Okay, I know the Estonian entrant into the Eurovision song contest wasn't the best song on the roster, but it was still a heck of a lot better than the Russians. We wus robbed, as they say on certain footy fields.
However, I'm much more disappointed that Latvia didn't get through to the finals. That song was... that song was... it was...
Well, see for yourself:
http://www.sbs.com.au/eurovision/country/preview/id/28/n/Latvia
It's just soooo bad. And yet so earnest. Aisha deserves extra points for managing to look like she's singing something deep and meaningful the whole time - not once giving a "tell" that she knows the song is ridiculous.
She must know. Surely she must know by now. Even if the entire of the Latvian national selection committee and voting population didn't notice the song was written by a Google translation program, someone, somewhere would have mentioned the fact that the grammar was a little bit wrong. As in: every-native-English-speaker-will-be-laughing-at-this kind of wrong. Frankly, even if the grammar was correct, the song would still be hilarious.
She can't not know. Yet she never looked like she was aware of it. So very earnest as she sang:
I've asked my angels, why?
But they don’t know
What for do mothers cry
And rivers flow?
Why are the skies so blue
And mountains high?
What for is your love always passing by?
Why did she ask her Uncle Joe for information if he doesn't speak? Why does she regard "why are mountains high" and "why are we alive" as equally important questions? When she asks "What for do people live until they die", does she want to know why people live, why they die or why people stop living when they die? Does she want an explanation or a reason? Why does she think "God" is God's surname?
One thing is for sure: I'm probably going to me using the phrase "only Mr God knows" a lot from now on. I'm probably not going to be the only one.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Type
My cousin, Joel, is talking about fonts again. He wrote an exposé on Times New Roman a while back, and I guess he's probably going to be looking at fonts for the rest of his life.
We all look at fonts (or type face) everyday, but very few of us actually look at them. They're part of the landscape, you could say. We ignore them like we ignore the chairs in the room. Yet both chairs and fonts are designed by someone. An actual human being deliberately created the appearance of most of the things we "see" around us.
I'd always half-looked at fonts. When creating handouts and things like that, the choice of fonts can make all the difference, but they were always just things you select on a computer - not really something you look at that closely. Then I worked for a sign writer for a few months (the poor man was probably grateful I was only on a short "contract", as I wasn't the best assistant in the world), and found myself literally surrounded by letters all day. Quite often, after stripping the old letters off a sign we were recycling/updating, I would find all sorts of errant letters stuck to my clothes. It was like being in one of those children's books that are designed to look like the letters have come loose and are tumbling all over the page...
The office walls were covered with posters illustrating different type faces. I would often find myself staring at them for a few minutes, looking at the difference in the swoop of the serifs between two fonts that were otherwise quite similar, or admiring the way a different font could create a completely different "feel" - especially once you coloured it.
My boss warned me that I'd be looking at signs for the rest of my life, and he was right. Even now, years later, I find myself looking at the signs themselves as much as I look at the information they convey.
Once you've really made that connection - once you've appreciated that this thing you're looking at doesn't just exist, it was deliberately designed by someone who intended it to look that way - well, you can't stop noticing it. You will always "see" it a little more clearly than you did before. Signs, fonts, chairs... Whether it's the pencil in your hand or the tin of asparagus sitting on your desk, it's all by design.
Look around,you may see something.
We all look at fonts (or type face) everyday, but very few of us actually look at them. They're part of the landscape, you could say. We ignore them like we ignore the chairs in the room. Yet both chairs and fonts are designed by someone. An actual human being deliberately created the appearance of most of the things we "see" around us.
I'd always half-looked at fonts. When creating handouts and things like that, the choice of fonts can make all the difference, but they were always just things you select on a computer - not really something you look at that closely. Then I worked for a sign writer for a few months (the poor man was probably grateful I was only on a short "contract", as I wasn't the best assistant in the world), and found myself literally surrounded by letters all day. Quite often, after stripping the old letters off a sign we were recycling/updating, I would find all sorts of errant letters stuck to my clothes. It was like being in one of those children's books that are designed to look like the letters have come loose and are tumbling all over the page...
The office walls were covered with posters illustrating different type faces. I would often find myself staring at them for a few minutes, looking at the difference in the swoop of the serifs between two fonts that were otherwise quite similar, or admiring the way a different font could create a completely different "feel" - especially once you coloured it.
My boss warned me that I'd be looking at signs for the rest of my life, and he was right. Even now, years later, I find myself looking at the signs themselves as much as I look at the information they convey.
Once you've really made that connection - once you've appreciated that this thing you're looking at doesn't just exist, it was deliberately designed by someone who intended it to look that way - well, you can't stop noticing it. You will always "see" it a little more clearly than you did before. Signs, fonts, chairs... Whether it's the pencil in your hand or the tin of asparagus sitting on your desk, it's all by design.
Look around,you may see something.
Raske
Ma õpin saksa keelt ja eesti keelt. Inimesed ütlevad et saksa keel on raske, või ma mõtlen eesti keel on kõige raskem.
Just sayin', is all.
Just sayin', is all.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Converted?
Okay, it's worked. All of the things I've been reading for this dang thesis have caused me to change my mind.
Prior to reading the likes of Nation, Hill and Day & Bamford, I was in the "Simplified Texts? No thank you!" camp, instinctively believing that any adaptation of a book to make it "simpler" was a) insulting to both the original author and the reader, b) cheating (if you want to read Jane Eyre, read Jane Eyre, not some cut-down lazy-person's version), and c) poor form.
This was probably because I noticed the difference between "abridged" and "non-abridged" versions of books when I was about eight, and decided that reading "non-abridged" versions was the only option available to people with any pride in their reading ability. The true "soul" of the book could only be found in the author's version. Needless to say, I regard Readers Digest Condensed editions with great disdain.
And Simple Originals? Well I also instinctively believed something that was intentionally limited in range of vocabulary and complexity of syntax was inferior to things that were written by and for "real people".
My hazy impression of Simple Originals - formed, I must say, from a limited and reluctant exposure to Graded Readers intended for first language remedial readers - was that they were largely boring and lacking anything resembling a "spark". Soulless, I guess you could say. I spent a few months working as a "roving tutor" at a school back when I was studying for my education degree, and the job involved pulling the "slow readers" out of class and working with them, one on one, as they reluctantly read their way through some lackluster Graded Reader - and it was terrible. It felt like I was reading something that was intentionally written as a tool to teach someone who wasn't very bright. I was bored, they were bored, and I couldn't really see any way around that.
I realise now that I should have been using Intensive Reading activities to try to increase the students' (and my) engagement in the book. Please excuse me while I go back in time about ten years and give myself a note.
Okay, back now. I left the note somewhere useful for myself, and I'm sure I'll find it before it accidentally gets thrown in the bin.
Where was I? Oh, yes, changing my mind.
You see these people I've been reading for my thesis, they all support the use of Graded Readers for learning a second language, but they also agree with me - simplifications of existing books can be utterly horrible and original works can be really bad. BUT when the books are good (and apparently they can be good), they are the most useful thing a person learning a language can get his/her hands on.
They've basically been saying: "Look, over the last thirty years there have been some rubbishy graded readers, but also some good ones - you can't dismiss the whole genre, especially when it can do so much good when writers and editors wield their powers for good instead of evil". Which is pretty hard to argue against, in good conscience.
It all comes back to the concept of Extensive Reading - the more you read, the better your reading skills become. You pick up more vocabulary, start to understand the grammar better and become more fluent. In short, you become a better at reading texts in a given language by reading texts in that language. However, as Krashen points out (and everyone points out the fact that Krashen points this out): the input has to be understandable. It has to be largely meaningful. You don't learn anything from noise.
They keep bandying about two numbers: 95% and 98%. The idea is, if you want to gain vocabulary from what you're reading, you have to already know at least 95% of the words in the book. If you want to really pick up your ability to read well, then you should know at least 98%.
Since people learning a language don't understand that much of it, then it makes sense to create texts that have controlled vocabulary and grammar. Okay, deep breath. Yes, I just agreed that writing books with limited language is a perfectly sound and acceptable idea.
Day & Bamford and Hill in particular have been waving this flag that says "Language Learner Literature" (LLL) - the idea being that language learners are an audience like any other, and people should be writing books for them. They make a good case. Heck, I've been reading their description of what a good LLL book should be, and I actually want to write one. A year ago the poet in me would have screamed: "but you can't intentionally 'dumb-down' writing and expect it to be good!", but now the same compulsion in me that occasionally feels the need to write a sonnet wants to try this.
Sonnets are all about control, you see. You have an exact number of syllables, stresses and lines to play with, and you have to fit something interesting, unique and worth reading into those restrictions. I'm seeing parallels with LLL. The restrictions, rather than the lines and syllables, are the vocabulary and structure. Can you write something interesting, unique and worth reading when you have to take from a pool of 5000 words and must avoid dozens of grammatical features known to be confusing? Can you use redundancy effectively, so that it reinforces the vocabulary and the grammar without appearing forced and boring?
Could you create a story that is so interesting it does not depend on the language used to convey it, and could you create a text in which the language is so clear and concise that it conveys the story effortlessly?
As someone who loves playing with the possibilities written English provides, I find the entire concept of these restrictions challenging. I'm not sure I could do it. I want to try...
Also, I want to find Graded Readers within the languages I'm currently studying. I've found some in German, and just need to find out what my options are for buying them. Estonian might be more of a challenge, though. Heck, when it comes to Estonian, I'd love to get my hands on anything I could actually read. The children's books I have at the moment are too challenging for me. Even adaptations of existing novels would be nice.
Yeah, about those. I still don't like the idea of sixteen people thinking they can re-write Brontë and think it's okay. On the other hand, Hill makes a very good point about adapting books for movies. LLL is a different medium with a different audience, and a re-telling catering to that medium shouldn't be dismissed as a butchered version of the original any more than a movie would be. Mind you, I often think movies are butchered versions of the original. You get that.
Prior to reading the likes of Nation, Hill and Day & Bamford, I was in the "Simplified Texts? No thank you!" camp, instinctively believing that any adaptation of a book to make it "simpler" was a) insulting to both the original author and the reader, b) cheating (if you want to read Jane Eyre, read Jane Eyre, not some cut-down lazy-person's version), and c) poor form.
This was probably because I noticed the difference between "abridged" and "non-abridged" versions of books when I was about eight, and decided that reading "non-abridged" versions was the only option available to people with any pride in their reading ability. The true "soul" of the book could only be found in the author's version. Needless to say, I regard Readers Digest Condensed editions with great disdain.
And Simple Originals? Well I also instinctively believed something that was intentionally limited in range of vocabulary and complexity of syntax was inferior to things that were written by and for "real people".
My hazy impression of Simple Originals - formed, I must say, from a limited and reluctant exposure to Graded Readers intended for first language remedial readers - was that they were largely boring and lacking anything resembling a "spark". Soulless, I guess you could say. I spent a few months working as a "roving tutor" at a school back when I was studying for my education degree, and the job involved pulling the "slow readers" out of class and working with them, one on one, as they reluctantly read their way through some lackluster Graded Reader - and it was terrible. It felt like I was reading something that was intentionally written as a tool to teach someone who wasn't very bright. I was bored, they were bored, and I couldn't really see any way around that.
I realise now that I should have been using Intensive Reading activities to try to increase the students' (and my) engagement in the book. Please excuse me while I go back in time about ten years and give myself a note.
Okay, back now. I left the note somewhere useful for myself, and I'm sure I'll find it before it accidentally gets thrown in the bin.
Where was I? Oh, yes, changing my mind.
You see these people I've been reading for my thesis, they all support the use of Graded Readers for learning a second language, but they also agree with me - simplifications of existing books can be utterly horrible and original works can be really bad. BUT when the books are good (and apparently they can be good), they are the most useful thing a person learning a language can get his/her hands on.
They've basically been saying: "Look, over the last thirty years there have been some rubbishy graded readers, but also some good ones - you can't dismiss the whole genre, especially when it can do so much good when writers and editors wield their powers for good instead of evil". Which is pretty hard to argue against, in good conscience.
It all comes back to the concept of Extensive Reading - the more you read, the better your reading skills become. You pick up more vocabulary, start to understand the grammar better and become more fluent. In short, you become a better at reading texts in a given language by reading texts in that language. However, as Krashen points out (and everyone points out the fact that Krashen points this out): the input has to be understandable. It has to be largely meaningful. You don't learn anything from noise.
They keep bandying about two numbers: 95% and 98%. The idea is, if you want to gain vocabulary from what you're reading, you have to already know at least 95% of the words in the book. If you want to really pick up your ability to read well, then you should know at least 98%.
Since people learning a language don't understand that much of it, then it makes sense to create texts that have controlled vocabulary and grammar. Okay, deep breath. Yes, I just agreed that writing books with limited language is a perfectly sound and acceptable idea.
Day & Bamford and Hill in particular have been waving this flag that says "Language Learner Literature" (LLL) - the idea being that language learners are an audience like any other, and people should be writing books for them. They make a good case. Heck, I've been reading their description of what a good LLL book should be, and I actually want to write one. A year ago the poet in me would have screamed: "but you can't intentionally 'dumb-down' writing and expect it to be good!", but now the same compulsion in me that occasionally feels the need to write a sonnet wants to try this.
Sonnets are all about control, you see. You have an exact number of syllables, stresses and lines to play with, and you have to fit something interesting, unique and worth reading into those restrictions. I'm seeing parallels with LLL. The restrictions, rather than the lines and syllables, are the vocabulary and structure. Can you write something interesting, unique and worth reading when you have to take from a pool of 5000 words and must avoid dozens of grammatical features known to be confusing? Can you use redundancy effectively, so that it reinforces the vocabulary and the grammar without appearing forced and boring?
Could you create a story that is so interesting it does not depend on the language used to convey it, and could you create a text in which the language is so clear and concise that it conveys the story effortlessly?
As someone who loves playing with the possibilities written English provides, I find the entire concept of these restrictions challenging. I'm not sure I could do it. I want to try...
Also, I want to find Graded Readers within the languages I'm currently studying. I've found some in German, and just need to find out what my options are for buying them. Estonian might be more of a challenge, though. Heck, when it comes to Estonian, I'd love to get my hands on anything I could actually read. The children's books I have at the moment are too challenging for me. Even adaptations of existing novels would be nice.
Yeah, about those. I still don't like the idea of sixteen people thinking they can re-write Brontë and think it's okay. On the other hand, Hill makes a very good point about adapting books for movies. LLL is a different medium with a different audience, and a re-telling catering to that medium shouldn't be dismissed as a butchered version of the original any more than a movie would be. Mind you, I often think movies are butchered versions of the original. You get that.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Kein Brötchen
I found myself, today, to be in possession of all the trappings necessary to make a salami and salad roll, except for the bread roll.
We're running a little low on bread, at present, so my options basically consisted of digging some ancient bread out of the freezer for a sandwich, or going to a shop to purchase a roll. Since I found the idea of a “freshly baked” bread roll from a bakery quite appealing (much more so than the ancient bread option) I thought I would put an old plan into action.
At the end of my street, you see, there are a cluster of shops. I always thought these were the old fashioned, corner store type shops that you get in neighbourhoods that were built to the Old Pattern. The Old Pattern was developed back in the day when people only had one car per family, and they really only used it for important things like going to work, going to church, or going for a holiday. Most of the time kids rode bicycles and mothers walked - hence the old neighbourhoods all have shops centrally located in places which are in easy walking distance from most of the houses in the area. And they were all “every day living”, practical type stores: greengrocers, bakeries, butchers... These shops also were what you might call “open air” affairs. The shops themselves had doors and roofs, obviously, so they could be air-conditioned when the time came, but to get from one shop to another you had to go outside - out where the real air could invade your lungs and touch your skin. Shocking, I know.
There are many neighbourhoods where the shops were originally based on the Old Pattern, but they have since been subjected to the Interim Pattern. That is, the large supermarket chains found a shop with a position they liked, and basically “bought in”, necessitating a conversion from “open air” to “enclosed and air-conditioned”. If there happened to be an independent greengrocer, bakery or butcher in these shops to begin with, they might be able to hold on for a couple of years, but eventually they would either shut up entirely and leave or be replaced by chains who had the brand power to hold off against the supermarkets. The other shops in the area would find that such niceties as bakers, greengrocers and butchers weren't really making any money, so those services would leave, and then the shops would be left finding new stores for niche markets. Such stores never seem to last long. Now the shops within walking distance don't really cater to your “everyday living needs” (well, except for the hideously expensive convenience stores). Instead, you have to drive a car over to a supermarket for the weekly shop. Still, these supermarkets are in the neighbourhood - it's really only a five to ten minute drive, depending on traffic.
The Current Pattern involves neighbourhoods mass built in some kind of pre-fabricated design which never included corner shops to begin with. If you're lucky, some block of land within ten minutes' driving distance of your house has been set aside, and one day a supermarket chain will think the population is big enough to warrant putting an air-conditioned wonderland with a horrible, horrible car park on that land. Until that day, you have to drive at least twenty minutes or so to one of the big supermarkets for the weekly shop - where you are given a choice of supermarket chain or franchise for your bakery or butchery needs, but for all groceries (green or otherwise), it's just the supermarket.
Anyway, I know the shops at the end of my street have been sliding towards the Interim Pattern for some time. The butcher got out while I was still a child and the greengrocer closed up shop years ago - never to be replaced. But I always had some faith in the fact that we had a couple of bakeries. I have often bought pies, pastries or cakes from those bakeries. I have never really paid attention to the fact that they don't sell bread.
I did half remember that one of them never did - they always sold pies and sandwiches, but not bread. The other one, though, I'm sure used to sell bread. I could have sworn that when I used to walk up to that shop with my grandmother as a child, they had racks displaying bread and bread rolls. That is why I walked to that shop today to indulge my “Fresh bread roll from bakery” whim.
I can now tell you that, at the end of my street, there is a “bakery”, which doesn't sell bread, a pie shop, which doesn't sell bread and a cake shop, which doesn't sell bread. If you want a sausage roll, you're in the right neighbourhood. If you want a loaf of bread or a couple of bread rolls, you're plumb out of luck. I also noticed, for the first time, that when they put their new sign up the bakery (which has been there for a good thirty years) neglected to put the word “bakery” in its name. I guess that should have been a sign (pardon the pun) that their focus had changed.
A quick calculation in my head worked out that the two other bakeries in the area (at least one of which I happen to know actually does sell bread) would take at least ten minutes to walk there, making it too long for a round trip, given that I had only wanted to waste ten minutes on this excursion, and that time was already squandered. I could have ridden my bike to one of those bakeries in short time, but since I'd have to walk home to get my bike anyway...
So, yeah. No bread roll for lunch. Sad, really - on a number of levels.
We're running a little low on bread, at present, so my options basically consisted of digging some ancient bread out of the freezer for a sandwich, or going to a shop to purchase a roll. Since I found the idea of a “freshly baked” bread roll from a bakery quite appealing (much more so than the ancient bread option) I thought I would put an old plan into action.
At the end of my street, you see, there are a cluster of shops. I always thought these were the old fashioned, corner store type shops that you get in neighbourhoods that were built to the Old Pattern. The Old Pattern was developed back in the day when people only had one car per family, and they really only used it for important things like going to work, going to church, or going for a holiday. Most of the time kids rode bicycles and mothers walked - hence the old neighbourhoods all have shops centrally located in places which are in easy walking distance from most of the houses in the area. And they were all “every day living”, practical type stores: greengrocers, bakeries, butchers... These shops also were what you might call “open air” affairs. The shops themselves had doors and roofs, obviously, so they could be air-conditioned when the time came, but to get from one shop to another you had to go outside - out where the real air could invade your lungs and touch your skin. Shocking, I know.
There are many neighbourhoods where the shops were originally based on the Old Pattern, but they have since been subjected to the Interim Pattern. That is, the large supermarket chains found a shop with a position they liked, and basically “bought in”, necessitating a conversion from “open air” to “enclosed and air-conditioned”. If there happened to be an independent greengrocer, bakery or butcher in these shops to begin with, they might be able to hold on for a couple of years, but eventually they would either shut up entirely and leave or be replaced by chains who had the brand power to hold off against the supermarkets. The other shops in the area would find that such niceties as bakers, greengrocers and butchers weren't really making any money, so those services would leave, and then the shops would be left finding new stores for niche markets. Such stores never seem to last long. Now the shops within walking distance don't really cater to your “everyday living needs” (well, except for the hideously expensive convenience stores). Instead, you have to drive a car over to a supermarket for the weekly shop. Still, these supermarkets are in the neighbourhood - it's really only a five to ten minute drive, depending on traffic.
The Current Pattern involves neighbourhoods mass built in some kind of pre-fabricated design which never included corner shops to begin with. If you're lucky, some block of land within ten minutes' driving distance of your house has been set aside, and one day a supermarket chain will think the population is big enough to warrant putting an air-conditioned wonderland with a horrible, horrible car park on that land. Until that day, you have to drive at least twenty minutes or so to one of the big supermarkets for the weekly shop - where you are given a choice of supermarket chain or franchise for your bakery or butchery needs, but for all groceries (green or otherwise), it's just the supermarket.
Anyway, I know the shops at the end of my street have been sliding towards the Interim Pattern for some time. The butcher got out while I was still a child and the greengrocer closed up shop years ago - never to be replaced. But I always had some faith in the fact that we had a couple of bakeries. I have often bought pies, pastries or cakes from those bakeries. I have never really paid attention to the fact that they don't sell bread.
I did half remember that one of them never did - they always sold pies and sandwiches, but not bread. The other one, though, I'm sure used to sell bread. I could have sworn that when I used to walk up to that shop with my grandmother as a child, they had racks displaying bread and bread rolls. That is why I walked to that shop today to indulge my “Fresh bread roll from bakery” whim.
I can now tell you that, at the end of my street, there is a “bakery”, which doesn't sell bread, a pie shop, which doesn't sell bread and a cake shop, which doesn't sell bread. If you want a sausage roll, you're in the right neighbourhood. If you want a loaf of bread or a couple of bread rolls, you're plumb out of luck. I also noticed, for the first time, that when they put their new sign up the bakery (which has been there for a good thirty years) neglected to put the word “bakery” in its name. I guess that should have been a sign (pardon the pun) that their focus had changed.
A quick calculation in my head worked out that the two other bakeries in the area (at least one of which I happen to know actually does sell bread) would take at least ten minutes to walk there, making it too long for a round trip, given that I had only wanted to waste ten minutes on this excursion, and that time was already squandered. I could have ridden my bike to one of those bakeries in short time, but since I'd have to walk home to get my bike anyway...
So, yeah. No bread roll for lunch. Sad, really - on a number of levels.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Procrastinating again
Why is it that, even when the task is a simple one which could be easily accomplished in a couple of hours if I just put my head down and worked on it, I find myself staring into space for long stretches of time and trying to find a good enough reason to do something else?
My time estimates always seem to factor "working efficiently" into the equation, but somehow it never really happens that way.
The phrase "own worst enemy" comes to mind.
My time estimates always seem to factor "working efficiently" into the equation, but somehow it never really happens that way.
The phrase "own worst enemy" comes to mind.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Noteworthy poets - Or, goodbye Lydia
I'm sure I've probably used the phrase "noteworthy poets" in multiple blogposts in multiple blogs in the past. I like it.
I half stole it from a feature in the magazine Australian Heritage, called "Noteworthy People". In this feature, the magazine would highlight a person who had appeared on Australian legal tender at some point. It was quite interesting - I was particularly fascinated by the article on Lawrence Hargrave, who used to be on the $20 note before being replaced with Mary Reiby. That dude totally rocked. I mean, the guy used to make giant box kites, string them together and then tie a chair to them and go for joy flights.
Anyway, the magazine is apparently running out of money to cash in on (sorry, couldn't resist), because the "noteworthy" people feature has been rather sporadic and occasionally dedicated to someone who wasn't actually on any currency, as far as I know.
I particularly like the phrase "noteworthy poets" because I think it's marvellous that we have poets on our currency. Poetry has been sadly devalued in our society*, and I love the fact that the $10 has a poet on either side, so that every day people look in their wallets and are reminded that we, as Australians, did have an intellectual field beyond science and a passion beyond sport.
Okay, I know no one is actually reminded of that fact. I know most people barely recognise the fact that "Banjo" Patterson is on the $10, and very few have a clue who the chick on the other side is. I like to think, however, that someone, somewhere is going to say "who is that woman? I must google her", and from then on a life-long interest in poetry will begin.
Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
One of the things that greatly pleased me, when I went to Estonia last year, was noticing that the 100kr note (roughly equivalent to the AUD$10) also had a poet on it: Lydia Koidula. The majority of Estonian banknotes feature a writer on one side and a thematically related place or thing on the other, but Lydia is the token poet - it's what she's mostly known for.
One day I'm going to find all of the poets that have been featured on banknotes around the world and put together an anthology of their work. I might make it a PhD project or something.
When I came back from Estonia, I knew I had kept a couple of notes in my wallet as "souvenirs", and I thought I had kept a 100kr note. I was hoping I had - it was the only one I really wanted. When I looked in my wallet later, though, I found I had accidentally kept a 500kr note instead. Carl Robert Jackobson is kind of cool, but he's no Lydia Koidula. I comforted myself with the knowledge that I could probably fix that when I went back to Eestimaa in a couple of years.
Except Estonia has been accepted into the Euro, now, with the change-over tentatively slated to happen at the beginning of next year. By the time I get back there, 100kr notes will be out of circulation.
That's the problem with the Euro - the biggest problem, in my point of view. So much bigger than the fact that any given country could knock it over by making a mess of their own finances. It takes away the individual countries' ability to honour their own people. There are no people on the Euro banknotes at present, and if they are ever redesigned to include people, I doubt that you'll ever find an Estonian poet taking up space on one of those notes.
Take a look at the current raft of people on the Estonian banknotes: The painter is no longer circulating, but you still have a biologist, a chess grandmaster, a linguist, a composer and a parcel of writers. They mean something to Estonia - and to Estonians. They don't mean anything to the average Jean in Paris. Small beer.
The people you "meet" on your money can be quite interesting. Each country's currency introduces you to some fascinating folk - not to mention telling you something about what that country feels is worth celebrating. So many countries waste the real estate by filling up their notes with rulers of some description. The fact that Estonia has writers and composers on it's cash is just "so Estonia". Heck, I'm sure every single one of those people has at least one statue sitting proudly in a park somewhere. I've seen a few of them with my own eyes.
I shall miss Lydia. She shall disappear without a trace - just like that dude with the serious moustaches on the Luxembourgish 100 Franc. A part of history, rather than a part of people's every day lives. Ah, well. At least you can still go to Pärnu and see her statue.
* 150 years ago, poetry used to be the "pop-songs" of the day, and poets were practically rock stars. Now they get even less respect than librarians. Do you know how depressing that is - especially if you happen to be a librarian who loves poetry?
P.S. I have, in my life, stolen one book from a library - only one, and it was a book of poetry. One day I may tell you what it is.
I half stole it from a feature in the magazine Australian Heritage, called "Noteworthy People". In this feature, the magazine would highlight a person who had appeared on Australian legal tender at some point. It was quite interesting - I was particularly fascinated by the article on Lawrence Hargrave, who used to be on the $20 note before being replaced with Mary Reiby. That dude totally rocked. I mean, the guy used to make giant box kites, string them together and then tie a chair to them and go for joy flights.
Anyway, the magazine is apparently running out of money to cash in on (sorry, couldn't resist), because the "noteworthy" people feature has been rather sporadic and occasionally dedicated to someone who wasn't actually on any currency, as far as I know.
I particularly like the phrase "noteworthy poets" because I think it's marvellous that we have poets on our currency. Poetry has been sadly devalued in our society*, and I love the fact that the $10 has a poet on either side, so that every day people look in their wallets and are reminded that we, as Australians, did have an intellectual field beyond science and a passion beyond sport.
Okay, I know no one is actually reminded of that fact. I know most people barely recognise the fact that "Banjo" Patterson is on the $10, and very few have a clue who the chick on the other side is. I like to think, however, that someone, somewhere is going to say "who is that woman? I must google her", and from then on a life-long interest in poetry will begin.
Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
One of the things that greatly pleased me, when I went to Estonia last year, was noticing that the 100kr note (roughly equivalent to the AUD$10) also had a poet on it: Lydia Koidula. The majority of Estonian banknotes feature a writer on one side and a thematically related place or thing on the other, but Lydia is the token poet - it's what she's mostly known for.
One day I'm going to find all of the poets that have been featured on banknotes around the world and put together an anthology of their work. I might make it a PhD project or something.
When I came back from Estonia, I knew I had kept a couple of notes in my wallet as "souvenirs", and I thought I had kept a 100kr note. I was hoping I had - it was the only one I really wanted. When I looked in my wallet later, though, I found I had accidentally kept a 500kr note instead. Carl Robert Jackobson is kind of cool, but he's no Lydia Koidula. I comforted myself with the knowledge that I could probably fix that when I went back to Eestimaa in a couple of years.
Except Estonia has been accepted into the Euro, now, with the change-over tentatively slated to happen at the beginning of next year. By the time I get back there, 100kr notes will be out of circulation.
That's the problem with the Euro - the biggest problem, in my point of view. So much bigger than the fact that any given country could knock it over by making a mess of their own finances. It takes away the individual countries' ability to honour their own people. There are no people on the Euro banknotes at present, and if they are ever redesigned to include people, I doubt that you'll ever find an Estonian poet taking up space on one of those notes.
Take a look at the current raft of people on the Estonian banknotes: The painter is no longer circulating, but you still have a biologist, a chess grandmaster, a linguist, a composer and a parcel of writers. They mean something to Estonia - and to Estonians. They don't mean anything to the average Jean in Paris. Small beer.
The people you "meet" on your money can be quite interesting. Each country's currency introduces you to some fascinating folk - not to mention telling you something about what that country feels is worth celebrating. So many countries waste the real estate by filling up their notes with rulers of some description. The fact that Estonia has writers and composers on it's cash is just "so Estonia". Heck, I'm sure every single one of those people has at least one statue sitting proudly in a park somewhere. I've seen a few of them with my own eyes.
I shall miss Lydia. She shall disappear without a trace - just like that dude with the serious moustaches on the Luxembourgish 100 Franc. A part of history, rather than a part of people's every day lives. Ah, well. At least you can still go to Pärnu and see her statue.
* 150 years ago, poetry used to be the "pop-songs" of the day, and poets were practically rock stars. Now they get even less respect than librarians. Do you know how depressing that is - especially if you happen to be a librarian who loves poetry?
P.S. I have, in my life, stolen one book from a library - only one, and it was a book of poetry. One day I may tell you what it is.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
It's probably best not to ask
For her birthday on the Seventeenth of May
Dorabella only had one thing to say
Of all the nice and normal things a little girl could ask for
All she wanted was a guanaco from Argentina
But her parents don’t approve of camelids
So a guanaco they instantly forbid
But it couldn’t cure her longing for the one thing she desired
All she wanted was a guanaco from Argentina
Oh, they offered her some other ungulates
And a pudu would have quite impressed her mates
But although a dik-dik’s cute she thought it really wouldn’t suit
All she wanted was a guanaco from Argentina
Every year, of course, the story was the same
Dorabella’s passion burned just like a flame
And one day her parents found a note that simply said these words:
“All I wanted was a guanaco from Argentina.”
Dorabella only had one thing to say
Of all the nice and normal things a little girl could ask for
All she wanted was a guanaco from Argentina
But her parents don’t approve of camelids
So a guanaco they instantly forbid
But it couldn’t cure her longing for the one thing she desired
All she wanted was a guanaco from Argentina
Oh, they offered her some other ungulates
And a pudu would have quite impressed her mates
But although a dik-dik’s cute she thought it really wouldn’t suit
All she wanted was a guanaco from Argentina
Every year, of course, the story was the same
Dorabella’s passion burned just like a flame
And one day her parents found a note that simply said these words:
“All I wanted was a guanaco from Argentina.”
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Another Brick in the Wall
Columnist Jay Mathews of the Washington Post recently wrote about teaching languages in high school as a waste of time - the argument being that very few people come out of high school language courses with anything resembling fluency.
For a reply by Language Magazine staffer Kate Sommers-Dawes, check out the following link:
Columnist Calls Language Learning Useless
I'd like to join with Kate's observation that high school Language is about as useful as high school Biology by pointing out that all high school learning is useless. Everything Mathews says about Language classes could be equally applied to pretty much every subject you can take in high school - including Maths and English.
No one actually comes out of high school fully equipped to do anything. Well, except sleep. And even then, a lot of kids these days can't even seem to manage that.
After you leave high school, you start to figure out what you want to know or need to know, and that's when you actually start learning things that will do you some good. What high school does is make things just that little bit easier when it comes to the "real" education you get from life. I can do X, or Y a little more easily because I started learning them in high school, therefore I'm not starting completely from scratch.
In high school you learn how to lay a brick. Just one. Is laying one brick useful? If you never intend to lay another brick, then no. If, on the other hand, you'd like to build a wall one day, then knowing how to lay a brick is a good place to start.
The question is, how do you know if you really and truly never will lay another brick?
When I was in high school, I was sure my future career was in advertising. I stacked my subjects to make sure I took the communication courses, and beyond that I took what I was most interested in. Sure, I was interested in Biology - but I was more interested in Ancient History. I didn't end up taking any Science classes at all, in the end...
And now I'm a liaison librarian for the schools of Pharmacy and Veterinary Science. Taking Biology or Chemistry might have made things a little easier for me in the long run. However, the history courses I took in high school gave me an edge during my university studies, and will still be useful for my future plans, so they certainly weren't wasted.
Bricks and walls.
Yet, why are people constantly challenging subjects like Languages and History? If few people come out of high school with an immediately useful knowledge of Biology, why do you never hear people complaining about the money spent on science labs?
And why do people think the resources spent on Drama are a waste of money, but the resources spent on football are fine? You'll have about as many professional football players as actors come out of the average school...
What is it about the Humanities subjects that makes them so undervalued compared to everything? Especially communication? If you asked the average father* whether his son should learn to construct a sentence correctly or perform double-digits long division, he would probably pick the long division. Yet a calculator can compensate for a lack of mathematical ability, while there isn't a machine on the planet that can fix poor communication skills.
I can't count**, but I can communicate, and thus I am practically guaranteed a decent job for the rest of my life. In the long run, being able to construct a sentence is a more useful and practical skill than being able to divide double-digits.
If I could communicate effectively in several languages, then I would be able to work almost anywhere in the world, regardless of the fact that I have such a poor knowledge of Biology. So why are Communications subjects constantly challenged for relevance and usefulness, while Science subjects are unquestionably Good Things?
And whatever happened to the idea of a "well rounded" human being - someone who had a grounding in most things, and thus could inhabit both the world of the Sciences and the world of theHumanities with ease?
Here's a mathematical problem for you: can you devalue part of the whole without devaluing the whole?
* Yep, that was a gender stereotype. Fact is, men do tend to value sciences above communication. Probably because they are, relatively speaking, "not that good" at communication where as they are, relatively speaking, "quite all right" at science. And, you know, it's so much easier to devalue the things that aren't your strengths than to admit that someone else might be better than you at something...
** Okay, I can count. Just not very well.
For a reply by Language Magazine staffer Kate Sommers-Dawes, check out the following link:
Columnist Calls Language Learning Useless
I'd like to join with Kate's observation that high school Language is about as useful as high school Biology by pointing out that all high school learning is useless. Everything Mathews says about Language classes could be equally applied to pretty much every subject you can take in high school - including Maths and English.
No one actually comes out of high school fully equipped to do anything. Well, except sleep. And even then, a lot of kids these days can't even seem to manage that.
After you leave high school, you start to figure out what you want to know or need to know, and that's when you actually start learning things that will do you some good. What high school does is make things just that little bit easier when it comes to the "real" education you get from life. I can do X, or Y a little more easily because I started learning them in high school, therefore I'm not starting completely from scratch.
In high school you learn how to lay a brick. Just one. Is laying one brick useful? If you never intend to lay another brick, then no. If, on the other hand, you'd like to build a wall one day, then knowing how to lay a brick is a good place to start.
The question is, how do you know if you really and truly never will lay another brick?
When I was in high school, I was sure my future career was in advertising. I stacked my subjects to make sure I took the communication courses, and beyond that I took what I was most interested in. Sure, I was interested in Biology - but I was more interested in Ancient History. I didn't end up taking any Science classes at all, in the end...
And now I'm a liaison librarian for the schools of Pharmacy and Veterinary Science. Taking Biology or Chemistry might have made things a little easier for me in the long run. However, the history courses I took in high school gave me an edge during my university studies, and will still be useful for my future plans, so they certainly weren't wasted.
Bricks and walls.
Yet, why are people constantly challenging subjects like Languages and History? If few people come out of high school with an immediately useful knowledge of Biology, why do you never hear people complaining about the money spent on science labs?
And why do people think the resources spent on Drama are a waste of money, but the resources spent on football are fine? You'll have about as many professional football players as actors come out of the average school...
What is it about the Humanities subjects that makes them so undervalued compared to everything? Especially communication? If you asked the average father* whether his son should learn to construct a sentence correctly or perform double-digits long division, he would probably pick the long division. Yet a calculator can compensate for a lack of mathematical ability, while there isn't a machine on the planet that can fix poor communication skills.
I can't count**, but I can communicate, and thus I am practically guaranteed a decent job for the rest of my life. In the long run, being able to construct a sentence is a more useful and practical skill than being able to divide double-digits.
If I could communicate effectively in several languages, then I would be able to work almost anywhere in the world, regardless of the fact that I have such a poor knowledge of Biology. So why are Communications subjects constantly challenged for relevance and usefulness, while Science subjects are unquestionably Good Things?
And whatever happened to the idea of a "well rounded" human being - someone who had a grounding in most things, and thus could inhabit both the world of the Sciences and the world of theHumanities with ease?
Here's a mathematical problem for you: can you devalue part of the whole without devaluing the whole?
* Yep, that was a gender stereotype. Fact is, men do tend to value sciences above communication. Probably because they are, relatively speaking, "not that good" at communication where as they are, relatively speaking, "quite all right" at science. And, you know, it's so much easier to devalue the things that aren't your strengths than to admit that someone else might be better than you at something...
** Okay, I can count. Just not very well.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Murder Most Present
I've gone all genre again. Every now and then I catch a "bug" and start immersing myself in one genre or another. I spent a month in mid-20th Century apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic sci-fi, once (Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, that sort of thing). I've been mildly convinced we're all doomed ever since then - especially since I kept reading about things that didn't exist at the time, but do now. I mean, come on, people, the TV that takes up an entire wall and the device that sends an endless stream of entertainment directly to your ears where both Bad Things. They stopped us from thinking for ourselves so that an entire war could go unnoticed, so long as it didn't interrupt the TV broadcast...
Anyway, I've suddenly come down with a case of Murder Mysteries. I can't seem get enough of them. I'm reading a collection of short stories from the Strand and the first Temperance Brennan novel by Reichs, listening to an audio book of a Hamish Macbeth novel and watching episodes of Inspector Rex... Plus, there's the usual Sunday night viewing of Bones and Castle. I've even been tempted to watch Stockinger on SBS 2, but my family are barely tolerating one Austrian crime show.
I want SBS to pick up Balko, but that's largely because I *ahem* appreciate Bruno Eyron. I know the show's been cancelled for years but SBS is pretty good at repeating episodes from decades ago. That's why you can always count on the Moser episodes of Inspector Rex to come back pretty much every year. Of course, those were the good episodes, so it's perfectly okay. I just can't bring myself to follow Rex to Italy.
Anyway, I blame the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary for this current state of affairs. If I didn't want that dictionary so badly, I wouldn't have been suckered into joining the Folio Society. If I hadn't joined the Folio Society to get cheap dictionaries, I wouldn't have had to spend a fortune I books I was only mildly interested in - including Crime Stories from the Strand.
It's not the first time I've read Crime. I had a Sherlocke Holmes phase ages ago, I've read a few Christies and I used to listen to dramatisations of various crime novels all the time when the tape deck in my car still worked. But, for some reason, it's gripped me now in a way it hasn't done so before.
I wonder how long it will last...
Anyway, I've suddenly come down with a case of Murder Mysteries. I can't seem get enough of them. I'm reading a collection of short stories from the Strand and the first Temperance Brennan novel by Reichs, listening to an audio book of a Hamish Macbeth novel and watching episodes of Inspector Rex... Plus, there's the usual Sunday night viewing of Bones and Castle. I've even been tempted to watch Stockinger on SBS 2, but my family are barely tolerating one Austrian crime show.
I want SBS to pick up Balko, but that's largely because I *ahem* appreciate Bruno Eyron. I know the show's been cancelled for years but SBS is pretty good at repeating episodes from decades ago. That's why you can always count on the Moser episodes of Inspector Rex to come back pretty much every year. Of course, those were the good episodes, so it's perfectly okay. I just can't bring myself to follow Rex to Italy.
Anyway, I blame the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary for this current state of affairs. If I didn't want that dictionary so badly, I wouldn't have been suckered into joining the Folio Society. If I hadn't joined the Folio Society to get cheap dictionaries, I wouldn't have had to spend a fortune I books I was only mildly interested in - including Crime Stories from the Strand.
It's not the first time I've read Crime. I had a Sherlocke Holmes phase ages ago, I've read a few Christies and I used to listen to dramatisations of various crime novels all the time when the tape deck in my car still worked. But, for some reason, it's gripped me now in a way it hasn't done so before.
I wonder how long it will last...
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