English can be obnoxiously ambiguous at times. My parents and my sister went to the beach yesterday. When I wondered why Mahlet (my sister's best friend) hadn't gone with them and why I haven't heard much about Mahlet recently at all, and how Mahlet was doing cause I miss her, my dad said:
"I think she just loves us more now"
As long as you don't think about that sentence, it makes perfect sense. But once you start, you realize that it could mean pretty much anything in the world. It could mean that my sister loves my parents more now than she did before, or that she finally loves them more than she loves Mahlet, or that she loves them more than Mahlet loves them, or even that Mahlet loves my parents more now, so she graciously lets them have alone time with my sister. There's 46 other interpretations that I won't go into.
After I recovered from that soft gooey bitch-slap of ambiguity, I wondered for the millionth time how Chinese people do it. How do they ever understand who the hell they're talking about? In spoken Chinese, the pronouns "he," "she" and "it" sound identical. Not because I'm a foreigner and my ears are too big to hear the difference, but because they're all one and the same phoneme. Same goes for the plurals, "they" has three written forms - masculine they, feminine they, and undead they, but they all sound the same. This last one is only shocking until you realize that English only has one "they" to begin with, but it can help you appreciate the magnitude of the disaster that is the case of singular pronouns. Instead of he, she and it, you just have the singular form of they. And the same goes for possessive pronouns.
What this means, is that if a Chinese person is telling you a story about a heterosexual couple and their dog, you're hearing:
They says they doesn't want to get married, but they insists that they does, they just doesn't want to get married to they because they is so poor, and of course they has an opinion on it too, barking every now and then to punctuate the conversation. So I don't know what they is going to do. Maybe they will divorce they and marry that other girl.
Ha! You should be so lucky, getting that freebie at the end. Usually it's like listening to some kind of demented software interview brainteaser.
Showing posts with label english. Show all posts
Showing posts with label english. Show all posts
Monday, July 22, 2013
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Superday #30
The 30 day supertrial is officially over in ninety two words, no, eighty nine words, no, eighty six words...if there were only some way to write it down without changing it...damn observer effect. I'd draw a picture but I don't want to be charged with going over quota for drawing today.
Success all around I'm afraid, no way to break it gently. The supersummary:
Pushups: at 200 pushups a day, the max number of push-ups I could squeeze out per set went up from 37 to 53. It still surprises me every time though when I hit 40 and still have a few more in me before having to take a deep breath and start bouncing my pecs off the floor to make it up off the ground on the last couple. I wish there were some way to skip the first 45 and just do the last back-crunching, eyeball-popping, vein-dilating, sphincter-cramping 7 or 8. Do pushups on one hand at a time maybe? Or do Tenacious D style push-ups?
Drawing: still an effort to do 20 minutes in a row...oof. The cartooning book made it slightly more interesting though.
French: piece of cake, I can study it hours at a time. Little Nicolas is hilarious.
Knots: fun in the beginning and then boring and forgettable after the wonder wears off. Will review though.
Blogging: highly enjoyable and never gets old, like looking at like myself in the mirror.
In other news...
My newest student is taking her IELTS this weekend. I've prepared her twice a week two hours at a time for a month now but I'm not sure the impact on her English has been big enough. She's still a bit behind ("under" somehow doesn't make sense) that hump; she knows tons of English but can't get it out of her mouth unless I'm holding it pried open with a pair of garden pryers (priers? pry-openers?).
I noticed today that English is the only language I know that capitalizes "I." Are English-speakers the cockiest cocks on the planet?
And the last knot of the trial is...The Monkey Fist:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
I wish the one I made looked even remotely like the one in the picture. Alas, it looks more like a monkey tied into a knot and then fluffed up slightly with a shotgun blast.
Success all around I'm afraid, no way to break it gently. The supersummary:
Pushups: at 200 pushups a day, the max number of push-ups I could squeeze out per set went up from 37 to 53. It still surprises me every time though when I hit 40 and still have a few more in me before having to take a deep breath and start bouncing my pecs off the floor to make it up off the ground on the last couple. I wish there were some way to skip the first 45 and just do the last back-crunching, eyeball-popping, vein-dilating, sphincter-cramping 7 or 8. Do pushups on one hand at a time maybe? Or do Tenacious D style push-ups?
Drawing: still an effort to do 20 minutes in a row...oof. The cartooning book made it slightly more interesting though.
French: piece of cake, I can study it hours at a time. Little Nicolas is hilarious.
Knots: fun in the beginning and then boring and forgettable after the wonder wears off. Will review though.
Blogging: highly enjoyable and never gets old, like looking at like myself in the mirror.
In other news...
My newest student is taking her IELTS this weekend. I've prepared her twice a week two hours at a time for a month now but I'm not sure the impact on her English has been big enough. She's still a bit behind ("under" somehow doesn't make sense) that hump; she knows tons of English but can't get it out of her mouth unless I'm holding it pried open with a pair of garden pryers (priers? pry-openers?).
I noticed today that English is the only language I know that capitalizes "I." Are English-speakers the cockiest cocks on the planet?
And the last knot of the trial is...The Monkey Fist:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
I wish the one I made looked even remotely like the one in the picture. Alas, it looks more like a monkey tied into a knot and then fluffed up slightly with a shotgun blast.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Tying People Up
I was browsing pictures of knots this morning, trying to find a tasty candidate for day 6, and ended up learning 3 different knots upon seeing their pictures and descriptions. Now I kind of understand what shopaholics feel when they browse the Macy's catalog.
First, we have the eighth wonder of the world: the Fieggen Shoelace Knot. It reminds me of the Strassen algorithm that involves only 7 multiplications instead of 8 when multiplying matrices, as both save work in procedures that already seem to be stretching the limits of simplicity and efficiency. The task that the Fieggen Shoelace Knot completes in a record low number of steps is tying bunny ears on your shoelaces.
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
The surprises don't end here. When I showed the knot to Yuan Yuan and asked if she usually did the bunny ears or the loop-the-loop, she said she did neither. She then showed me her way, which was some kind of twisted hybrid with a splash of blasphemy. The first step was the same as in the granny knot, but then she tied two successive slip knots instead of the double slip knot that is the bunny ears. The result looks like the bunny ears but has an extra level of depth. It's a bit bizarre, kind of like if one were to successfully eat using one chopstick at a time. Fearing for her life in case she were ever caught committing such atrocities in the US, I taught her Fieggen's chef d'oeuvre.
The second knot was the Alpine Butterfly:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
It looks much better with the round rope they use than with the shoelaces I've been using, but even my sloppy version it elicited awe from the audience...
Mark: check this knot out, doesn't it look awesome? (holds out halfway decent attempt at the knot, eyes moistened with vulnerability and the need to be appreciated.)
Yuan Yuan (casually): not really.
Mark: aha! I knew you'd be impressed!
Actually, Yuan Yuan is pretty easily amused and/or impressed, which basically means this knot is garbage. Or maybe she's just feeling insecure about her stacked slip knot's status of coolarity.
The third was the Constrictor Knot:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
This might be my favorite so far, from an aesthetic standpoint. It looks nice and it's delightfully constricting, which my finger would attest to if it knew sign language.
I'm already beginning to see a bright future ahead of me. Soon I'll be able to tie people up, tie them to poles, beds, cars, other people, hang them from places with flair and laugh snootily at people on the street when their groceries come flying out past granny's stacked half-hitches. Man...in 30 days I'm going to get the shit kicked out of me.
First, we have the eighth wonder of the world: the Fieggen Shoelace Knot. It reminds me of the Strassen algorithm that involves only 7 multiplications instead of 8 when multiplying matrices, as both save work in procedures that already seem to be stretching the limits of simplicity and efficiency. The task that the Fieggen Shoelace Knot completes in a record low number of steps is tying bunny ears on your shoelaces.
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
The surprises don't end here. When I showed the knot to Yuan Yuan and asked if she usually did the bunny ears or the loop-the-loop, she said she did neither. She then showed me her way, which was some kind of twisted hybrid with a splash of blasphemy. The first step was the same as in the granny knot, but then she tied two successive slip knots instead of the double slip knot that is the bunny ears. The result looks like the bunny ears but has an extra level of depth. It's a bit bizarre, kind of like if one were to successfully eat using one chopstick at a time. Fearing for her life in case she were ever caught committing such atrocities in the US, I taught her Fieggen's chef d'oeuvre.
The second knot was the Alpine Butterfly:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
It looks much better with the round rope they use than with the shoelaces I've been using, but even my sloppy version it elicited awe from the audience...
Mark: check this knot out, doesn't it look awesome? (holds out halfway decent attempt at the knot, eyes moistened with vulnerability and the need to be appreciated.)
Yuan Yuan (casually): not really.
Mark: aha! I knew you'd be impressed!
Actually, Yuan Yuan is pretty easily amused and/or impressed, which basically means this knot is garbage. Or maybe she's just feeling insecure about her stacked slip knot's status of coolarity.
The third was the Constrictor Knot:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
This might be my favorite so far, from an aesthetic standpoint. It looks nice and it's delightfully constricting, which my finger would attest to if it knew sign language.
I'm already beginning to see a bright future ahead of me. Soon I'll be able to tie people up, tie them to poles, beds, cars, other people, hang them from places with flair and laugh snootily at people on the street when their groceries come flying out past granny's stacked half-hitches. Man...in 30 days I'm going to get the shit kicked out of me.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Routine
Today was a bit challenging. I had class from eleven in the morning to eight thirty, including commute. I managed to get one pushup set in before leaving in the morning, but at the cost of breakfast. Not that I normally eat breakfast, but if I did...hypothetical props to me.
When I got back from my last class, I went to the hostel to get my keys from the Key Master, one of Yuan Yuan's more formidable English names. Roxie is her receptionist name, and Big Bear is her name in bed. Not that I think about it, I could be calling her Ursa Major, with fewer repercussions and 差不多的 humor content.
Little did I know that I was walking right into an ambush. The Key Master was only willing to part with the keys if I could fight my way through all the obstacles, namely the five pages of English she wrote that I needed to translate into English. Regular translators have it easy, translating from one language to another with their fake poetic licenses. Us sleeping dictionaries are the real victims of linguistics. I did pushups between the pages to vent any violent urges.
Pushups are almost done now. French: 20 minutes to go. I've noticed that I can often go through a hundred or so flashcards, not know half of them the first time and know 90% by the second run-through, which is very confidence-inspiring. I'm not sure what it is that gives me the edge, my indomitable luck or the six years of French I took. I doubt it's those memory-enhancing drugs I'm taking. Either way, I'm dreading the moment of brain saturation.
Anyway, all that's really left on the menu is drawing, which I've sort of resigned myself to. It doesn't even seem to take forever anymore; it's definitely got nothing on my high-school French class which was in some kind of gravity well where time was on a permanent lunch break.
Knot of the day, sheet bend:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
The last few knots all kind of look alike. Tomorrow I'm going to try something cooler looking.
When I got back from my last class, I went to the hostel to get my keys from the Key Master, one of Yuan Yuan's more formidable English names. Roxie is her receptionist name, and Big Bear is her name in bed. Not that I think about it, I could be calling her Ursa Major, with fewer repercussions and 差不多的 humor content.
Little did I know that I was walking right into an ambush. The Key Master was only willing to part with the keys if I could fight my way through all the obstacles, namely the five pages of English she wrote that I needed to translate into English. Regular translators have it easy, translating from one language to another with their fake poetic licenses. Us sleeping dictionaries are the real victims of linguistics. I did pushups between the pages to vent any violent urges.
Pushups are almost done now. French: 20 minutes to go. I've noticed that I can often go through a hundred or so flashcards, not know half of them the first time and know 90% by the second run-through, which is very confidence-inspiring. I'm not sure what it is that gives me the edge, my indomitable luck or the six years of French I took. I doubt it's those memory-enhancing drugs I'm taking. Either way, I'm dreading the moment of brain saturation.
Anyway, all that's really left on the menu is drawing, which I've sort of resigned myself to. It doesn't even seem to take forever anymore; it's definitely got nothing on my high-school French class which was in some kind of gravity well where time was on a permanent lunch break.
Knot of the day, sheet bend:
image borrowed from animatedknots.com
The last few knots all kind of look alike. Tomorrow I'm going to try something cooler looking.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Crime and Punishment
Speaking English in this house is generally a no-no. However, people have been getting away with it for years, especially since Gets-Away-With-It was born. (My sister's maiden name). However, when the prospect of losing the mother tongue becomes apparent, drastic measures are taken. Several years ago, I was commissioned to invent a fun way to punish language offenders. I came up with a silly game consisting of only one rule: If you say an English word and don't immediately correct yourself, you have to come up with five synonyms in Russian, or else meet the dreaded "or else." You also get a point. At the end of the week, the person with the most points gets put up for adoption or crossed out in the will or has to wash dishes or something.
The game was an instant hit, and my sister struggled a bit and got back into the speaking Russian mindset. Then the game was abandoned. (strings come in, melancholy and mysterious)
Well today, a comeback was staged. Seeing as everyone in this house is just full of English words to say, there was really no other choice, if only to give our ears a short respite. The effects were immediate: dinner was highly anomalous. Contrary to custom, it wasn't Michelle's story-telling hour. Instead, we were treated to horror-movie silence, with everyone poised to pounce on each other's throats at the first non-Slavic syllable. I'm now suffering from a mild case of middle-school gossip withdrawal and cat-got-your-tongue disease.
Actually, being a gentleman of outstanding wisdom who thinks before he opens his mouth, I pretty much rock at this game. The other three however, live a life full of adventure. To even things out, they united against me this evening and made me read The Time Traveler's Wife out loud to them till their scores didn't look so pitiful.
My sister's been assigned a project on a most fascinating and fresh topic - why tobacco is bad. She needs the whole shebang - poster, slogan, a pair of fresh crispy-black lungs, and of course an essay. She came to me for ideas, her own being full of blood and guts and oral cancer. After throwing up all over her shoes, I gave her a slightly dangerous suggestion.
I figured that everyone's going to be writing about tobacco staining the back of your head yellow and making your toenails become self-aware and about oral cancer of course; everyone's going to be dragging in their uncle Carl who talks through a harmonica in his throat and the infant corpses of their unborn brother or sisters. Everyone's going to be showing off their collection of family tumors, and in that case there's really just a slim chance that hers is the biggest, especially since we only patronize hard drugs like sugar in this house.
So I told her to write about how it's too expensive a habit to maintain. Now I'm thinking it may backfire. On her. It seemed like a good idea at the time but knowing the conservative audience (her teachers), I'm starting to think I just signed her up for her first mandatory appointment with a psychiastrist. Oh well, too late now, we're not due to talk for another month.
By the way, there's an excellent article on writing that everyone should read before they write anything at all: "How to Say Nothing in 500 Words."
The game was an instant hit, and my sister struggled a bit and got back into the speaking Russian mindset. Then the game was abandoned. (strings come in, melancholy and mysterious)
Well today, a comeback was staged. Seeing as everyone in this house is just full of English words to say, there was really no other choice, if only to give our ears a short respite. The effects were immediate: dinner was highly anomalous. Contrary to custom, it wasn't Michelle's story-telling hour. Instead, we were treated to horror-movie silence, with everyone poised to pounce on each other's throats at the first non-Slavic syllable. I'm now suffering from a mild case of middle-school gossip withdrawal and cat-got-your-tongue disease.
Actually, being a gentleman of outstanding wisdom who thinks before he opens his mouth, I pretty much rock at this game. The other three however, live a life full of adventure. To even things out, they united against me this evening and made me read The Time Traveler's Wife out loud to them till their scores didn't look so pitiful.
My sister's been assigned a project on a most fascinating and fresh topic - why tobacco is bad. She needs the whole shebang - poster, slogan, a pair of fresh crispy-black lungs, and of course an essay. She came to me for ideas, her own being full of blood and guts and oral cancer. After throwing up all over her shoes, I gave her a slightly dangerous suggestion.
I figured that everyone's going to be writing about tobacco staining the back of your head yellow and making your toenails become self-aware and about oral cancer of course; everyone's going to be dragging in their uncle Carl who talks through a harmonica in his throat and the infant corpses of their unborn brother or sisters. Everyone's going to be showing off their collection of family tumors, and in that case there's really just a slim chance that hers is the biggest, especially since we only patronize hard drugs like sugar in this house.
So I told her to write about how it's too expensive a habit to maintain. Now I'm thinking it may backfire. On her. It seemed like a good idea at the time but knowing the conservative audience (her teachers), I'm starting to think I just signed her up for her first mandatory appointment with a psychiastrist. Oh well, too late now, we're not due to talk for another month.
By the way, there's an excellent article on writing that everyone should read before they write anything at all: "How to Say Nothing in 500 Words."
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