The Dictionary Game

Last night I finally managed to browbeat my mother into playing the Dictionary Game with me.

Many years ago, my mother acknowledged my love of dictionaries by buying me the Oxford English Dictionary Board Game.

Yes, such a thing exists. Yes, I have the "first edition". What else would you expect?

Anyway, since becoming the proud owner of a board game based on the OED, I have had great difficulty convincing people to play with me. To be honest, I can't blame them. The actually "board" bit of the board game is rather boring. It really just serves as an excuse to work with the cards: Spelling and Meaning.

These cards bring me great joy. The Spelling cards give you sample sentences, and you have to spell given words within those sentences depending on what level you are playing. The Meaning cards give you a word and three possible meanings, and you must guess which is correct.

When I was teaching, I used to take the cards in to school at the end of terms as a time filler. I'd split the class into teams and award them points depending on what they got right or wrong. It was, quite frankly, the only way I'd get to play. All of my so-called "friends" refused to play it on games nights. My own mother (who bought be the game) has played it once since she bought it for me, and makes a big show of refusing to play ever since.

Until last night, where she finally conceded to giving me a game.

The thing is, I've noticed the people who play with me seem to see it as an exercise in getting the answers wrong and feeling miserable, rather than just playing with the game and having fun. I'm quite happy to hear a ridiculous word I've never heard of before and attempt to spell it. If it get it wrong, that's part of the game. Everyone else seems to take it personally. Like it's some kind of test at they feel like their failing.

Just play the game, people! Who cares if you get every answer wrong? The next best thing to playing and winning is playing and losing.

Also, I want Oxford to put out versions in other languages. I think it would be a brilliant language learning activity, and I'd love to have a set in German.

Oh, and maybe make the "board" bit less boring.

Alveolar lateral approximant

Commonly represented in English texts by the letter "l", the alveolar lateral approximant (one of the sounds caught up by the more general term "continuant") is formed by touching the tip of the tongue to the alveolar region - that is, the part of the hard-palate behind the teeth - and holding it there while letting the voiced sound escape from the sides of the tongue.

The word "hello" is generally pronounced with an alveolar lateral approximant. Regardless of whether or not one is talking to one's wife on the phone.

Are you listening to me? You know who you are.

It's spelt phonetically

They say this all the time about various languages. "Estonian/Russian/Japanese/Indonesian is spelt phonetically, so you just say it as it's spelt".

What a load of tosh and bunkum. If the words were spelt phonetically, they would be written with phonetic symbols. Even different dialects and regional variations within a language group will pronounce the same letters differently. Even if you say you only have one sound per letter, there's no guarantee it's the same sound I'm thinking of when I look at that letter. And someone in the south may swear that "a" sounds like ɑ, while someone from the north might be willing to come to blows insisting it sounds like ɛ. And, in any case, there's a good chance that the letter will be pronounced differently by the same person depending on whether it is stressed or unstressed.

Letters are not inherently "phonetic". And when someone tells me, in one instance, that the language is spelt "phonetically", and then goes on to tell me that "b" is sometimes pronounced more like "p" in certain words, I just want to shake them and tell them that they are wrong. They should stop using the word "phonetic" in relation to spelling until they actually understand what it means.

Granted, a voiced bilabial plosive and a voiceless bilabial plosive are very similar, and all languages muddle up their "b"s and "p"s on a regular basis - but it's still not the same sound. You don't pronounce that letter the same way in every single instance, which is what you would be doing if the language was, in fact, spelt phonetically.

So, stick a qualifier in that sentence, for Pete's sake. The language is spelt almost phonetically. The language is spelt phonetically to an extent.

No language is actually spelt phonetically. And if it was, we'd probably find a way to mispronounce it anyway. We're not good with prescriptive language. Never have been.

This rant has been brough to you by ˈʃæɹən, who is quite fond of spelling things phonetically, but finds it rather time consuming when using HTML...

What's in a name

Had an interesting discussion with the head of the languages discipline at a party the other night.

I mentioned that I had enrolled in the German programme at UNE for next year, and he wanted to know why. After all, the laguage programme taught at JCU was identical to the one taught at UNE, so why didn't I show some institutional solidarity and enrol through JCU? Well, he didn't actually use the words "institutional solidarity" but it was rather clearly implied in the pained and slightly exasperated expression on his face when he said "why don't you go through JCU?"

I can see his point. I mean, the JCU course isn't just identical to the one taught at UNE, it is the one taught at UNE. JCU outsources it's course content from UNE, so anyone studying languages through JCU is actually doing the UNE course with local tutors. If I had enrolled through JCU I'd be doing the exact same course, only JCU would get the funding and numbers for it. Given that it's a regional university and the Language programme is somewhat endagered, every single enrolment counts.

I tried to explain that the problem is one of nomenclature. Going through UNE, I can do a Diploma of Languages, while doing the exact same subjects through JCU would only get me a Diploma of Arts. I already have a Bachelor of Arts through JCU - I don't need a Diploma of Arts on top of that. Besides, the word "Arts" is largely meaningless. The fact that I majored in English literature is not inherently evident in the name. I could have majored in architecture or politics for all anyone knows (or cares). I'm at a point where I want the name of my degree to mean something. A Diploma of Languages means something. A Diploma of Arts doesn't.

I didn't try to explain to him that I'm also put off by the whole outsourced content thing. Modern Languages clearly isn't one of JCU's core concerns. On the other hand, UNE has a reasonably good reputation for languages - especially via distance education. Even if it is the same course content, I feel happier about going through UNE.

Once upon a time, JCU actually had a proper language department which actually had it's own curriculum, language lab and resource centre. Heck, they even dedicated an entire building to English and Modern Languages. That was almost fifteen years ago, when I was sorely tempted to put a Bachelor of Languages through JCU down as my first choice on my QUTAC form. Amazing how much things can change in a decade.

What keeps you awake at night

It’s not so much the fact that I can’t get to sleep at night that bothers me. It’s more the things I’m thinking about that, for some unearthly reason, are keeping me from dozing off.

If I was worried about something I had to do tomorrow, well that would be all well and good and expected. Especially if what I was doing, instead of sleeping, was coming up with a solution to a problem that I could then put into action the next day.

No, these are the kinds of thoughts that keep me awake at night:

“Were the servants in the opening scene of Romeo and Juliette Capulets or Montagues? I think they were Capulets, but I can’t remember. I could get up and check – the play is just in the next room. No, I’m not consulting Shakespeare in the middle of the night. It’s just stupid. Benvolio survived that play, didn’t he? Did he pull a Horatio? I can’t remember if he was in the last scene. I. Will. Not. Check…”

"Actually, I think you probably could do a mash-up between I Could Have Danced All Night and The Thong Song. You'd just have to keep playing ICHDAN under the Thong song as a counterpoint, and then you could have it slowly take over..."

Toasty

The experiment continues, and has so far proven successful at every instance.

I maintain that anything vaguely bread-like and made of flour can be “revived” by toasting it. Would it otherwise be stale and unappetising? Toast it. Suddenly it becomes nice, warm and crunchy.

I have found this to work with pancakes, flapjacks, scones, waffles, buns of assorted shapes and flavours, and now doughnoughts (and, yes, I insist on spelling them doughnoughts).

Try it yourself the next-time you have some bread-like thingy that’s just a little too stale to comfortably eat.

Oh my sweet potato salad!

Um, okay.

If, like me, you have some issues with contortionists (I maintain human beings should not be able to do that), then you might find this clip... er... challenging:



It starts off as a second-rate Andrews Sister's style music hall number. It ends as one of the freakiest things I've seen in a long time.

Stop asking me for money

When it comes to charity, I'm a bit like a swing voter. I don't have a particular charity I devote my money and attention to (although I am partial to making people aware of World Bicycle Relief) - I just occasionally donate money to whoever takes my fancy at the time.

What the charities do after that point dictates whether or not I consider giving them money again. Take, for instance, World Vision and Medicins Sans Frontieres. Both of them responded to my giving them money by sending me mail roughly every month asking for more.

Now, for some reason, this has put me right off both charities. It's probably related to the fact that I'm okay with giving money to buskers, but hate giving it to beggars. I'm happy to see you doing something and give you some money towards that, but if you turn to me with your hand out and say "I need money, give me some!" I'm likely to ignore you or tell you to go away.

And, it has to be said, that although I'm reasonably sure they have different funds going towards their operating costs than they do going towards their charitable endeavours, whenever I get another glossy begging letter in the mail my immediate reaction is "surely, if they spent less money on stationery and postage, they would have more money to help people - is this what they spent my donation on?" Because, quite frankly, I feel like I've contributed to their letter campaign, rather than their field work.

I know the justification is that people who have already sent them money are more likely to send them more - but, darn it! I don't want to sign up for another six months of begging letters. I possibly would give you more money if you just left me alone.

So, as much as I actually like what Medicins Sans Frontieres does, and would happily continue to support them, I'm not going to. I'll give my money to a charity that doesn't send me a letter every month saying how much it needs my $100 donation.

World Vision was worse. They started doing these horrible gimmicks like sending you a packet of seeds and asking you to send them back with money. That really ticked me off, because I felt like they were trying to manipulate me. You don't want to steal things from a charity, and keeping something they asked you return felt a bit like stealing...

Please, people. Send me something maybe every six months to tell me what fantastic work you are doing, and I'll probably feel like I want to be a part of it. Send me a letter telling me how much you would like me to send you money, and you may as well push me away. It has the same effect.

German Grammarpod

I've discovered this resource recently, and it's brilliant:

http://germangrammarpod.blogspot.com/

It's woman called Laura giving shortish (10-25 minute) lessons on German grammar.

In her blurb she mentions that no one seemed willing to talk about German grammar until she got to the university level, and she found that very frustrating - the lack of grammar, that is. Now she works as a translator, and wanted to teach German but gave it up - partly because standard practise is to ignore grammar.

German Grammarpod is her way to get the need to share the grammar of the language out of her system, an I have to say I salute her for it.

I'm a fan of grammar, myself. I honestly believe you can't really know a language without it - I have no idea how people hope to learn a languge (even their own) if they don't know what a verb is, and therefore can't understand that you have to move it to the end of a sentence in this circumstance, or that it always comes directly after the subject in that one...

Someone is bound to take umbrage at this. There are a ridiculous number of people who think grammar is some how elitist, and people don't actually need it, and you should just use a language without trying to analyse it... I don't get that mindset at all. To me, it's like saying you don't need to know how a car works in order to drive it. Well, maybe you can drive around for a while without knowing why turning the steering wheel makes the car go where you point it. Maybe you don't need to know why putting petrol in the car is important, as long as you do it. However, the fact remains that cars don't operate on magic, and knowing how they work and why is not a bad thing. If I know why my tyres need a certain amount of pressure, I'm going to be extra conscientious to make sure they don't get too low.

I like knowing how language works. I think you can use it more effectively when you do. A big part of that is grammar.

So I'm really enjoying these podcasts, obviously. Laura clearly loves knowing the nuts and bolts of German, and she explains it in a way that is easy to absorb. Some times you listen to podcasts and they weren't really written for people who are just listening - like whoever recorded them was more familiar with computers than radio. Laura's episodes have a comfortable, radio-like feel to them and you can happily listen to them in the car.

I recommend it for anyone learning German who wants a nice, clear overview of different grammar points.

Kveekerid

Ja, ja. Ich wisse. Es ist Deutsche Woche und ich habe dieses Post Titel im Estnisch geschrieben. Whatevs, dude.

I've been reading a bit about Quakers lately, and I have to say the more I learn about Quakers and the more I learn about Estonians, the more I wonder why there isn't a massive Quaker movement in Estonia. There's a mini-Quaker movement, from what I can tell, but measured in handfuls, rather than hundreds. You'd think Quakerism and Estonians would be a good fit.

I mean, this is a religious movement that prides itself on being pragmatic and simple. Quakers hold the principles of truth and conscience as first and foremost, and don't really give a wet slap about anything else. They value plain speaking and plain living, and their worship session consists of not talking to people for stretches of time.

They pooh-pooh fancy pants churches with their symbols and litergies, prefering instead to have a plain room with simple furniture (or even be outside amongst the trees), where they can sit quietly and contemplate deep things. And they don't believe they should say anything unless they have something worthwhile to say - something that would benefit the people hearing them.

Pragmatic, taciturn, to the point and with an instictive mistrust for paraphernalia. If this doesn't sound like a stereotypical Estonian, I don't know what does. Plus, I can see how a people who still prefer wood-fired heating (because you can't trust electricity) and mowing grass by hand could get on board with the simplicity thing.

So why isnt' there a big Quaker movement in Estonia? Kus on kveekerid?

December already.

Hunh. Somehow I wasn't expecting this.

The Importance of the Reader

I love puppetry. I have a deep respect for the skills and craftmanship that goes into both creating and performing with (through?) puppets. I get a real buzz out of knowing how Big Bird words (and being able to recognise that Bear from Bear in the Big Blue House works the same way). I love knowing what goes into a marionette, how that differs to what goes into a rod puppet, and what needs to be considered for a full body puppet or a giant festival puppet.

There was a time when I thought the natural progression of my love of puppets and my interest in how they work would be to make puppets myself - to construct them and use them. On at least two occasions, I actually started constructing a giant puppet for some project or other. I spent lots of time planning the puppets, and far too much money buying the parts for them, started to assemble them... and then never finished. Ended up throwing out the half-formed carcasses when I need to move, or needed to declutter.

At some point, though, I made a rather important realisation. As a puppet lover, the most important thing I can do is be in the audience. There are dozens of talented puppeteers out there who need someone to watch them far more than they need someone to join them.

By being in the audience - by paying money to see them and by engaging in what they are doing - I am fulfilling an important role. Without an audience, who will they perform for?

I've been thinking about that lately as I've been looking at a number of public library websites around the world for an assignment. A number of them had a "poetry" section where kids could write in and share their poems. Only one had a section for people who like to read poetry (Christchurch City Library - it's a focus on New Zealand poetry that treats poetry like a genre, rather than a project).

It seems as though, these days, poetry is something kids do to "express themselves". We seem to have forgetten that it is also something people read. Without readers, what's the point?

I don't know what it's like in other countries, but in Australia poetry in schools has become the literary equivalent of paddle-pop stick art. Every kid produces it and displays it, no one really looks at it. No one really expects you to. I mean, you wouldn't go to a Year 3 paddle-pop stick art display and spend quality time looking at some kid's work unless it happened to be your kid, right? Well, it's kind of like that with poetry.

Think back to when you were a kid in school. Did you write any poems for a school assignment or project? Can you remember what any of them were? Can you remember any of the poems your friends wrote? Did you even read the poems the other kids in your class wrote? Would you have even thought of reading the poems from the kids who weren't in your class?

And yet, that seems to be the main point of poetry in schools. Kids aren't really learning to read it, just produce it and post it somewhere. I'm not sure I'd really call it poetry, to be honest. I certainly wouldn't call most of the kids who produce it poets. Some, maybe, but most of them are just going through the motions (poorly).

Yet there was a time when poets were the rock-stars of their generation. Some of the best songwriters today are really poets and composers. And there are still real people writing real poems - poems that were meant to be read, rather than just posted to the web like finger-paint pictures on the fridge.

I read poetry. Heck, the last three holidays I went on, I came back with poetry books. I even borrow poetry books from the library. I do it because I enjoy reading poetry. I think a lot of people could enjoy reading poetry, they just aren't used to it. I don't specifically read poetry because I think it's important, but I do think I'm helping to stave off death, in my own little way. By reading poetry for the enjoyment of reading poetry, I'm actually contributing something useful to the world of poetry - the audience.

Sure, there will always be people to study Keats and Byron and Goethe and Liiv at universities and colleges, but poetry isn't just for studying any more than it's just for producing in school projects. Those of us who pick up Colleridge and read The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner for the thrill of it are the ones who are going to keep poetry alive.

And there is something particularly magical about "discovering" a poet for the first time - reading something by someone you've never heard of before, and thinking: "This is fantastic! What else has she written?" My latest discovery? Ursula Bethell - a New Zealand poet in a collection of Kiwi poetry I bought on my trip to Uus-Meremaa last year. I've only read a handful of her poems, but enjoyed all of them. She's worth checking out.

In fact, I think I'll go check out one of her books right now...

Glutton for punishment

By the way, for those of you who haven't already heard the news, I've enrolled in the Diploma of Languages for next year.

I'm trying to work out whether or not also enrolling in the Graduate Certificate of Tertiary Education would just be stupid...

The Man From the Moon

So, the other day I delivered a talk at a Professional Development conference for my fellow regional librarians.

I decided to go for "entertaining and thought provoking" rather than informative, which in hindsight was not the most useful thing I could have done. I maintain the fact that I came up with the idea while I was on a plane and trying to avoid throwing up is justification for anything, and the fact that it was even remotely coherent was a bonus.

Anyway, I went with a "Mr Squiggle" gimmick, in that I had a whole pile of pictures with what appeared to be random lines and squiggles, which I then connected into actual pictures (a library building, an iPad, a horse, a wheel of cheese on wheels - appropriate library related stuff). These pictures would then be my "slides" and I talked to them instead of a PowerPoint presentation.

I even went to the bother of drawing everything upside-down and turning it over when I was finished (I should have had a volunteer from the audience as "Miss Jane" and had her turn them for me, but as I wasn't using my nose to draw these pictures I figured I could get away with other non-cannon elements).

I did ask everyone to help out a bit by calling out "Upside down! Upside down!" and "Hurry up!" They didn't, but I figured that was because they were boring. Or bored. One of those.

Anyway, quite a number of people spoke to me afterwards saying they enjoyed it, but they "missed out on Mr Squiggle" so couldn't really appreciate it.

To such comments I think the only appropriate response is:

"You what? How could you miss out on Mr Squiggle? The show ran for forty years! You never once saw it as a child? Your own children never saw it? You missed those strangely depressing Claratin ads that ran a couple of years ago? What were you doing between the years of 1959 and 1999?"

Most of these people seemed to be of the belief that the show ran for a brief window and was a) not on when they were children and/or b) not on when their children were children. Meanwhile, most of these people were children during the Miss Pat era, or had children of television age during the Miss Jane era. And some of them would have also had children or grandchildren around for Roxanne or Rebecca (I wonder why they were never "Miss Roxanne" or "Miss Rebecca"?).

Mr Squiggle was the longest running Australian children's show of all time - one of the longest running children's shows in the world - when it was cancelled in 1999. It's an important part of the Australian psyche. Many Australians think of themselves as being in the "Miss Pat" or "Miss Jane" generations.

When people tell me they somehow managed to get through 40 years without once catching an episode of Mr Squiggle... Well, that saddens me a little, it has to be said.

Also, why isn't there a decent, official Mr Squiggle website or something out there? ABC, given how much mileage you're getting out of those darn bananas, why aren't you trying to cash in on the greatest legend in Australian children's television?

Surprise!

Go on, click on the link. You know you want to...

What Can It Be?


.

Fange den Busse

It always takes me a moment to adjust to a real public transport system.

As I approached a bus stop in Brisbane, I had the privilege of watching the bus I wanted to catch leave without me.

Because I come from Townsville, it didn't even occur to me that I could continue approaching the bus stop and wait there for another bus. In Brisbane, one can safely assume that a bus route that goes from the city centre to one of the biggest universities in the area will probably have buses running every ten or fifteen minutes.

In Townsville, this doesn't happen. If you miss the 8.05 bus, the next bus to pass on that route is the 9.05 one. If you are exceptionally lucky, and you are in an area that is kind of central, there may be another bus on a different route that also happens to stop at your bus stop and goes to where you want to go, but chances are it will be half an hour before that one turns up. Either that, or the time table will have changed and it actually came ten minutes ago.

In Townsville, if you miss the bus, you think of a plan B. So, that's what I did in Brisbane. My plan B involved going back to Central Station and taking the train to Toowong in order to catch a bus from there. It was only as I was sitting in the train that it occured to me that the bus I would be catching in Toowong was on the exact same route as the bus I missed. I did the maths and worked out it wasn't the same bus, so there had to be fairly regular buses running that route.

Which makes sense, really. There's not much point in running a public transport system if being two minutes late to catch one bus means your whole day is thrown out the window.

I worked in Brisbane for a month in a locum position, and by the time I was there for a week I had the public transport system running in my veins. I just "got it". I knew what I could and couldn't do. I was happy enough to give myself a generous window of time and "let it be". I always got to where I was going, and I was never more than ten minutes late.

Yet, live in a place like Townsville and you just lose the knack for it. It's like what happens to your piano skills when you stop playing for a couple of years.

A sad point: As I watched the bus drive off and started formulating a Plan B, I noticed Brisbane's shiny new bike rental things and my first thought was "Yes! I shall ride a bike!" which was rapidly followed by "I don't have a helmet and do not wish to break the law or die!" and "how do you ride to UQ from the city centre anyway? Is there a place to log these things once I get there?"

Not being able to see a ready answer to any of these objections, I headed back to the train station. I think, if they actually expect this whole "hiring a bike" thing to take off, they need to think about the helmet situation. No one is going to carry a helmet around with them all day - especially if they weren't planning on riding a bike but might think of taking one if they saw it (like me). Sure, rented helmets have a little bit of an "ick" factor, but people might be more likely to carry a cycling cap or bandana to wear under a rented helmet than lug their own helmet about the place.

Alternatively, they could adjust the laws so that people riding on certain paths below a given speed are exempt from the helmet laws.

Not that it really matters, I've just been looking at the service online, and it doesn't look like the kind of thing a visitor to Brisbane can just use on the spot. You have to subscribe, and the website isn't clear if you can do this from the terminals.

Hey, Brisbane City Council? One word of advice: if you want people to use things, you have to make it easy and hassle free.

Flying

I had the do the old one-day-shuffle to Brisbane and back on Friday.

Up at 4.30 to catch a 6.00 flight, then back on the plane at 19.00 to get home after 21.00.

a) I'm not keen on getting up at my usual time in the morning, let alone 2 1/2 hours earlier than usual.
b) I don't like flying
c) I don't like flying with Virgin.

Actually, it's not the carrier I dislike so much as the planes. I was relatively ambivalent about flying back in the days when they didn't have those stupid screens in the back of every seat. In fact, I actually love flying in small planes. Give me a Dash-8 and I'm happy.

But a 737? Torture.

And it's largely because of those screens. I'm fine for the first ten minutes or so, but then the constant barrage of flickering light from all angles starts giving me a heck of a headache, which makes be feel nauseated, which then compounds the natural stomach-churning aspect of being in a large plane (which, like a large boat, is more likely to give you motion sickness than a small plane/boat).

Sometimes I can bury my head in something to read, and not look up for long periods of time, but eventually I do have to raise my head, and when I do I see the screens. No matter how much I try, I can't avoid them. I can turn off the screen in front of me, but I can't turn off the one in front of my neighbour - or in front the person across the aisle diagonally in front of me. Or the one that the person in front of my neighbour is watching... They are everywhere.

Then one of two things will happen. Either something will catch my eye and I'll look directly at a screen which is on an angle to me - something that actually makes it worse for someone who is astigmatic. Then I'll get a head-ache within a minute, tops. Or, I'll determinedly try to avoid looking directly at any part of the plane which has a screen in it - which pretty much confines me to looking at the roof, the floor and the back of my own hands. Even then, the flickering is still visible at the edge of my vision, so I end up getting a headache within a few minutes anyway - it just takes a little longer.

I don't know if there is a solution to this. I'd like to think that, if I walked up to the counter and said: "Hello, I have to sit somewhere where I can't see any screens, otherwise I'll feel physically ill and possibly throw up in your plane", that they might be able to arrange a non-screen seating location.

It's just that I'm reasonably sure the only way that would work would be if they put me in the very front of the plane and turned off the screens embedded in the wall in front of those seats, and the other people sitting there might object. Plus, that would make it hard to arrange the other seating requirement I have when sitting still for hours at a time - an aisle seat so I can stretch my left leg, which starts to ache if I can't move it regularly.

Honestly, I'd much rather take the train or drive. If only modern society didn't have this crazy notion that just because you can get from Point A to Point B in two hours, you should.

Blast from the Past, I think...

"Kids Incorporated! K! I! D! S!"

Is it possibly to barely remember a single thing about a show but still be incredibly excited to hear it mentioned?

I can't remember the plot of Kids Incorporated. I can't rembember any of the characters. I can't remember anything that happened in any of the episodes...

But, man, do I remember the theme song - and, catching up with the opening credits of the various series on YouTube, I vaguely remember bits of those squences, too.

I feel like I have happy memories of this show and yet, beyond the theme song, I can't remember anything about it at all.

Hmm...

Mangoes

In the back yard is a mango tree. An ancient specimen, it is easily as old as the house. My grandfather planted it as a sapling shortly after moving in. Before the house had fences, it had this tree.

The tree was well established long before I was born. As a child, I used to climb the tree whenever I was willing to brave the rough bark and green ants. There was rarely a time when the tree did not play host to a platoon of green ants, which are fun to annoy as long as you don't give them skin to bite. They have this fabulous way of raising themselves on their hind legs and reaching out to get you, jaws extended. It's very exciting, if mildly dangerous.

I've never eaten a green ant, although I've been told they taste slightly of citrus. I have been bitten by them many a time, though. They are tenacious little beasts, once they get their pincers into you. On more than one occasion, I've tried to remove a biting green ant only to have the head separate from the body. So determined were they that they simply would not let go - not even to save themselves from being torn apart. I'm reasonably sure the head remained alive for a moment thereafter, just to keep biting. It always took a few seconds to get rid of the head, and even then the sting remained for some time after. They tell me green ants have a substance on their pincers that aggravate the sting. I believe them.

The mango tree is significantly older than I am, but still produces fruit. I have seen mango trees well over 60 years that still drop their fruit all over the ground to carpet the parks and pathways around town. Every year, as we come into summer, the trees burst forth in an excess of drupes, which largely go towards feeding the local fruit bat population. The bats grab the fuit, take one bite and drop the remainder to the ground, where the birds peck at it for the next couple of days. My mother has always found this intensely annoying. She feels the bats should have the decency to eat the whole fruit, if they are going to take it.

I find this interesting, as she eats approximately one mango a season. If it was left to her, the fruit would probably rot on the tree. At least, once the bats have thrown it to the ground, a number of other critters can get to it. Birds, insects, possums...

I used to hate mangoes. I couldn't stand the smell of them, and found the taste obnoxious. I could never understand why anyone would want to eat them. Then, one day, I found myself drawn to them. I wanted to try eating them, even though I could not explain why. I couldn't even bring myself to eat more than a few cubes of a cut mango. I had to share the mango with my grandmother, or it would go entirely to waste.

That was a nice experience, actually: learning to appreciate mangoes by sharing them with my grandmother. By this stage in time she was no longer capable of cutting them up for herself (you have to stand up for a while to cut up a mango, and she didn't have the legs for it anymore). Plus, she seemed to get great pleasure out of sharing the mangoes with me.

I acquired the taste for them over time. Eventually, I would find myself cutting up two mangoes - one for each of us. And then, of course, it was just one for myself.

Now I love them. I quite look forward to mango season and can happily eat a mango a day. I find, however, that I am not up to the challenge of eating all of the mangoes we manage to save from the bats. If I paid more attention, I would get them to work in time to share with my colleagues. Unfortunately, I tend to forget to do such things until they are slightly over-ripe and not fit for sharing.

So my challenge is to emulate generations of fruit growing families before me and find things to make with the fruit that is passed the "fit for eating" stage. I found a recipe for mango sorbet the other day, which proved rather successful. And I stumbled across a recipe for a mango tart, which I have yet to try. It would be a shame to take the fruit from the bats, birds, insects and possums if I was not going to make good use of it, after all...

Eesti Nädal

See on eesti nädal. Eile olnud väga eesti. Ma lugesin eesti raamatud ja kuulasin eesti raadio. Eile olnud hea. Täna? Täna olnud väga saksa. Me saime mõned iPodid. iPodid ei on eesti keelis, aga need on saksa keelis. Nii, see on palju saksa keel täna.

I suspect a lot of that was particularly bad.

Meanwhile, Helen has actually been paying enough attention to notice that it's Estonian Week this week. She noticed I was messing about with the German language functions on the iPods and wagged a finger at me because it's Estonian Week this week.

Have I ever mentioned that Helen is unnervingly good?

A Clean Desk

Ah, cleaning.

In my heart of hearts, I hope it will lead to a more orderly life, where I actually remember what I'm doing from one minute to the next and I don't let things get buried for three years until they stop being relevant.

I have visions of a world in which I do one thing at a time (maybe two, tops), do it well and get it done within a reasonable time frame. A world in which I know what I should be doing today, and I can still remember what that is by the time I get through my emails in the morning.

A world in which I'm not storing large amounts of useless junk for no apparent reason - even though I'm sure it seemed useful and worth keeping at some point.

I fear, however, that I am not the kind of person who can create such an environment. Orderly workspaces, like tropical rain forests, need the appropriate life forms to generate the atmosphere necessary to sustain the existence of the habitat as a whole.

In this analogy, an orderly desk is a tropical rain forest. I am a cactus. Can the two ever really live for long in the same place? Will the cactus suck the moisture and life out of the tropical rain forest? Or is it possible to foster the rain forest long enough for the cactus to adapt to it, so that it becomes a tropical rain forest cactus?

Perhaps, like the Australian bush, what is truly needed is a fire to purge the old life so that new life can grow?

Perhaps I should have been using the cleaning products in a better ventilated room. Good thing I left my colleges there with the fumes while I left to sit on the reference desk for an hour. By the time I return to my temporarily clean desk, they might have caught up with me.

Deutsche Woche

Es ist Deutsche Woche. Mein Computer ist jetzt im Deutsch. Ich lese deutsche Kinderbücher und ich fernsehe deutsche TV.

Der Pilotfilm für "Alarm für Cobra 11" war sehr lange. Ich dachte, es wäre 90 Minuten lang, aber es war sicherlich mehr. Es war interessant, und sehr laut. Vielen schnell Autounfälle.

Ich möchte von einigen "Tim und Struppi" Bücher. Ich habe zwei "Tintin" Bücher im Estnisch, aber keine im Deutsch.

"Tintin" ist sehr cool.

Ich bin müde. Es war eine lange Tag.

I come from a tree

This is something that has been puzzling me for some time:

Tere hommikust!
Tulen tammikust!
Toon teile sooja sepikut

It's in a book I have at home. A class says it in unison with a clap as a way to begin the school day, as they are about to take a bus to Tallinn for a school excursion.

Now, to the best of my ability, this translates as:

Good Morning!
I come from an oak tree (or, maybe, a dam)!
I bring you warm wheat bread.

Which could possibly be accused of "not making any sense". Is it normal to declare you come from a tree/dam and offer warm bread to your teacher in the morning in some parts of the world?

Estonian Week

Okay, trying to learn two languages at the same time is finally starting to take it's toll.

I've gotten to the point now when I'll remember the German word when I'm trying to think of the Estonian one (and vice versa) - usually in the middle of a sentence.

"Ma olen kolmkümmend Jahre alte... wait a minute..."

I'll stare at a plate for fifteen minutes, trying to remember what it's called in German, but the only word that will come to mind is "taldrik". Eventually, I'll have to look up words I already know just because I can't get the other word out of the way.

I've recently decided to try something different - alternate weeks for each language. Last week was German Week: I read German poetry, went over German grammar, made a point of trying to remember the German names for things, tried to speak in German sentences when I could get away with it and had the language settings on my computer switched to German (which was, admittedly, an accident - but a happy one).

This week was supposed to be Estonian Week. Apart from the German lesson, I was going to try to focus on Estonian. I switched over my computer settings, tried to make a point of reading Estonian poetry and news, tried to remember the Estonian word for things as much as possible... I even made a point of not watching German news or listening to German radio even though I had the opportunity to do so.

Now, I should probably point out then when I say "read poetry" I'm probably referring to side-by-side text with the English translation. When I say "reading the news" actually mean "looking at the words and trying to see if I recognise some of them". When I say "listen to the radio" (or something like that) I mean "listen to the sounds coming out of the radio and occasionally picking up one or two words I know".

Anyway, so far Estonian Week has been a bit of a struggle. I find myself going through German withdrawals. I want to read the German poetry books - I have to remind myself to put them down and pick up something Estonian instead. I want to watch the German DVDs that just happened to arrive in the mail at the beginning of the week. I know I should watch another episode of Tuulepealne Maa (which is an enjoyable TV series which can be best described as "The Estonian answer to Band of Brothers") - and I probably will before the week is out - but I have these shiny new DVDs and I want to play with them...

Also, I keep thinking of the German word when I'm trying to come up with Estonian sentences. I sometimes found Estonian creeping into German Week, but German seems to be trying to invade Estonian Week quite aggressively (not entirely unlike approximately 700 years of European history, that).

It's as though my brain just doesn't want to let the German go. It is much easier than Estonian...

Oh, well.

C'est la vie.

Oh, wait, that's French. Scheibenkleister!

Sauerkraut

Let me make this absolutely clear:

Only German plebs eat sauerkraut straight out of the jar. It's an ingredient, like seeded mustard.

If you have "tried" sauerkraut before and you didn't like it, it's probably because you tried eating it straight out of the jar/tin. Don't do that - it will never taste good that way.

You need to a) mix it with other stuff, and b) cook it.

For example, if you want something quick and easy you can fry some onion and apple and mix in the tinned sauerkraut - maybe top it off with some caraway seads or something. It's a great accompaniment to sausages.

Or, as the main meal, you could try stewing it with ham, bacon hocks, pearl barley, extra (fresh) cabbage and some white wine vinegar. Add in a couple of bay leaves and some peppercorns during the cooking (to be removed before eating) and it tastes fabulous. Serve with boiled potatoes and buttered black rye bread.

Or head online and find some other recipe that takes your fancy. Just, please, for taste's sake, don't eat it straight from the jar.

Google Chrome on väga huvitav

Yup. I changed my language settings on my computer's system over to Eesti today, and sure enough Chrome is talking to me in Eesti, taking me to the Eesti version of major websites (when they exist) and offering Eesti options when it tries to correct my spelling.

See on tore! I love the way it completely alters minu language environment.

I'm even impressed that it does this by listening to my system settings rather than waiting for me to change them within the program. Yes, on one level that's a little bit creepy, but imagine how much time you'll save if English is not your person default language setting.

Crazy Tom's pizza recipe

A couple of years ago I spent the weekend with a group of people crazy enough to travel to Julia Creek for a triathlon. One of them was an English guy by the name of "Tom". At least, I think his name was Tom. I can't really remember these sorts of details (heck, I can barely remember my own name sometimes).

Anyway, Tom had spent some time in South Africa, where they apparently put banana on pizza. He was lamenting about the fact that he can't convince any pizza shops in Australia to use banana as an ingredient.

I told him the entire concept of banana on a pizza was ridiculous. He said people who put beetroot on hamburgers can't throw stones, which I figured was a fair cop.

Ever since then, I've been wondering exactly what pizza would taste like with banana. Last night I was making pizza for dinner, and I finally decided I may as well give it a try.

It's different - takes a moment to get used to - but it is not unpleasant. Slightly sweet, like pineapple, but with a weird undertone that takes you by surprise when you aren't expecting it. I'd possibly do it again.

It put me in mind of the fancy-pants pizza shop on Ross River Rd which puts beetroot on one of it's gourmet pizzas. And it made me wonder - why are vegetarian pizzas in most take-away pizza joints so darn boring?

If you're a vegetarian, you really only get two options: you can have the exact same ingredients that you would get on a super supreme minus the meat, or you can have cheese and tomato. Why don't they bring in some crazy options that people who eat peperoni pizzas would never consider? Why not have a "fruit salad" pizza with pineapple, banana and cucumber (what? It's a fruit).

It's not so difficult and out-there that a regular pizza shop couldn't do it. You don't have to be "gourmet" to be "not entirely boring".

Hmm, I'm obviously dealing with a moron

So, I submitted a paper to a journal some weeks ago and today I received the comments from the reviewers.

The first reviewer, whose comments I've just been reading through, seemed to struggle with my paper quite a lot.

I'm well aware that my writing style is far from perfect. I have a tendency to be flippant, I frequently digress and I often catch myself using sentences that I had thought were erudite but turned out to be simply obnoxious. Plus, I have a stupid belief that essays, like poems, should be aesthetically interesting rather than simply conveying the facts. I fully expected the comments to come back saying that some of my sentences could be clearer and I should move things around.

This person has basically written back saying entire paragraphs are impossible to understand and my argument is obscured. I can handle that. Such things help one grow. Except...

Except that their comments have indicated they aren't keeping up - or don't feel they should have to. It's as if I'm expected to explicitly outline everything I'm talking about in every single paragraph - they aren't pulling information from one section to inform the next, and I can't shake the feeling they're doing this on purpose. They're struggling with the abbreviations I'm using even though I established them properly in the early paragraphs and have been using them consistently ever since, and that also feels like it's on purpose - like they don't feel they should have to glance back at the beginning of the paper to find out what those abbreviations mean, therefore I should either not use them (or I should re-establish them on a regular basis).

I got to a point partway through reading their extensive comments (for which I'm thankful - I like extensive comments), when I realised what they really want is a simpler style. I have written the paper - quite deliberately - in a slightly circuitous fashion. I present some information and then explain why the information is relevant. I repeat this pattern multiple times, and then in the end I tie all the strings together. Each section makes sense eventually, you just have to read it with the assumption that it is taking you somewhere. You don't even have to wait that long for the pay-off. The "what" is clear in each paragraphs (at least, I believe it is), and a couple of paragraphs later you get the "why". This reviewer clearly wants the "why" first and foremost and continually referred to throughout the "what".

They clearly want me to strip it back and dumb it down so that the reader doesn't have to work as hard to figure out what I'm talking about.

Now, I've had a number of people read over this paper before I submitted it - including someone who checks clarity of writing style for a living. None of them had this much trouble understanding what I had written or the points I was making.

The second reviewer didn't even see the need to make comments on the paper - they just said a few things need to be moved around and that's it.

All of this leads me to believe that the first reviewer is not getting it - either because they can't get it or because they don't want to. It's almost like they've decided that it's hard to understand, so they are going out of their way to not understand it.

And, having formed this (possibly unfounded) opinion of the person writing the comments, I find an old character flaw is coming to the surface: I hate dumbing things down for stupid/lazy people. I can't stand the way everything has to be "easy" these days, and I start feeling my inner snob rise to the bait when someone suggests I should write something in such a way as to make sure people don't have to think about it.

Tell me my sentence isn't clear and it will get me thinking about how to do a better job. Tell me to repeat myself multiple times or use simpler words so people don't have to pay that much attention in order to know what I'm talking about and I'll dig my heels in. I'll happily try to write something "better", but I don't want to write something "simpler".

I've talked about this before, in my discussion of graded readers and simplified texts. I hate simplifying things. I'm trying to get over it and understand the role simplified language has in modern society, but I still hate it. The unsimplified version is richer and more interesting. Half the time I'm sure the reader could step-up to the challenge if they wanted to. Why should everything be brought down to the lowest common denominator?

I'm going to change the paper - grudgingly, of course, but I have to address the reviewer's concerns to get the paper published. But there's a good chance I'll be doing it with some spite directed at the reviewer, which is a bad attitude to have.

I have to refrain, reframe and then sit down to fix the paper so that I'm still proud of it, but it's easier for the lazy people to read.

I've also finally got the corrections back for my thesis, and my supervisor also wants me to focus more on repeating myself, so this is going to be a fun week.

What the Internet is for...

I had a short conversation with someone recently that went something like this:

Them: Well, they say most of what's on the Internet is porn.
Me: Have "they" seen how many recipe sites are out there?

I would be interested in seeing the comparative statistics on that at some point - just how much of the internet is porn and how much is cooking and craft. I think it would be a pretty close call.

Avoidance tactics

Just to put things in context: I'm supposed to be working on a referencing guide for Harvard.

We need a shop on campus which sells sushi.
I'd eat sushi for lunch all the time if there was a shop on campus and I didn't have to drive somewhere to get it.
It could just serve sushi and ramen - quick stuff that can just take a minute to throw together.
That reminds me, I don't know what ramen is, exactly.
I've been guessing.
Must confirm.
Wikipedia.
Ah, noodle soup.
Thought it was something like that.
We could have a shop in the student mall that does quick sushi and ramen easily.
They can go in the old post office or something.
I wonder how hard it would be to start up a Japanese fast food joint?
Have to hire a decent sushi person from somewhere.
No point having a sushi joint if the sushi's no good.
Could we convince one of the current Japanese take-outs in town to open a mini outlet?
If I had a quick-and-easy Japanese sushi bar I'd call it "Jaapani Söök".
Why did I say that?
What language was that one - oh, yeah, Estonian.
Hmm, wonder if naming my sushi bar "Japanese Food" in Estonian is intrinsicly amusing enough, or if I need a reason to put the two concepts together?
Estonia - Japan.
Japan - Estonia.
The latest food craze: Estonian Japanese Fusion.
Sushi with smoked Baltic herring and pickled cabbage as ingredients.
Could work.
Sashimi with head cheese as a side dish.
Not so much.
Sashimi works well with chips - I've done that before - and Estonians love potatoes...
Maybe have the Japanese and Estonian food on the same menu, but not on the same plate (unless someone asks for it).
Maybe just have the legends of Kalev decorated in a Japanese brush-work style around the room.
Something involving pearl barley and tuna?
This is a stupid idea.
I wonder what John Fiorelli is doing these days?
"Okay, John Fiorelli!"
Hey - it's actually "John Fiorella"!
Whoops.
Hunh, I've been getting that wrong for years.
I still like the way "John Fiorelli" sounds though - good name.

I have discovered the answer: Spreading German

Aha! I knew there would be a simple answer to the German problem. At least, I was hoping there would be, because eventually I'm going to need to have my system messages converted into English again.

Turns out that, when you use the Regional Language settings to add the keyboard sets for other languages, you have to remember to reset the language settings to English in that particular menu. If you don't, it assumes you want the default language settings for the computer to be in whatever you last selected.

IE and Firefox don't seem to care about what the computer's language preferences are set to, but Chrome pays closer attention. And, while Microsoft Office programs don't change their menus to match the system settings, they do change their automated content such as dates and number configurations.

This is why I noticed Chrome going all-out German before I picked up on the fact that it was more of a system-wide thing.

I have now fixed the computer at the reference desk, but I'm going to leave my own computer in German for the time being. I'm coping reasonably well at present, and it's always good to spend some quality time in the language environment of your target language.

Maybe I'll switch it into Estonian for next week...

Here's a picture of a marmoset:



No reason.

Zombie Alert!

The National Zombie Watch has reported a fresh outbreak of zombies in South-East Victoria, which seems to be travelling north along the coast, following the low pressure system off the cape.

This marks the fourth zombie outbreak to effect the south-east of the country in the past year, and residents are urged to stay vigilent. Although previous zombie outbreaks have not reached the plague proportions predicted by the NZW, people are reminded that it is important to avoid becoming indifferent to the threat of zombie infestation.

"It is tempting to say, 'oh, it's just zombies again', but you can't just assume that the zomie apocalypse won't happen to your family simply because you weren't caught up in any of the previous zombie waves," NSW spokesperson Nick Michels said at the press conference. "We can't allow ourselves to become lax when it comes to zombies."

The last major zombie infestation to sweep through Australia was the Queensland Zombie Plague of 1978, in which the entire south-east sector of the state was abandonned to the undead for approximately three years, until the plague died out. The National Zombie Watch hopes that such an extreme outbreak of zombies will never effect an Australian state or Territory again.

"Families need to establish a zombie survival plan," Michels stated at the press conference. "Most zombies will eventually rot and die as long as they don't have any fresh food. Decide in advance whether you are going to stay or leave. If you are going to stay, remember to make sure your home is zombie safe, have plenty of tinned food and bottled water and a good supply of napalm cannisters. If you leave, please do so long before the zombies are reported in your town. Once the zombies have come, you really should stay and defend."

Zombie protection kits can be obtained from any ambulance station throughout the country.

Background Photo / Open Air Museum

Just mucking about with the template because I can.

The background photo was taken at the Open Air Museum in Tallinn, which was one of the highlights of my trip to Estonia last year.

I thoroughly recommend it to anyone who is thinking of travelling through Eastern Europe at any point.

Mind you, I had some difficulty explaining the concept of an open air museum to a friend of mine recently.

You see, it's a museum of buildings and farms - as in, the actual buildings and gardens are the "objects" in the museum. It's brilliant - they grabbed old buildings from all over the country, took them apart, moved them to the museum and put them back together again.

It took a few goes to explain to my friend that I was talking about real buildings sitting in a park. It's such a brilliant concept, but one that we're not so familiar with here in Australia.

The Open Air Musuem has something of an extra significance for me, as well. I was standing next to one of the buildings, reading the sign, when my personal language goals cemented into place. You see, all of the signs in the OAM are in Estonian, English, German and Russian. I was looking at this sign, trying to make out the few words I knew of the three non-English languages, when I realised I didn't want to just play with these languages - I wanted to be able to read them, dammit. I want to be able to go back to the museum in a few years time capable of reading the entire sign - all four languages. Maybe, by the time I'm there again, I'll be able to do it.

It's spreading

Hmmm.

At first it was rather amusing, now I'm starting to get nervous.

Remember how my Google Chrome browser suddenly decided to switch my entire language environment to German? Remember how I said I was going to leave it like that and see if it switched itself back?

Not only has it not switched itself back, but the German is spreading.

I just noticed a couple of options in a drop-down menu on IE were offered in German (although the rest of them were in English, so that was odd) and another programme I use, Spark, had also switched it's language settings to German without instruction.

Not only that, but one of the programmes at the reference desk had also switched to German without being prompted.

Now, I'm willing to swear an affadavit that the only language settings I have changed on either computer in the last few months has been to add the German and Estonian character sets as keyboard options.

As far as I know, this is a normal function of computers and should not be encouraging the electronic world around me to spontaneously alter my language environments.

So what's with all the German?

Have I suddenly caught some sort of computer zoonosis that is causing me to spread German wherever I go?

Gold for Australia!

Man, these Commonwealth Games suck!

I know it seems a bit strange to complain about my country winning medals, but seriously! Have you seen the medal tally?

Australia has twice the number of medals as India and is practically wiping the floor with Brittain and Canada. The other countries seem to be competing as some sort of rent-a-crowd.

I know we actually have an Institute of Sport, which basically means our government is paying money to develop supermen (and women), but we are doing so well in these games it's starting to get freaky.

Granted, a lot of athletes decided to give this one a miss for various reasons (at least partly to do with the fear of dying from some dissentry-like disease or from the stadium collapsing, or something), so maybe we would have more of a run for our money if everyone who could have come out to play actually did.

But, still.

I remember, during the last couple of Olympics, I actually got bored with Australia's acquisition of metalic decorations and found myself barracking for Estonia all of the time, as it actually felt like an achievement when we won something.

Australia? Winning's just something we do. It doesn't seem like we have to fight for it any more. I don't want to lessen the achievement of our athletes, who have worked really hard to be as good as they are, but it just doesn't seem like it's a real competition any more.

You know who you are...

... and you probably won't read this anyway.

Now, I don't want to seem ungrateful, but as much as I love you and as much as you know you're loved, I find your apartment vaguely depressing.

It's not that the ceiling is falling down, or that the kitchen drawers are broken, or that the oven doesn't close properly (and therefore won't cook properly), or that the bath tub is some cheap little spa-thing with plastic parts that are starting to break down, or that your toilet looks like it's been cleaned by a teenage boy who is secretly hoping toilets are largely "self-cleaning"...

Rather, it is the culmination of all these things combined with the size of that monstrosity you call a TV set. I'm sorry, but people should not be investing in televisions that large when a) they already have a perfectly functioning TV, and b) the ceiling is falling down!

Yes, I know I'm unbelievably picky, and I'm not living there, and if you're living there and you're happy with things they way they are then I should just keep my nose out of other people's blah blah blah

But, Good Lord, man! Your ceiling is falling down!

Better in my dream

For some daft reason, I decided to translate one of my own poems into Estonian. The original version is over on my siegeworks blog (along with this translation) but this is my hamfisted attempt to write it in Eesti (maybe half re-writing it a little on the way)

Ja seal ta on
Tõde et valgustab vale
Paljastab mis ma teadnud juba
Aga püüdmanud eitama.

Ja kõik mu kavad
On libisevad läbi minu käte
Aga, kõige lõpuks ma teadnud alati
Nad olid rajatud liivale

Näha, kuidas nad lendavad...

Sina olid parem sisse minu unistus
Aga ka mina olin

Corrections to bad choices of grammar/vocabulary/idiomatic turns of phrase gratefully appreciated (only for the Estonian version - you can keep your mits off the English one, thank-you-very-much).

Monkeys

I don't trust monkeys.

I'm fascinated by them, but I don't trust them. It's not just because one of them tried tricking a friend of mine into coming close enough to pee on him - although that's part of it. I've just been paying attention.

I've been to more than my fair share of zoos. I've watched documentaries. I've noticed their nasty little monkey behaviour and their sneaky little monkey faces. I know they aren't the cute little fuzzy friends everyone wants to think they are.

Monkeys, you see, are a lot like cats. They have their own agenda, and they don't care who they have to bite, scratch or defecate on to achieve their aims.

Plus, they have opposable thumbs. I've always felt the only reason cats put up with us at all is the fact that we have invented tinned tuna and they haven't worked out a way to simply steal the cans from us and open them for themselves.

Monkeys? Monkeys would work it out. They're basically cats with power.

Don't trust 'em.

Diese Siete ist auf Englisch. Soll sie übersetzt werden?

This is just amusing me no end. My Google Chrome browser woke up today set in German. And I mean set in German.

Not only are the language settings of the browser itself in German, but it's taking me to the German versions of major websites, bringing up German pages in my Google searches, asking me if I want to translate English pages into German, and highlighting all of my English spelling as being incorrect (because it's not spelt properly auf Deutsch, ja?)

It's even doing it with pages I've bookmarked - taking me to the German version of the page even though I bookmarked the English version.

I didn't tell it to do this. I haven't touched the language settings for the browser. It was in English when I shut it down last night, and in German when I opened it this morning.

Yesterday I added German and Estonian language settings to my keyboard configuration, but I'm reasonably sure that shouldn't make one of my browsers convert into another language without being prompted (I should point out that I have IE and FireFox open at the same time, and both are in the same language settings I left them in yesterday).

It's odd. It's hilarious. I'm not going to change it back. I figure it made itself this way, it can switch itself back when it feels like it.

Marcia Sings

So, Marcia Hines is releasing an album called "Marcia Sings Tapestry". That's right, she's covering the whole album. When I first heard this I thought it was a bit rich, but now I just want her to do a whole series of them - taking singer/songwriters' signature albums and covering the whole shebang.

Imagine it:

"Marcia Sings Taproot Manuscript"
"Marcia Sings Thriller"
"Marcia Sings Tea for the Tiller Man"
"Marcia Sings Graceland"
"Marcia Sings Born in the U.S.A"

It could be fabulous.

Glass Houses

There is an old, yet very true saying:

"People in glass houses should not walk around naked."

By the same token, people with hands-free phones should not use them.

At best, they look like crazy people. More often that not, though, they look like they're talking to someone - someone standing near them. However, not only are they not talking to anyone in the vicinity, they don't particularly want anyone in the vicinity to listen or react to them. So, the people standing nearby justifiably turn to look at the person who could very well be talking to them, only to have said person give them that look.

You know the look I'm talking about - the one that basically says "Well, of course I'm not talking to you. Duh!"

It's rude and obnoxious, but the crazy people seem to think that they are perfectly in the right, and the people who dare look at them while they're talking on the phone are the rude and obnoxious ones.

Normal, polite human society depends on outward signals to give your fellow man a heads-up as to what is happening in a given social situation. If you are talking to someone on the phone, it is only polite to look like you're talking on a phone. You shouldn't look like you're talking to someone standing next to you. It just annoys the people standing next to you.

Tomorrow, when...

Wow. I have to say, watching Tomorrow, When the War Began the other night really drove home just how much I truly hate Blurred.

Now, let's just start by giving TWTWB its due praise: this movie rocks. It was enjoyable, pacy, well written, well acted, gripping and utterly believable (after the obviously necessary suspension of disbelief). It was thoughtful and intelligent without being artsy. The characters were fun and appealing without being "quirky". The story was dark and grim without being depressing. And, as if that wasn't enough, it was an action movie that would appeal equally to teenagers and adults, men and women.

In short, I'm still having some difficulty believing this was an Australian film.

We just don't make films like this. We make weird artsy depressing films that leave you wondering why you bothered going to the cinema. We make obnoxious unfunny comedies where every character is either "quirky" or a moron (or both). We make films we don't want to see, and then whine about the fact that no one watches our films.

TWTWB was not only an Australian film - it was an Australian film based on an Australian novel. And it still wasn't artsy and depressing. The book, Tomorrow, When the War Began was a phenomenon in Australian Young Adult Literature circles back in the 1990s, being one of the most popular books of the decade amongst teenagers and young adults. It took it's readers seriously, and treated both it's teenage characters and teenage audience like intelligent, capable people. The movie was pretty darn faithful to the book and did exactly the same thing - treated its characters and audience like intelligent, capable people.

Compare this with Blurred. Blurred was originally a play which was also something of a phenomenon in its day*. Part of a subgenre of Australian Drama known as "Australian Theatre For Young People" (I may have written a paper on this genre for my Honours in English Literature), the play was kind of artsy and depressing, but at the same time it had a bit of verve and a sense of humour. It treated its teenaged characters and audience like intelligent people. Lost, bewildered and far-too-eager-to-get-stoned-or-drunk, but intelligent none-the-less. Capable of thinking deep thoughts.

The movie took everything that made the play interesting and intelligent and replaced it with the least interesting cliches and tropes you can think of for a typical teenage comedy - you know, the kind that assumes teenagers don't actually think at all and are only interested in sex and fart jokes. The play wasn't my favourite play in the world (that would be a toss-up between The Importance of Being Earnest and Is That A Muffled Shriek?), but I liked it enough to be really disappointed with the movie.

And now, of course, now I know that Australian film makers actually are capable of making good movies that respect the source material and the audience. Now I know that we could have, if we wanted to, made a film version of Blurred that wasn't so depressingly awful. I never liked it. Now I just hate it.


* A bit of a fake phenomenon, it must be said. TWTWB was popular because kids just wanted to read it, so they bought it from bookshops or borrowed it from libraries. Blurred was just snaffled up by a lot of high school English and Drama courses because it seemed like a good idea at the time, so a lot of kids read it in class or performed sections of it (rarely the whole play) for assessment pieces. Not the same, I know, but it does mean a large number of Australian young adults were familiar with the play when the movie came out.

Mind if I borrow your grave for a moment?

Every now and then, for no real reason that could be justified to normal people, I find myself standing or sitting on someone's grave.

It's my penchant for wandering through graveyards, you see. If you don't do the boring thing and stick to the paths, eventually you're going to be traipsing through the graves. And, of course, if there isn't a chair to sit on when the need arises...

You have to be careful about which graves you choose for impromptu seats, though, as some of them aren't as stable as you'd expect a huge, ostentatious slab of stone-like stuff to be. Fortunately, I've yet to actually fall into someone's final resting place, although I have been known to occasionally jump into a plot to rearrange the pieces of a fallen tombstone. It freaked the heck out of the Wiccan who was with me at the time, what with it being the Southern Hemisphere's version of Samhain and all.

Anyway, it turns out that the friend I'm staying with in Canberra lives just down the street from a lovely cemetery. And I mean lovely. The Woden Cemetery is like a charming formal garden with dead people in it. It's beautiful, restive, full of colourful trees and flower beds... I went for a nice relaxing walk through the cemetery this afternoon and was taken by just how pretty it all was. Even the mausoleum was beautiful, framed by trees and lit by the afternoon sun.

At some point I decided I wanted to draw a picture of something that caught my eye - A contrast in graves with a hug black slab of granite (half filled - the other half still waiting for it's owner to die) right next to a grave so plane it was marked by a single white cross. It didn't even manage to have a mound of earth. In order to draw this contrast I, ah, "borrowed" the edge of another edifice for a seat. Maria someone or other. I suppose I should have apologised to her for taking up her time working on such a dodgy drawing. I've never claimed to be a good artist, which is probably just as well in the grand scheme of things.

I was on the verge of sitting on a closer grave (another Maria) when I decided the fact that the top slab was missing and the edges looked like they were about to collapse into the gaping hole at any moment was a bit discouraging.

It's a lovely cemetery, but some of the graves could do with a bit of repair work. They make things a bit too easy for the zombies, if you know what I mean.

Taronga Park Zoo has bad food

I believe in fair warning:

If travelling to Teronga Park Zoo in the forseeable future, bring a packed lunch. The food is definitely of the slightly-low-market-theme-park variety.

That's why I hate places where all of the food outlets are owned by the same people - they know you won't go somewhere else if you don't like what they have, so they can just offer you whatever they feel like and you're stuck with it.

Radioactive Museum Fatigue

I'm a bit of a museum junky. My "must do" tickets on every holiday involves the gardens and the museums (second tier ticket items include art galleries and zoos). So, on my first real day of holidays in Sydney, I went to the Chinese gardens and the Powerhouse Museum as my major activities for the day.

The Chinese gardens were absolutely lovely. I enjoyed every minute I spent there, and my only disappointment was that I hadn't brought a sketchbook. I can't draw to save myself but for some reason, when I'm travelling, I like to pretend I have a talent for line drawing in ink. This really means I just sketch bad drawings with a Bic pen, but it makes me happy, so what the heck. Anyway, no sketch book on Monday, so just me and my camera. And lots of pretty things. I love the way Chinese gardens make the most of a limited space - the way they use walls, buildings and levels to create different views at every turn. They put hours of garden wandering goodness into a space smaller than an office building's footprint.

On the one hand, I got there nice and early only to find out they didn't open until 9:30. On the other hand, when they did open, the cash registers weren't working so I got in for free. Good stuff.

The next stop for the day was the Powerhouse Museum...

Have I mentioned that I'm a museum junky? I really love museums. It's almost at the stage now where I've seen most of the things a museum could possibly exhibit, and I just go to see the museum itself - the way it's designed, how it shows its wares, that sort of thing. Oh, sure, I love looking at the stuff, too. I learn something new every time (which is the point, really), but I do regard the museum itself as part of the museum experience.

The Powerhouse museum was...

Noisy.

Annoyingly so.

Oh, there were groups of school children and parents with kids of all ages, but they weren't too noisy, all things considered. Most of the time the museum managed to drown them out.

Every room made noise. There were some rooms that had "sound scapes" (like the 80s exhibit and the "Frock Stars" look at fashion week), and then there were rooms with video components that were constantly yabbering on in the background. And I mean CONSTANTLY. They would keep playing the "Hey! Come look at me!" intro over and over and over again until someone used them - and then they would make a different range of noises. At no time, tough, would they ever stop making noise.

While I was trying to look at the poorly lit museum casings with musical instruments (which were hidden in the corner as though the museum was vaguely embarrassed about the museum-like presentation), there was a children's interactive area five steps away with the most annoying voice constantly inviting me to "swing my hips around and round". In order to stand still long enough to take in the display that interested me, I had to listen to this stupid thing about eight or ten times. It was not pleasant.

And it was like that all over the museum - "interactive" displays calling out to you whether you were there to hear them or not. At one point, I found myself standing in a position where I could hear three of these darn things running their intros on a constant loop. No one was looking at them or using them. "Don't come too close! I'm radioactive!" No fear of that - I was the only person in the room, and all I wanted to do was read the information on the displays that weren't yelling at me.

The one person who could hear them just wanted them to shut up.

It usually takes me a few hours before I get "museum fatigue" - that feeling where your feet hurt, you can't really focus on what you're looking at and you feel an overwhelming urge to go sit down somewhere and look at nothing for a while. The Powerhouse Museum managed to push me into the museum fatigue stage much sooner. I don't usually find myself wanting to get out of a museum so I can get some peace and quiet.

Look, I know the Powerhouse is aiming at being a more active, interactive, exciting, "non-boring" museum than the stereotypical model most people think of when they think "museum". I know they have always gone out of their way to try to engage children and teenagers, rather than museum boffins. But it doesn't have to be that annoying, does it?

Surely they can make sure the darn things only talk when someone is standing in front of them for more than a few seconds? I know kids these days aren't in the same room (metaphorically, if not physically) for more than a flashing moment, but they've got these signs next to stuff, you see, and occasionally someone must pause long enough to read them. Surely they can be nice to those poor souls who occasionally stand still?

Ruudi - a rambling review.

Previously, I wasted valuable time talking about my attempts to buy some Estonian DVDs.

Ruudi was my attempt at buying a slightly "older" children's film (or family movie) that I hoped would be enjoyable enough to watch several times, and I'm quite pleased with how well it worked out.

Ruudi is a young boy (say, 8ish) who is absolutely Viking obsessed. He lives in a coastal town in Saaremaa with his single mother, Karmen - the town's sole police constable. His best friend is Viki, a girl who lives in the same building and is a few years older than he is, and they often play Viking related games together. On the outskirts of the town is a house built in the old style that used to belong to an old man called Orm, who fancied himself a Viking and encouraged Ruudi to believe there was Viking treasure "buried" just off the coast. Since his death, Ruudi and Viki had often looked into the windows of his house wondering if there was a clue to the location of the Viking treasure...

At the start of the film, everyone in town heads over to the fair (not entirely sure where), where a real-live honest-to-goodness replica Viking ship is taking boys and their fathers for joyrides. The ship's crew clings to the "male only" tradition of Viking ships. Our young hero lines up, ecstatic at the idea of a trip on a "real" viikingilaev, only to be turned away until he can "find" his father. The man at the boat completely misunderstands Ruudi's shy attempts to tell him that he hasn't got a father, and simply tells him to go away and come back with his father next time.

So, with the help of Viki and (somewhat reluctantly) Viki's father, Sass, Ruudi sets out trying to procure a father for next time.

Viki, who is quite fond of watching the odd beauty competition, suggests a "Big Daddy Comptetion" - the winner gets to be the father of a sweet, young, blonde boy. Er, and, by association, kind of also gets the sweet, young, blonde boy's mother. Fortunately it takes his mother some time to learn about this competition.

In the mean time, old Orm's long lost son turns up, the news of his father's death having finally reached him in New Zealand. He's a nice enough bloke, who quickly decides he likes the challenge of making the local police-woman smile for a change. Unfortunately, he moves into his father's house: the Viking Villa. This is a problem, you see, because it turns out that a sweet, young, blonde boy isn't really a good enough prize to attract any entrants into the Big Daddy Competition, so the kids decided to promise a Viking treasure as well. To get the Viking treasure, they have to find Orm's treasure maps. To get the treasure maps, they need to get that guy out of the viikingivilla.

Some hijinks ensue. Not necessarily hilarious (although I was quite amused by the "I'll be old age, you can be poverty" routine), but definitely sweet.

Then Ruudi has the opportunity to spend some quality time with Enn (Orm's son) and decides he doesn't mind the guy, and doesn't want to scare him into leaving after all. Oh, and he also finds some Viking coins in Orm's house, which factors in a series of events that becomes the Somewhat Significant Subplot.

The Somewhat Significant Subplot involves a 13 year old boy Viki quite fancies and his attempts to make some money by selling antiques to a couple of dodgy vendors. Viki gives him one of the coins and asks him to find out what he can about it. He sells it to the dodgy vendors, telling them he has heaps of them (the advertised Viking Treasure, you see), and they decide to steal the lot and make a mint.

In the meantime, the Big Daddy Contest must go ahead. I won't tell you who the entrants are (there must be some surprises left in the world), but I will tell you that a) Ruudi's mother finally finds out, and is not impressed and b) it doesn't go well for Enn's attempts to make her smile.

Then, suddenly, the Somewhat Significant Subplot becomes the actual plot, and there are bad guys, kidnappings and violence and mayhem. Family friendly violence and mayhem, but violence and mayhem none the less. This was just when you were beginning to wonder why they were bothering with the subplot anyway.

It is a sweet little family film, so I'm probably not giving much away by telling you it all ends happily in the end. Although, I can't say I'm convinced the bad guys actually got a comeuppance worthy of the kidnapping, violence and mayhem.

It was a nice film, thoroughly enjoyable as what it is. Fun for the whole family. Well, unless your family has any of those pesky teenagers who are in the "I can't stand sweet little family movies" stage.

It does seem to have a little bit of an identity crisis, though. The heart of the film was really a story about a boy finding a father, but they often downplayed the burgeoning relationship between the two. There was also a hint of romance between the boy's mother and the new daddy which wasn't quite explored as well as it could have been...

And then there was that whole subplot thing. The ads, packaging and trailers really emphasised the "goofy bad guys out to steal treasure" aspect of the film. In fact, I was quite surprised when the movie turned out to be a sweet story about a boy finding a father instead of a slap-stick comedy about a boy thwarting bad guys. I almost didn't buy it because I thought that was the plot, but I was curious about the whole Viking thing and the "big daddy contest" (also not as slap-stick as I was expecting).

And yet, the "bad guys stealing treasure" subplot was so minor throughout most of the film that it felt like it was included to try to keep young boys raised on American movies interested enough to get past the "maybe you could come over for dinner?" moments. It seemed almost tacked on, right up until it became a central part of the last act. But, still, even then it seemed almost too contrived. You felt as if there could have been another, less tacky way to get the boy's mother and potential father to reconcile their differences. Maybe one that actually involved them touching at some point.

Okay, yes, there was some touching at the end, but it was too far at the end. I felt robbed of a potential romantic plot thread. The part of me that occasionally craves a nice romantic comedy just wanted to see a few more "moments" between the two characters. Maybe at least one "oh, thank god you're still alive" embrace or something.

At the end it all tied together nicely and it was a lovely movie and I would happily watch it again... but I couldn't help but feel the film was missing pieces along the way. Another two or three scenes between the "family" would have been nice. A little more foreshadowing of the threat posed by the bad guys would have been good, too. The kidnapping, violence and mayhem seemed to come out of nowhere. One moment the bad guys are bumbling con men, the next moment they're practically gangsters. It was somewhat unprecedented, and felt like we had switched films for a moment.

That said, I quite enjoyed it. I'd recommend it to anyone fond of nice family films and capable of either speaking Estonian or reading subtitles. Also, anyone with a Viking obsessed kid.

Films!

At last! Finally! Other such time based exclamations!

Filmipood and Apollo have finally consummated their union, allowing me to purchase Estonian DVDs through my favourite Estonian bookshop. This makes me very happy.

And to think that, some time ago, I firmly believed that there should be a demarcation between books and videos when it came to specialty stores! After all, you never see a DVD store selling books, so book stores should avoid selling DVDs. Take a look at what happened to music stores once they started selling DVDs. These days, the music is a secondary consideration, with most shelf space dedicated to the other medium. I wouldn't want the same thing to happen to books.

Fortunately, it seems we don't put enough faith in the ability of books to stick around regardless of how often we declare reading is dead. It seems people will always buy books (if only because they can't think of a decent mothers' day present), so bookshops never really need to lose shelf-space to other media. Sure, certain genres of books may be constantly under threat, and your favourite author may drop out of sight, but those books are being pushed out by other, more popular books, not CDs and DVDs.

For some time now, I've had no trouble at all purchasing books from Estonia for my crazy "let's teach yourself Estonian" project through the awesome Apollo. Even when I was actually in Estonia, I still found Apollo to be my favourite book store. My only complaint was that they didn't sell movies and television series, which are also important for learning languages.

In spite of my amazing librarian powers, I had been unsuccessful at finding an online store that would sell DVDs to Australia. Not from lack of tracking down people to ask, but more from lack of having people respond to my emails. Asking questions can only get you so far, at some point you need to have someone answer you. So, while I was in Estonia last year, I made a point of finding the names of some DVD chains in the belief that I would be able to track down their websites upon my return to Oz. I should have made a point of buying DVDs, but I had already taken up too much space in my luggage with books.

Filmipood was the most logical candidate, but they didn't obviously send stuff overseas. They finally responded to an email enquiry saying they would ship to Australia, it would just cost extra.

Huzzah! Thought I, and promptly started using my amazing librarian powers (and IMDB.com) to try to track down the titles of DVDs which would be most useful as entry points. I don't have buckets of money, so I wanted to get as much bang for my buck as I could manage. I wanted television series for the continuation of characters and potential redundancy of vocabulary, as well as children's films for the potential simplicity of vocabulary, as well as something I'll actually enjoy watching so that I can watch it multiple times and just absorb the vocabulary instead of finding it a begrudging exercise.

Why, yes, I am applying Extensive Reading schemata to authentic video. Why do you ask? Oh, you didn't? Well, never mind.

Anyway, having done my research and narrowed the field down to three items on which I wanted to spend money, I tried to order them - only to find there was no way to change the delivery address to somewhere outside of Estonia, and no way to pay except to use one of the major banks in Estonian (of which I am not a member). This was disheartening, but for some reason they sent me an email with the details of the DVDs I almost ordered... and I noticed that email was also CCd to a department within Apollo!

"Aha!" says I, "Filmipood and Apollo are merged or merging!" No one seemed to think it was odd that I would say such a thing. I guess the people who sit near me are used to hearing me spout out such inanities apparently incongruously. Not long after that, I managed to find all of the DVDs I wanted through Apollo and order them without problems.

Ah, Apollo. Now all you need to do is start selling Estonian CDs and you will truly be the Amazon of Estonia.

Anyway, over the weekend I watched the first of my new stash of Eesti DVDs - A movie called Ruudi.

Review to follow.

Unstable buildings

Some time ago I indulged in a ham-fisted attempt to translate the classic Play School song "A House with a Floor" into Estonian. As often happens when I'm in the middle of a meeting, I decided it was worth my while trying to translate the same song into German*. More ham-fisted attempts follow:

Hier ist ein Haus mit einem Boden
Mit einem Boden
Mit einem Boden
Hier ist ein Haus mit einer Wand
Mit einer Wand
Mit einer Wand
Hier ist ein Haus mit einen Dach
Mit einem Dach
Mit einem Dach
(Hier ist ein Haus einstürzen)
Das ist nicht mehr ein Haus
Ist nicht mehr
Das ist nicht mehr ein Haus


*Just to clarify, I don't often think I should translate "A House with a Floor" into German while in meetings. I just often think anything at all would be more interesting than what I'm currently doing.

The Luck of the Aye Aye

I understand it all, now. The aye ayes truly are, in fact, omens of bad luck - just as the native Madagasy tribes thought they were.

I think, however, it probably depends on whether or not you insult them first.

Case in point:

On Monday, I wrote a post about how aye ayes were ugly, freaky looking things that would scare you silly if you bumped into one by accident.

Monday night I fainted (long story), hit my head on a brick wall and knocked myself out. They had to X-ray my neck and keep me overnight in the hospital to make sure I hadn't given myself a serious head wound.

I'm fine, but my face is decidedly grazed - which lead me to make the comment to one concerned friend: "I'm okay, just a bit ugly".

So, I go on record as saying that this supposed omen of bad luck is "ugly", and that very night...!

A coincidence? I think not.

Don't mess with the aye ayes.