things as criterias!), a phenomenon and many phenomena, a formula and many formulae not formulas, a schema and many schemata, etc. But this is because these people know Greek and Latin.
But how many languages are we expected to know? We may be able to keep the Italian pluralization rules because some of us know Italian. But do we all know French too? What about Hebrew? Arabic? Indonesian (which pluralizes a noun by reduplicating it)? We may be able to observe certain rules but unwittingly break the others. Good intention is noble and all, but it's not enough. Anglicization is not something done intentionally, xenophobically, or ignorantly; it's natural and it helps preserve our collective sanity. Anglicization is not inherently evil, and bullheaded insistence on applying the rules of the foreign languages of origin is, at best, futile.
When it comes to grammatical rules, especially the pluralization, we kind of have to let go. Do what you can according to what you know, but at some point, we all need to admit that we 1. don't know the rules of every single language, 2. can't determine every single foreign word's etymology, and 3. don't really have a clue on how to incorporate the grammatical rules of another language into English in any coherent, logical, or consistent manner anyway.
Arabic and some other languages in the Semitic family have 6 different endings number-wise: masculine singular, masculine dual, masculine plural, feminine singular, feminine dual, feminine plural. Assuming we ignore the Spanish etymology of alfajor and go all the way back to Arabic, how do you ask for one cookie, two, or three? Do we even know if it's masculine or feminine?
I'm going to blog about pizzelle in the near future and, to be honest, I don't even know if I should refer to the machine with which I make these pizzelle as a pizzella machine or pizzelle machine. I'm thinking I may make just one so as to avoid the agony of having to say pizzelles.
These things are a pain in the neck.
Several weeks ago, one of my Twitter followers retweeted a frustrated-sounding tweet from someone who didn't like the word, "tamale." To paraphrase the tweet (since I didn't bookmark the URL and it will take too long to search): "There's no such thing as 'tamale,' only 'tamal' or 'tamales.'" 'Tamale' is a well-known corruption of the Spanish tamal (singular) and tamales (plural). If I were to guess how 'tamale' came into existence in the American-English vernacular, it would be that someone, somewhere, at some point in history looked at the plural tamales and figured that the singular form of tamales would be derived from removing the final S -- the common plural marker in English -- from the form; hence 'tamale.' Unfortunately, there's no such thing as 'tamale' in the Spanish language and the frustration over such a prevalent use of it is understandable.
As a food blogger, I often find myself in a dilemma. Do I go mainstream and say, "paninis," (panini is a plural form of panino and saying paninis is like saying childrens or mices to the Italians) "gelatos" (the plural of gelato is gelati), etc., along with most people? Or should I stick with the pluralization rules of the languages from which these word come and be that person everybody hates? Did I just buy a pizzelle maker or a pizzella maker? (Pizzelle is the plural form of the singular pizzella and just as you wouldn't say 'waffles maker' or 'pancakes griddle,' you wouldn't say 'pizzelle maker.') Should I refer to the dough with which you make vareniki (plural of varenik) and pierogi (plural of pierog) as vareniki/pierogi dough (analogous to cookies dough) or varenik/pierog dough (analogous to cookie dough)? I should go with the latter, but people would think I'm weird. I hate this.
Examples abound and the post would end up being much too long if I was to list just the ones I have come across.
In explaining my position on Twitter in response to the tamal/tamale/tamales issue, I used the South American sandwich cookies, alfajores, as an example of how complex I thought this whole thing was. In Spanish, alfajores is the plural form of alfajor. So, technically, you should say, "Pass me an alfajor, will you?" as opposed to, "Pass me an alfajores, will you?" But let's face it, the people who say "a tamale" will also say, "an alfajores" (which, now that I think about it, is a much worse offense than tamale. At least with tamale, an effort goes into removing the plural marker, S, from tamales to get to the form tamale.)
The reason I used alfajores as the example was because the word has, for lack of a better way to put it, two-tiered etymology. The word has entered the English vernacular via Spanish. That's one tier. Alfajor is, in fact, an Arabic word الفاخر which had earlier entered the Spanish vernacular. That's the other tier.
What are we going to do with this word now that it has entered the English vernacular? Can we say that since it has come to us via Spanish, the Spanish pluralization rules apply? Do we ignore its Arabic etymology? The word still exists and is in use in Arabic. Who's to say that alfajor is more Spanish than Arabic? And if alfajor is both Arabic and Spanish, which set of grammatical rules applies here? Do we pluralize it the Spanish way or the Arabic way? This has nothing to do with the cookie itself or the tradition according to which it's made, but the name.
Localization, more specifically Anglicization (English is still undeniably the lingua franca of our time), of foreign words is a natural force that cannot be stopped. You can try, but eventually whatever is more popularly used will end up being "correct." Those who are strict about things like this, I've noticed, are those who know the foreign languages from which these words come. Those who know Italian roll their eyes when they hear, "I want a panini." Likewise, those who know Spanish get frustrated at every mention of "a tamale." Those who know Hebrew laugh at people who say, "Oh, that baby is as cute as a cherubim!" (cherubim being the plural form of cherub). Blini, is the plural form of blin and anyone saying, "blinis" would illicit an eye roll from anyone who knows Russian. Most Classicist I know are completely unable to say, "a criteria." It's always one criterion and many criteria (no such things as criterias!), a phenomenon and many phenomena, a formula and many formulae not formulas, a schema and many schemata, etc. But this is because these people know Greek and Latin.
But how many languages are we expected to know? We may be able to keep the Italian pluralization rules because some of us know Italian. But do we all know French too? What about Hebrew? Arabic? Indonesian (which pluralizes a noun by reduplicating it)? We may be able to observe certain rules but unwittingly break the others. Good intention is noble and all, but it's not enough. Anglicization is not something done intentionally, xenophobically, or ignorantly; it's natural and it helps preserve our collective sanity. Anglicization is not inherently evil, and bullheaded insistence on applying the rules of the foreign languages of origin is, at best, futile.
When it comes to grammatical rules, especially the pluralization, we kind of have to let go. Do what you can according to what you know, but at some point, we all need to admit that we 1. don't know the rules of every single language, 2. can't determine every single foreign word's etymology, and 3. don't really have a clue on how to incorporate the grammatical rules of another language into English in any coherent, logical, or consistent manner anyway.
Arabic and some other languages in the Semitic family have 6 different endings number-wise: masculine singular, masculine dual, masculine plural, feminine singular, feminine dual, feminine plural. Assuming we ignore the Spanish etymology of alfajor and go all the way back to Arabic, how do you ask for one cookie, two, or three? Do we even know if it's masculine or feminine?
I'm going to blog about pizzelle in the near future and, to be honest, I don't even know if I should refer to the machine with which I make these pizzelle as a pizzella machine or pizzelle machine. I'm thinking I may make just one so as to avoid the agony of having to say pizzelles.
These things are a pain in the neck.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
From Mourir to Mourez - How a New York Times Op-Ed Was Edited Overnight
On March 14, 2010, the Twitterverse went nuts over a New York Times Op-Ed piece titled, "It's My Party and You Have to Answer," by Rand Richards Cooper. Links to the article were tweeted and retweeted ad nauseum. The article must have struck a chord with people as it seemed everybody was talking about it.
In the article, Cooper bemoans the fact that people, including some of his friends, have failed to RSVP to his E-vites, thereby causing the host unnecessary inconvenience and anxiety. This, he opines, clearly shows not only "how hard the R.S.V.P. rubs against the grain of contemporary life," but also that in requesting commitment from people, "you are demanding a kind of navigation that Americans increasingly do not practice."
While the point of the article was taken and appreciated, my focus here has nothing to do with etiquette. Cooper suggests in the article that the standard R.S.V.P, which stands for "Répondez s'il vous plaît" ("Please respond") in French, is no longer effective. He proposes R.V.O.M as a more suitable and potentially more effective replacement. R.V.O.M., according to the article as it appeared online (and perhaps in the hard copy as well, though I can't verify) on March 14, 2010, stands for "Répondez Vite -- Ou Mourir!"
"For those friends of mine who plead a lack of high school French, allow me to translate. Respond Quickly, or Die!" says Cooper. Immediately, my mind went to the post I had recently written about how to use free online translators without making it so obvious that you do.
You see, 'répondez vite — ou mourir' is grammatically-incorrect French. The first verb, 'répondez,' is correctly in the 2nd person, plural/formal, imperative form. The second verb, 'mourir,' is supposed to be conjugated in the exact same manner. Unfortunately, it wasn't, and the infinitive, 'mourir,' appeared in the article. Instead of getting "respond quickly or die" as he intended, Cooper inadvertently wrote, while his friends "who plead a lack of high school French" looked on, "respond quickly or to die."
To say that it's an embarrassing mistake is a bit of an understatement, especially when you take into consideration that the article appeared in the newspaper of record and that the author clearly wanted to show his clever side.
This morning (March 16, 2010), as I was rereading the article online, I discovered, to my amusement, that the mistake was mysteriously corrected. What used to be "mourir" now reads "mourez," as it should have been all along. Somebody must have alerted the author's attention to such an obvious blooper -- the kind any high school French student could spot easily.
Even though the original text no longer exists and I have no proof that the mistake was really there at one point, luckily the phenomenon which happened to lost ancient texts is at work here. The original incorrect version of Cooper's French has been preserved in the form of a tweet here, a tweet there, a retweet here, a retweet there, a quote here, and a quote there. I'm not making this up, you see?
How could someone who knows enough to come up with 'répondez' have unwittingly written 'mourir' instead of 'mourez'? Call me crazy, but I have a hard time believing that it was simply a typographical error. Besides, I'm sure that article was read and proofread tons of times before it went to print. It seems deliberate. In other words, the mistake did not appear to be due to an oversight, but -- not to be harsh -- a lack of high school French -- precisely what the author says his friends plead.
The textual critic in me suspects the use of an online translator. The test on Babel Fish didn't confirm my theory as Babel Fish is smart enough to create the parallelism between the two imperatives and spits out "mourez" instead of "mourir."
The gotcha moment came when I entered the same text into Google Translate. When given the English, "respond quickly or die," Google Translate gives you, "répondre rapidement ou mourir" -- two infinitives. Google Translate does not recognize that "respond" and "die" in this context are used as imperatives and, therefore, treats both words as infinitives. The expression R.S.V.P is formulaic enough for anyone to know that the Google Translate result needs to be slightly altered from "répondre" to "répondez." The 2nd person, plural/formal, imperative form of "mourir" which is "mourez," on the other hand, isn't so common. (How many times do people say, "You/Y'all, die!"?)
The failure to see 'mourir' as wrong, to me, shows the inability to verify results derived from an online translator. I could be wrong, but I think I have a pretty good case here.
******************************************
Well, what do you know? Words got out and Mr. Rand Richards Cooper, the author of the op-ed piece in the New York Times, wrote me an email message today (March 17, 2010) telling me that my online translator theory was not based on truth. Mr. Cooper's message was, as you will see, gracious and even a bit self-deprecating. What can I say? Rand Richards Cooper comes across as humble and very likable.
Printed with permission:
"Hi Leela:
I’m the guy who wrote the op-ed piece on RSVPing in the New York Times… Your nice theory notwithstanding, there was no online translation machine involved – just my own faulty, three-decades-old high school French, which (alas) used to be serviceable, and would not have committed that gaffe twenty years ago. But as the saying goes, tout lasse, tout passe, tout casse… (Or at least that’s how I remember it.)
Rand Richards Cooper"
To which I replied:
"Hello Mr. Cooper,
Thank you so very much for taking the time to write me. The gracious tone of your email made me regret my being presumptuous regarding my theory on how the gaffe came to be. Please do pardon an overzealous linguist.
Can I please have your permission to reprint the content of your email as an addendum to my post? That way, the five people who read that blog will have a more balanced view of the story.
Leela
P.S. I always RSVP. :)"
"Mais bien sûr!" was what he said. And all of us live happily ever after.
In the article, Cooper bemoans the fact that people, including some of his friends, have failed to RSVP to his E-vites, thereby causing the host unnecessary inconvenience and anxiety. This, he opines, clearly shows not only "how hard the R.S.V.P. rubs against the grain of contemporary life," but also that in requesting commitment from people, "you are demanding a kind of navigation that Americans increasingly do not practice."
While the point of the article was taken and appreciated, my focus here has nothing to do with etiquette. Cooper suggests in the article that the standard R.S.V.P, which stands for "Répondez s'il vous plaît" ("Please respond") in French, is no longer effective. He proposes R.V.O.M as a more suitable and potentially more effective replacement. R.V.O.M., according to the article as it appeared online (and perhaps in the hard copy as well, though I can't verify) on March 14, 2010, stands for "Répondez Vite -- Ou Mourir!"
"For those friends of mine who plead a lack of high school French, allow me to translate. Respond Quickly, or Die!" says Cooper. Immediately, my mind went to the post I had recently written about how to use free online translators without making it so obvious that you do.
You see, 'répondez vite — ou mourir' is grammatically-incorrect French. The first verb, 'répondez,' is correctly in the 2nd person, plural/formal, imperative form. The second verb, 'mourir,' is supposed to be conjugated in the exact same manner. Unfortunately, it wasn't, and the infinitive, 'mourir,' appeared in the article. Instead of getting "respond quickly or die" as he intended, Cooper inadvertently wrote, while his friends "who plead a lack of high school French" looked on, "respond quickly or to die."
To say that it's an embarrassing mistake is a bit of an understatement, especially when you take into consideration that the article appeared in the newspaper of record and that the author clearly wanted to show his clever side.
This morning (March 16, 2010), as I was rereading the article online, I discovered, to my amusement, that the mistake was mysteriously corrected. What used to be "mourir" now reads "mourez," as it should have been all along. Somebody must have alerted the author's attention to such an obvious blooper -- the kind any high school French student could spot easily.
Even though the original text no longer exists and I have no proof that the mistake was really there at one point, luckily the phenomenon which happened to lost ancient texts is at work here. The original incorrect version of Cooper's French has been preserved in the form of a tweet here, a tweet there, a retweet here, a retweet there, a quote here, and a quote there. I'm not making this up, you see?
How could someone who knows enough to come up with 'répondez' have unwittingly written 'mourir' instead of 'mourez'? Call me crazy, but I have a hard time believing that it was simply a typographical error. Besides, I'm sure that article was read and proofread tons of times before it went to print. It seems deliberate. In other words, the mistake did not appear to be due to an oversight, but -- not to be harsh -- a lack of high school French -- precisely what the author says his friends plead.
The textual critic in me suspects the use of an online translator. The test on Babel Fish didn't confirm my theory as Babel Fish is smart enough to create the parallelism between the two imperatives and spits out "mourez" instead of "mourir."
The gotcha moment came when I entered the same text into Google Translate. When given the English, "respond quickly or die," Google Translate gives you, "répondre rapidement ou mourir" -- two infinitives. Google Translate does not recognize that "respond" and "die" in this context are used as imperatives and, therefore, treats both words as infinitives. The expression R.S.V.P is formulaic enough for anyone to know that the Google Translate result needs to be slightly altered from "répondre" to "répondez." The 2nd person, plural/formal, imperative form of "mourir" which is "mourez," on the other hand, isn't so common. (How many times do people say, "You/Y'all, die!"?)
The failure to see 'mourir' as wrong, to me, shows the inability to verify results derived from an online translator. I could be wrong, but I think I have a pretty good case here.
Addendum
(Added March 17, 2010)
Well, what do you know? Words got out and Mr. Rand Richards Cooper, the author of the op-ed piece in the New York Times, wrote me an email message today (March 17, 2010) telling me that my online translator theory was not based on truth. Mr. Cooper's message was, as you will see, gracious and even a bit self-deprecating. What can I say? Rand Richards Cooper comes across as humble and very likable.
Printed with permission:
"Hi Leela:
I’m the guy who wrote the op-ed piece on RSVPing in the New York Times… Your nice theory notwithstanding, there was no online translation machine involved – just my own faulty, three-decades-old high school French, which (alas) used to be serviceable, and would not have committed that gaffe twenty years ago. But as the saying goes, tout lasse, tout passe, tout casse… (Or at least that’s how I remember it.)
Rand Richards Cooper"
To which I replied:
"Hello Mr. Cooper,
Thank you so very much for taking the time to write me. The gracious tone of your email made me regret my being presumptuous regarding my theory on how the gaffe came to be. Please do pardon an overzealous linguist.
Can I please have your permission to reprint the content of your email as an addendum to my post? That way, the five people who read that blog will have a more balanced view of the story.
Leela
P.S. I always RSVP. :)"
"Mais bien sûr!" was what he said. And all of us live happily ever after.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Learn How to Make the Most of Babel Fish Part One
Note from the Buffalo: Although pseudonyms are used here, any similarity to actual persons is not coincidental. If this sounds familiar to you, well, then it's probably you I'm writing about. I'm looking at you, Josh. - The BuffaloDepending on the way I feel about the person, my reactions upon receiving a message in a foreign language that is clearly a product of free online translator range from, "Aw, that's sweet. He doesn't know Italian, but he wants to impress me ..." to "Yikes, this is embarrassing. Stick with English, please."
As useful as Babel Fish is, there is only so much it can do for you. To make the most of the translation engine, you need to know how to manipulate it. No, you don't need to learn the language itself; you just need to equip yourself with the basics of how the language works. Admittedly, this takes some learning and a certain level of linguistic aptitude. At the very least, it takes quite a bit of curiosity and observation.
But if you cannot or will not take the time to learn the basics, being aware of one simple thing will save yourself from the embarrassment of being found out you don't really know the language and that you got that Italian sentence from Babel Fish. That one simple thing is this:
Direct, word-for-word translation almost always fails.
That's it. Of course, there are a few other things to keep in mind. But this is the bare minimum requirement. This alone should instill the fear of god in people every time they use Babel Fish and hope to get away with it. Unless the person knows -- really knows -- this one simple rule, Babel Fish in that person's hand is as dangerous as a mandoline slicer in the hand of a clumsy cook.
But that is just a good starting point. In order to turn a translation engine from a potential source of embarrassment into a useful tool, it is necessary to acquaint yourself with some of the basics.
First, a real life example.
While on a trip to Ukraine, a group of us from the US were having breakfast with a group of Ukrainian friends. One of my American colleagues, Josh, just learned how to say, "Good morning," in Russian the day before and he enthusiastically greeted everybody with, "Доброе утро!" Nothing wrong with that. Доброе утро is indeed how the Russian greet each other in the morning.
But then his lack of understanding of how language works became clear. Sergei, one of our Ukrainian friends, knowing we were still trying to fight off jet lag, asked Josh in English how his sleep was. Wanting to impress Sergei with the little Russian that he knew, Josh answered, "Доброе!" Sergei had a funny look on his face, but didn't say anything. I knew exactly what was going on, but decided to shut up and eat my morning sardines and cucumber spears quietly while mentally composing this post. Later in the day, Viktor, another Ukrainian, asked Josh, in English, what he thought of Ukrainian food. "Oh, доброе, доброе. I love it," enthusiastically answered Josh. Again, as to be expected, Viktor had a big question mark on his face, although he didn't say anything.
What happened?
- First, Josh learned that 'доброе утро' is Russian for 'good morning.'
- Then he assumed that 'good morning' in Russian was a direct, word-for-word translation of 'good morning' in English, i.e. adjective 'good' followed by the noun which it modifies, 'morning.'
- That assumption led him to develop a false theory in his mind that 'доброе' = 'good' and 'утро' = 'morning.'
- Operating on that assumption, when Sergei asked how his sleep was, Josh answered, "Доброе!" meaning "Good!" (in his mind, that is).
- Operating on that same assumption, when Viktor asked Josh what he thought of the food, Josh once again answered, "Доброе!" or, in his universe, "Good!"
To avoid being like Josh and to know how to manipulate a translation engine for your benefit, here are some of the basics:
1. Be aware that some languages have grammatical features not present in English.
Josh's blooper is very useful, because it is wrong in multiple levels. Apart from the failure in the area of sentence structure, his use of доброе to say "good" also demonstrates the failure to understand that a random foreign word you see or hear may be an inflected form and therefore cannot be used outside the context which determines its form without running a risk of violating grammatical rules.
Though you grammarians out there will have readily understood the previous sentence, please let me clarify it for those whose lives don't revolve around syntax.
Доброе is the neuter form of the adjective добрый which means "kind." English, in the present form, does not require inflection according to gender. Therefore, it is helpful to keep in mind that even though you don't have to worry about inflecting something according to its gender when you speak English, that's not the case in other languages, e.g. Spanish, Russian, French, German.
Утро functions here as a neuter singular noun and the adjective which modifies it, according to the rule of noun-adjective agreement, needs to be inflected accordingly; hence доброе (neuter) as opposed to добрый (masculine) or добрая (feminine).
Here's another way to explain the erroneous way in which Josh used доброе. Someone (who knows too little French) has learned that "le chat est beau" means "the cat is beautiful." What s/he doesn't know is that the adjective "beau" takes on that form because it modifies a masculine noun, chat. Imagine that person, upon being presented with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, exclaims in delight, "Oh, beau!" That, to the French, is similar to Josh's доброе to the Russian.
When it comes to grammatical gender, it also helps to remember one other thing: while Babel Fish is pretty good at correctly matching an adjective with a noun (e.g. La fille est jolie as opposed to La fille est joli.), when it comes to translating sentences with the first person pronoun as the subject, it always assumes the masculine gender and inflects everything based on that assumption. This is because Babel Fish does not, and cannot, know whether you're male or female.
Here's an example: You enter, "I am sorry," and hit English to French. You get, "Je suis désolé." That's fine if you're a man. But if you're a woman, it helps to know that the adjective désolé is inflected according to the engine's assumption that the "I" here is a man. An informed female user of Babel Fish would know to alter the result to "Je suis désolée." But those who use Babel Fish with absolutely no knowledge of what to watch out for, or the many ways in which the translation engine can fail you, usually do not think of these things. When you deal with languages such as French, German, Spanish, or Russian, be careful of this.
More to come in Part Two. Please stay tuned.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Don't Hurt Your Interpreter: Don't Build Contents on English
In my late teen years in Bangkok, my part-time gigs included, though were not limited to, teaching Thai on a one-on-one basis to expats living in Bangkok and serving as live interpreters for foreigners conducting businesses in Thailand. For the most part, I loved what I did. And earning some cash in the process certainly didn't hurt.Teaching Thai to expats was fun and very educational. For the first time, I learned to approach my own native tongue with a perspective of an outsider thereby recognizing syntactical and semantic idiosyncrasies that most native speakers of Thai don't pause to think about, because the language comes so naturally to us. Most of my students were Bangkok-based NGO workers who came from all over the world, and I learned so much about many different cultures and languages during that time.
It took one bad apple for me to quit teaching Thai to expats for good. After a few weeks, it became increasingly clear to me that my 40-something, married, Swiss student was much more interested in having a girl sit next to him than actually learning any Thai. One fine afternoon, after being made an unwilling recipient of a firm and lingering pat on the butt, I decided I'd had enough.
But that part, though icky, didn't make me foam at the mouth. It wasn't a desirable situation, but it was manageable. I just walked out mid-lesson, never to return, with a Swiss handprint on my skirt but my dignity intact (I think).What made me foam at the mouth was the interpreter job that repeatedly put me in a position where I really, really wanted to smack someone up the side of their head.
In a situation where an interpreter is needed, it is safe to assume that the speaker and the audience do not share a common language; otherwise simultaneous interpretation wouldn't be necessary. Sure, English has been the lingua franca for so long that it's hard to imagine anyone anywhere in the world not knowing at least some of it. But when you put a group of speakers of English as an additional language (SEALs) with varying degrees of exposure to English in one place, it's wise to assume the worst.
The American's fondness of building contents upon acrostics/acronyms and the semantic flexibility and spellings of English words is -- my good gawd -- astounding. Seriously, it needs to stop.
Consider the following:
- A supervisor: "The philosophy of our organization can be summed up in the word "LOVE" - Labor, Overtime (with no compensation), Vacation? Forget it, and Exploitation of the workers," Now tell me, how in sweet holy Hades can you interpret a speech like this -- live -- to an audience whose first language isn't English? Do you expect your interpreter to come up, on the friggin' spot, with a word for "LOVE" in a different language which comprises four letters that happen to serve as the initial letters for four words that convey the four points you try to make? Don't be that guy.
- A preacher: "To make this sermon easy to recall, I'd like you to remember the four Ws that jeopardize your spiritual life: wantonness, waggishness, wastefulness, and wegotism ..." Yeah, better pray your interpreter can find four words in the audience's language that all begin with the same letters and perfectly communicate your divine message.
- An inspirational speaker: "Remember, there's no I in TEAM." No kidding ...
- An art teacher: "You have to practice. Of course, painting is hard. That's why they put "pain" in there." Teacher, it's not painting that gives me pain; it's you.
- A politician: "War doesn't determine who is right; it determines who is left." I don't know ... but it sounds like you're declaring war with your interpreter and audience right about now.
- A first-time overseas traveler: "Knock, knock!" Somebody kill me now ...
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Documenting My Thoughts on Intercultural Communications: Your "Big Words" Are Not My "Big Words" Part Two
In Documenting My Thoughts on Intercultural Communications: Your "Big Words" Are Not My "Big Words" Part One, I began my thesis on how speakers of English as an additional language (SEALs) and a native speakers of English (NSEs) have different definitions of what a "big" word is (whether or not they realize or admit it).
The idea which I had proposed -- albeit incoherently due to me getting sleepy half way through the composition -- is that when a NSE finds him/herself in a situation wherein s/he is communicating with a SEAL whose level of English is far from being near-native, s/he is often inclined to significantly dumb down his/her language in order to be accommodating. Most of the time, from my experience, the intention is good, but the way in which it is done is often misguided and consequently results in miscommunication.
If you can make something simpler, you certainly should. So I'm not suggesting that a NSE resist the urge to simplify the way s/he communicates to a SEAL. S/he just has to scratch where it itches. And where it itches for SEALs is often not where NSEs would normally think to scratch. Let's go back to what I mentioned before about how simple words make for the most innocent-looking landmine. As cited in Part One, the most commonly-used verbs, e.g. verb to be, are almost always irregularly declined. And here's one thing I have learned over and over and over these past several years of learning different languages:
The level of difficulty of a given word has more to do with the width of its semantic range and the number of ways the word can be used than the level of difficulty in spelling, pronouncing, or translating it. Certainly, it has very little to do with how frequently the word is used.
Of this I am confident. But feel free to disagree.
"Are you saying that the sentence 'His explanation discombobulated her," has better chances of being understood by a SEAL than, 'His explanation throws her off,"?
Well, yes and no.
I'm not saying that discombobulate is an easy word for a SEAL; it's not. But between "throw off" and "discombobulate," the former is more likely to cause miscommunication when a NSE is communicating to a SEAL with rudimentary level of English. Unless the SEAL is well-versed in all sorts of phrasal verbs, what they all mean, and how they're used, chances are s/he will think s/he understands what it means to "throw someone off." And "think" is the key word here.
You see, the best word to use is "confuse," but the second best isn't "throw off." In fact, of the three choices: confuse, discombobulate, and throw off, the last one is the worst.
Now I know that this seems counter-intuitive to most NSEs and it is. NSEs are familiar with "throw off" and have come to see "throw off" as easy. After all, even a first-grader understands words like "throw off." Right?
"Throw off" is not easy to SEALs, however. A SEAL may think s/he knows what it means, but oftentimes that is not the case. And what makes it complicated is the very fact that both the SEAL and the NSE think that the SEAL understands "throw off."
In any kind of communication, an ideal situation is for both parties to understand each other perfectly. The worst situation, most people think, is that one party doesn't understand the other and vice versa. I disagree. I think the worst situation is when an assumption of understanding or a false understanding occurs. Both parties are under a false impression that communication is successful, that understanding has taken place. Now, that, I think is the most dangerous situation.
This is why it's better to use a low-frequency word like discombobulate than a high-frequency phrasal verb like throw off. The SEAL knows right away, whether or not s/he admits it,* that s/he does not know what discombobulate means. A curious, enthusiastic SEAL learner will either ask the NSE to define or paraphrase it on the spot or make a mental note to look up that word to find out what it means. A more apathetic SEAL may not do anything for s/he does not care all that much. Nonetheless, one thing is certain: that SEAL realizes s/he doesn't know what combobulate means.
Only when one recognizes there's a problem can one think to find remedy.
That's very unlikely to be the case with throw off. The SEAL knows what "throw" means and chances are s/he also knows what "off" means. What s/he does not and cannot know unless s/he is properly educated in this matter is that the definition of "throw off" has little, if anything, to do with the primary definition of either throw or off. So s/he goes on thinking s/he knows what the NSE means when s/he doesn't.
A word like discombobulate, on the other hand, will cause a big red achtung sign to pop up in the SEAL's mind. A phrasal verb like "throw off" usually does not.
Hence the danger.
Think of other phrasal verbs:
She takes after her father.
Dude, check that girl out!
That jerk in the red truck cut me off, so I flipped him one.
Etc.
The last example is my favorite. It's a little dialogue I made up myself to make a point when I conduct trainings in intercultural communications:
Boy: How did grandpa die, Mom?
Mom: He was old, honey. His heart just gave out.
Boy: Oh, so if grandpa's heart had given in, he wouldn't have died?
See? These things are easy to NSEs and that has led to a false assumption that they are also easy to SEALs. Not true.
Again: the difficulty of a word (or a lexical unit) has more to do with the width of its definition and usage than how long it is or how hard it is to spell/pronounce it.
Look up "emancipation," "interchangeability" or "infirmity" and you'll see that the semantic range is quite narrow. These words are not used to refer to a wide spectrum of things. Their equivalents in other languages aren't very fluid either.
Now look up words like "set," "put," or "pass" and you'll see that they cover much wider semantic ranges. Used in conjunction with different adverbs, they mean different things. These things present a bigger problem.
Example: Your friend set you up with a guy. On the fist date, not only did he make a pass at the waitress, he also said things to put you down. So you put on a smile and pretended you enjoyed the evening while thinking to yourself, "This guy? Nah, I'll pass." After a long evening of putting up with his behavior, you vowed to yourself that you would never again put your hopes up whenever that friend of yours sets you up with someone.
Another example is found in my previous post regarding how the use of the lethal phrasal verbs leads to miscommunication. In retrospect, had my supervisor used the verb "disarm" or "the alarm will sound," etc., chances are I would have understood.
Am I making sense? Or did I just discombobulate you?
*Ever heard of the concept of "losing face" in some cultures?
The idea which I had proposed -- albeit incoherently due to me getting sleepy half way through the composition -- is that when a NSE finds him/herself in a situation wherein s/he is communicating with a SEAL whose level of English is far from being near-native, s/he is often inclined to significantly dumb down his/her language in order to be accommodating. Most of the time, from my experience, the intention is good, but the way in which it is done is often misguided and consequently results in miscommunication.
If you can make something simpler, you certainly should. So I'm not suggesting that a NSE resist the urge to simplify the way s/he communicates to a SEAL. S/he just has to scratch where it itches. And where it itches for SEALs is often not where NSEs would normally think to scratch. Let's go back to what I mentioned before about how simple words make for the most innocent-looking landmine. As cited in Part One, the most commonly-used verbs, e.g. verb to be, are almost always irregularly declined. And here's one thing I have learned over and over and over these past several years of learning different languages:
The level of difficulty of a given word has more to do with the width of its semantic range and the number of ways the word can be used than the level of difficulty in spelling, pronouncing, or translating it. Certainly, it has very little to do with how frequently the word is used.
Of this I am confident. But feel free to disagree.
"Are you saying that the sentence 'His explanation discombobulated her," has better chances of being understood by a SEAL than, 'His explanation throws her off,"?Well, yes and no.
I'm not saying that discombobulate is an easy word for a SEAL; it's not. But between "throw off" and "discombobulate," the former is more likely to cause miscommunication when a NSE is communicating to a SEAL with rudimentary level of English. Unless the SEAL is well-versed in all sorts of phrasal verbs, what they all mean, and how they're used, chances are s/he will think s/he understands what it means to "throw someone off." And "think" is the key word here.
You see, the best word to use is "confuse," but the second best isn't "throw off." In fact, of the three choices: confuse, discombobulate, and throw off, the last one is the worst.
Now I know that this seems counter-intuitive to most NSEs and it is. NSEs are familiar with "throw off" and have come to see "throw off" as easy. After all, even a first-grader understands words like "throw off." Right?
"Throw off" is not easy to SEALs, however. A SEAL may think s/he knows what it means, but oftentimes that is not the case. And what makes it complicated is the very fact that both the SEAL and the NSE think that the SEAL understands "throw off."
In any kind of communication, an ideal situation is for both parties to understand each other perfectly. The worst situation, most people think, is that one party doesn't understand the other and vice versa. I disagree. I think the worst situation is when an assumption of understanding or a false understanding occurs. Both parties are under a false impression that communication is successful, that understanding has taken place. Now, that, I think is the most dangerous situation.This is why it's better to use a low-frequency word like discombobulate than a high-frequency phrasal verb like throw off. The SEAL knows right away, whether or not s/he admits it,* that s/he does not know what discombobulate means. A curious, enthusiastic SEAL learner will either ask the NSE to define or paraphrase it on the spot or make a mental note to look up that word to find out what it means. A more apathetic SEAL may not do anything for s/he does not care all that much. Nonetheless, one thing is certain: that SEAL realizes s/he doesn't know what combobulate means.
Only when one recognizes there's a problem can one think to find remedy.
That's very unlikely to be the case with throw off. The SEAL knows what "throw" means and chances are s/he also knows what "off" means. What s/he does not and cannot know unless s/he is properly educated in this matter is that the definition of "throw off" has little, if anything, to do with the primary definition of either throw or off. So s/he goes on thinking s/he knows what the NSE means when s/he doesn't.
A word like discombobulate, on the other hand, will cause a big red achtung sign to pop up in the SEAL's mind. A phrasal verb like "throw off" usually does not.
Hence the danger.
Think of other phrasal verbs:
She takes after her father.
Dude, check that girl out!
That jerk in the red truck cut me off, so I flipped him one.
Etc.
The last example is my favorite. It's a little dialogue I made up myself to make a point when I conduct trainings in intercultural communications:
Boy: How did grandpa die, Mom?
Mom: He was old, honey. His heart just gave out.
Boy: Oh, so if grandpa's heart had given in, he wouldn't have died?
See? These things are easy to NSEs and that has led to a false assumption that they are also easy to SEALs. Not true.
Again: the difficulty of a word (or a lexical unit) has more to do with the width of its definition and usage than how long it is or how hard it is to spell/pronounce it.
Look up "emancipation," "interchangeability" or "infirmity" and you'll see that the semantic range is quite narrow. These words are not used to refer to a wide spectrum of things. Their equivalents in other languages aren't very fluid either.
Now look up words like "set," "put," or "pass" and you'll see that they cover much wider semantic ranges. Used in conjunction with different adverbs, they mean different things. These things present a bigger problem.
Example: Your friend set you up with a guy. On the fist date, not only did he make a pass at the waitress, he also said things to put you down. So you put on a smile and pretended you enjoyed the evening while thinking to yourself, "This guy? Nah, I'll pass." After a long evening of putting up with his behavior, you vowed to yourself that you would never again put your hopes up whenever that friend of yours sets you up with someone.
Another example is found in my previous post regarding how the use of the lethal phrasal verbs leads to miscommunication. In retrospect, had my supervisor used the verb "disarm" or "the alarm will sound," etc., chances are I would have understood.
Am I making sense? Or did I just discombobulate you?
*Ever heard of the concept of "losing face" in some cultures?
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Why I Hate the Security Alarm
We're still in the middle of a series which I intend to continue. This is just something that I was thinking of last night. And if I didn't document it, it would have gone to the same place where most of my random thoughts have gone -- the cold and abyssal void of the universe.
So please bear with me. As you will see when the series resumes, we're not straying far from the subject.
On my first day on the first part-time job in the first semester of the first year in graduate school, my supervisor took me to the back of the library. We were standing in front of this big thing with hinges, armed with scary-looking devices, which you Americans call "the loading dock door."
Part of my job was to prepare complete periodical sets to be shipped off to the binder. Every month the binder truck would pull into the loading area in the back of the library and, as I found out from my supervisor that day, I would be the one letting the truck driver in to fetch the binding orders. She led me to the door to explain how to bypass the very complex security system in order to let someone in without creating a scene.
You should have seen the look on my supervisor's face. It was as if she was thinking, "Oh, great. They sent this Asian girl, fresh off the boat, to work for me. She looks like she's never seen a door before. I'm wondering if they have doors in Thailand ..." The real tragedy is -- what I did and said that day only served to confirm what she might have thought of me.
This is merely an ipsissima vox reconstruction. Who the heck can remember the exact words? Anyway ...
Supervisor: This is the security control panel. (Points to a strange-looking box in the manner of Vanna White in front of the letter board) Currently, the alarm is on.
Leela: Okay.
Supervisor: So, in order to let the truck driver in, you need to turn the alarm system off.
Leela: Okay.
Supervisor: If you don't, the alarm will go off.
Leela: (Nods quietly, but looks very confused.)
Supervisor: And this is how you ...
Leela: Uh, wait. The alarm is now on?
Supervisor: Yes.
Leela: It's not off.
Supervisor: Correct.
Leela: But if I open the door now, ...
Supervisor: It will go off.
Leela: So by opening the door, I turn off the alarm?
Supervisor: No, no, no. When you open the door, if the alarm is still on, it will go off.
Leela: So you want the alarm off.
Supervisor: Yes.
Leela: But I thought you didn't.
Supervisor: I do!
Leela: You want the alarm off?
Supervisor: When you open the door, yes.
........
The conversation went on for a while before we came to a understand each other. When the alarm is on, it will go off if you open the door. To keep the alarm from going off, you need to make sure it is not on. When the alarm is not on, it cannot go off. We turn the alarm off, because we don't want the alarm to go off.
It took me a while. But after several minutes of a very embarrassing, awkward, and circular conversation, the light bulb in my head eventually went, uh, off.
But that's only because my brain was on at that time.
So please bear with me. As you will see when the series resumes, we're not straying far from the subject.
On my first day on the first part-time job in the first semester of the first year in graduate school, my supervisor took me to the back of the library. We were standing in front of this big thing with hinges, armed with scary-looking devices, which you Americans call "the loading dock door."Part of my job was to prepare complete periodical sets to be shipped off to the binder. Every month the binder truck would pull into the loading area in the back of the library and, as I found out from my supervisor that day, I would be the one letting the truck driver in to fetch the binding orders. She led me to the door to explain how to bypass the very complex security system in order to let someone in without creating a scene.
You should have seen the look on my supervisor's face. It was as if she was thinking, "Oh, great. They sent this Asian girl, fresh off the boat, to work for me. She looks like she's never seen a door before. I'm wondering if they have doors in Thailand ..." The real tragedy is -- what I did and said that day only served to confirm what she might have thought of me.
This is merely an ipsissima vox reconstruction. Who the heck can remember the exact words? Anyway ...
Supervisor: This is the security control panel. (Points to a strange-looking box in the manner of Vanna White in front of the letter board) Currently, the alarm is on.
Leela: Okay.
Supervisor: So, in order to let the truck driver in, you need to turn the alarm system off.
Leela: Okay.
Supervisor: If you don't, the alarm will go off.
Leela: (Nods quietly, but looks very confused.)
Supervisor: And this is how you ...
Leela: Uh, wait. The alarm is now on?
Supervisor: Yes.
Leela: It's not off.
Supervisor: Correct.
Leela: But if I open the door now, ...
Supervisor: It will go off.
Leela: So by opening the door, I turn off the alarm?
Supervisor: No, no, no. When you open the door, if the alarm is still on, it will go off.
Leela: So you want the alarm off.
Supervisor: Yes.
Leela: But I thought you didn't.
Supervisor: I do!
Leela: You want the alarm off?
Supervisor: When you open the door, yes.
........
The conversation went on for a while before we came to a understand each other. When the alarm is on, it will go off if you open the door. To keep the alarm from going off, you need to make sure it is not on. When the alarm is not on, it cannot go off. We turn the alarm off, because we don't want the alarm to go off.
It took me a while. But after several minutes of a very embarrassing, awkward, and circular conversation, the light bulb in my head eventually went, uh, off.
But that's only because my brain was on at that time.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Documenting My Thoughts on Intercultural Communications: Your "Big Words" Are Not My "Big Words" Part One
Prolegomena
The link above leads to the introduction to this series wherein I explained why I felt compelled to document my thoughts on the matters pertaining to intercultural communications. Now you're thinking, "And why didn't you just label the link 'Introduction' or 'Read This First,' you pretentious broad?" But here's why: I am making a point.
Unless you have authored multiple books published by Brill and its ilk, chances are you don't use the word "prolegomena" very often. The word, whose etymology is emphatically Greek, is one of those words which people call "big words." They're difficult to spell, often rooted in Greek or Latin etymology, very infrequently used, and not readily understood by even native speakers of English (NSE hencefoth) much less speakers of English as an Additional Language (SEAL henceforth). But guess what. A typical SEAL is more likely to understand "prolegomena" than "lead-in."
Gasp.
Well-meaning NSEs avoid these "big words" like a plague when communicating with SEALs. While in general that practice is to be commended, the problem is that, in a given situation, unless the SEALs or both the NSEs and the SEALs are under ten years of age, there's only so much dumbing down that can be done by the NSEs and taken by the SEALs without a sense of ridiculousness setting in at some point. Imagine a nuclear physicist NSE explaining to his SEAL colleague his new theory on the interactions of atomic nuclei avoiding all the big words. I'm giggling like an idiot just imagining how the conversation would go. Well, what to do then?
Go ahead and use big words if you have to. Here's why:
*cf. attendre (French) vs. attend (English), avertissement (French) vs. advertisement (English), bizarro (Spanish) vs. bizarre (English), презерватив (Russian) vs. preservative (English), etc. (The last pair is an example from a very embarrassing personal experience when I was trying to explain to a Russian friend that I tried to avoid food products that had preservatives. презерватив in Russian means condom.)
The link above leads to the introduction to this series wherein I explained why I felt compelled to document my thoughts on the matters pertaining to intercultural communications. Now you're thinking, "And why didn't you just label the link 'Introduction' or 'Read This First,' you pretentious broad?" But here's why: I am making a point.
Unless you have authored multiple books published by Brill and its ilk, chances are you don't use the word "prolegomena" very often. The word, whose etymology is emphatically Greek, is one of those words which people call "big words." They're difficult to spell, often rooted in Greek or Latin etymology, very infrequently used, and not readily understood by even native speakers of English (NSE hencefoth) much less speakers of English as an Additional Language (SEAL henceforth). But guess what. A typical SEAL is more likely to understand "prolegomena" than "lead-in."
Gasp.
Well-meaning NSEs avoid these "big words" like a plague when communicating with SEALs. While in general that practice is to be commended, the problem is that, in a given situation, unless the SEALs or both the NSEs and the SEALs are under ten years of age, there's only so much dumbing down that can be done by the NSEs and taken by the SEALs without a sense of ridiculousness setting in at some point. Imagine a nuclear physicist NSE explaining to his SEAL colleague his new theory on the interactions of atomic nuclei avoiding all the big words. I'm giggling like an idiot just imagining how the conversation would go. Well, what to do then?
Go ahead and use big words if you have to. Here's why:
- As anyone who studies a foreign language (and, no, flipping through a Lonely Planet phrasebook does not amount to foreign language studies) knows that the real Kryptonite is not obscure or long words, but the so-called "false cognates" or "semi-false cognates;" namely, words which look and/or are pronounced alike in that foreign language and English. You assume that they mean the same as their English "cousins" only to find out the similarities stop at the orthographical level.* Big, unusual words may intimidate, but they rarely mislead people or cause them to assume things which aren't the case.
- Big words may be unusual and strange to the eye and the ear, but they rarely surprise you. In other words, once you know the basics of how a language works, you can see that "big words" rarely behave irregularly. The most commonly used words in any language, on the other hand, are often the most unpredictable.
Example: The infinitive (unconjugated) form of the verb "rejuvenate" (oooh ... big word ... Latin etymology ... scary) is "rejuvenate." The 3rd person, present, indicative form of it has the "-s" ending: "(He, She, It, John, Jane) rejuvenates." Not surprisingly, the 3rd person, past, indicative form of the same verb has the "-d/-ed" ending: "(He, She, It, John, Jane) rejuvenated." In the 3rd person, present, indicative, passive, it's "rejuvenated" across all persons.
This is easy. The majority, if not all, of the big words behave in a predictable, true-to-grammatical-rules manner. Rejuvenate. Gasconade. Unencumber. Choreograph. Many more.
Now think of all the common, easy words such as "be," "go," and "eat." To apply the general rules to these words, you would expect, "He bes not heavy; he bes my brother," "I once bed lost, but now I be found," "I have goed to hell and back," or "There bes no apple pie left, honey, I eated all of it this afternoon." Think of all the French verbs: aller, être, faire, avoir. I could explain to you in geeky terms why the most common of words have the tendency to be the most irregular, but for your sanity let's just say easy words are less predictable and much more tricky than difficult, less commonly used words.
*cf. attendre (French) vs. attend (English), avertissement (French) vs. advertisement (English), bizarro (Spanish) vs. bizarre (English), презерватив (Russian) vs. preservative (English), etc. (The last pair is an example from a very embarrassing personal experience when I was trying to explain to a Russian friend that I tried to avoid food products that had preservatives. презерватив in Russian means condom.)
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