Clarissa Howe

Here’s something you’d be equally likely to exclaim in either a women’s studies seminar or a German class: Dude, what the fuck is up with gender?!

Slate’s most recent Lexicon Valley podcast covers just this topic. Without giving away too much, I’ll say that they do provide some background as to how the Indo-European language family acquired genders in the first place. Spoiler: Contrary to popular belief, it’s not because the universe hates you.

Not that I would fault anyone for thinking that way. After nearly 16 years of learning and speaking German, I still mess up genders. Beyond a handful of rules with very limited application, there is no logic to German genders. I’ve tried in vain to come up with rules to help myself remember. For awhile, I thought that nouns beginning with Ge- were all neuter. After all, there’s das Gemälde, das Gebäude, das Gedränge. Then I learned about die Gefahr and der Gefallen. Dammit. I also thought all dairy products might be feminine because they come from cows. Die Milch. Ok. Die Sahne. Great! Die Butter. Hell yeah! Der Käse, der Joghurt, der Rahm, das Obers. Fuckfuckfuckfuck!!!!!

French genders don’t hold a candle to German. For one thing, French only has two. Cry me a river. Slavic languages? For all the unnecessary complication they manage to have in the rest of their grammar, gender is relatively straightforward. Save for a few exceptions, the rule is as follows: Does it end in a consonant? Masculine. Does it end in an A? Feminine. Does it end in an E or O? Neuter. Does any of this work with German? Hell fucking no.

With German, you just have to learn them. It’s a neverending battle. On the other hand, I didn’t have to look up a single gender for the German words I used in this post. So don’t be discouraged! If you devote half of your life to the language, you might learn the genders of up to 12 words by heart. Success!

You know how when you’re talking about a person whose gender is unknown or irrelevant you just say “they” and then there are people who get all pearl-clutchy when you do that? Well, in Sweden it looks like they’ve canonized a gender-neutral pronoun, “hen”. Cool!

I think this article in Slate, however, is pretty pearl-clutchy in general when it comes to their reaction to how Sweden is trying to undo some of the damage inflicted on us by gender roles, but that’s not what I want to talk about because sometimes thinking about patriarchy depresses me. (Wait…only sometimes?) Instead, I’d like to take this opportunity to say my piece against ardent grammarians.

The following is a list of so-called “stylistic sins” that I refuse to apologize for:

• Using “they” when the gender of the person I’m talking about is unknown or irrelevant
• Ending a sentence with a preposition. Seriously, guys, get over it
• Oxford commas. You do it your way, I’ll do it mine
• Putting a period outside quotation marks when it’s supposed to apply to the whole sentence
• Probably some others that I can’t think of right now. 

On the other hand, there is also a number of things that I tend to get my own linguistic panties in a twist about:

• Not using the past participle. It’s “I have drunk”, not “I have drank”
• Not using the subjunctive in the precious few cases where you still can. We have to keep this alive, people! If we lose it, our language will become just a little less rich and expressive
• Hypercorrection vis-a-vis “I” versus “me”. Come on, it’s “between you and me”. Trust me on this one
• Ditto “who” and “whom”
• Again, probably a lot more that will come to me when I go to bed tonight that will keep me awake.

In my current job, I do avoid writing “they” and ending sentences in prepositions because our style guidelines prohibit it. Evenings and weekends though, all bets are off.

Regarding the subjunctive, I suspect that saying “If I was you” might be commonplace in some dialects of English, which I would never presume to correct. However, if you claim to speak standard English, then you must join me in the fight to keep the subjunctive mood alive!

Anyone else want to chime in?

A group of German linguists have chosen the best anglicism to enter the German language in the year 2011. The recipient of this controversial honor is not the self-righteous “occupy”. Rather unsurprisingly, it’s not “circeln” – that is, to add someone to a circle on Google+ – either. 2011’s Anglicism of the Year was instead a much more colorful choice, one that is rife with imagery and expressiveness. A word you downright miss when you’re trying to describe it in another language.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Anglizismus des Jahres 2011 is “der Shitstorm”.

“Shitstorm” is a damn good word. I really can’t fault the linguists who bestowed this title upon it. It’s vulgar enough to underline the kind of dirty, ad hominem attacks that characterize a good multiparty row, be it in the blogosphere or the Thanksgivingdinnertable-sphere. But this vulgarity is exactly what is missing when you import the word as-is into German. Even though the vast majority of Germans understand what it means, “shit” isn’t a German word, meaning that your average German child doesn’t fear being misheard by an adult when he or she tries to say “ship” with a mouthful of Twinkie. (Germans also don’t eat Twinkies, but that’s another story.) Nor has any German kid, when just ONCE trying to express their anger by saying that penultimate expletive, been met with a chorus of their peers saying “Awwwwwwwww! You said the s-word! I’m telling!” The taboo is therefore lost.

Which is why, according to Anatol Stefanowitsch, the head of the panel of linguists who made the decision, the word is acceptable in public German parlance. In English, we’re still restricted in the mainstream media to hinting at it by means of special characters and bleeps.

I learned a new word today. “Anti-mimesis”, coined by Oscar Wilde, is basically life imitating art. I wikipedia-d “life imitating art” because of the unfortunate resemblance my own life had this morning to this Shel Silverstein poem:

Something Missing

I remember I put on my socks,
I remember I put on my shoes.
I remember I put on my tie
That was painted
In beautiful purples and blues.
I remember I put on my coat,
To look perfectly grand at the dance,
Yet I feel there is something
I may have forgot—
What is it? What is it? …

While packing for my trek to London this weekend, I managed not to forget the little stuff like my Oyster card and UK sim card and yet somehow didn’t remember to pack pants. To make matters worse, today of all days I chose to wear a skirt to work that requires actual ladylike sitting positions and would make lounging in a park watching fireworks (as are our plans for Bonfire Night) most inconvenient.

Good thing I was planning to make a quick stop at home anyway before I head to the airport.

Here I am on ZDF on one of the hottest days of the year so far promoting Couchsurfing, one of my favorite hobbies. Fortunately I’ve never been too overly nervous about addressing a crowd, but speaking on camera is different. For awhile I felt like I’d forgotten about 80% of the German I knew, and hopefully I’m the only one who can sense the desperation in every pause as I search frantically for the right word.

For those of us who don’t speak German, I’ve taken the time to translate the report into English. You can find the translation here.

All in all, I’m happy with how it turned out though, and I hope Aude and Mathieu, the couchsurfers who were in the video with me, are as well.

I grew up in the not-so-tony area known as Downriver Detroit. However, I failed my Downriverite exam in Strasbourg on Thursday when I failed to immediately identify this animal. On the other hand, a true Downriverite would probably also want to eat this guy for Sunday dinner.

So yeah, the muskrat has been reintroduced to Europe.

German: Bisamratte (more commonly: Wasserratte)

French: rat musqué (but I swear the guy I asked pronounced it “remsky”)

For the past few weeks, I’ve been practicing my French with a Parisian girl who is interested in improving her English. We meet up once or twice a week and divide our time spent speaking the two languages relatively equally. It’s been working quite well, and I’ve already noticed an improvement, albeit slight, in my fluency. Last night, my improvements were put to the test when we serendipitously ran into several of her French friends, who all proceeded to chatter away with each other simultaneously and at lightning speed, as friends who share the same mother tongue are wont to do.

For this Anglophone, it felt like being thrown to the wolves. I sat there, wide-eyed and trembling, and listened to this group of (really lovely) Frogs laugh and frenchyfrenchyfrench away at one another while I tried my damndest to keep up. My friend did a valiant job of keeping me up to speed and repeating things I didn’t understand, which paid off because eventually I found myself integrated in the conversation. I think I even made a joke. It might have even been a funny joke, although the margaritas probably deserve most of the credit for that.

The big reward was this morning, when I awoke (sans hangover, yay!) to the realization that the result of last night’s linguistic performance was a series of dreams in French.

Ladies and gents, I am AWESOME!

Other things I learned last night:

• The term for septic tank is fosse septique. (Plus I learned several more German words for the same thing, all of which translate approximately to “filth room”. The next time I actually need this word in German, I’ll be sticking to the tried-and-true – and much more hygienic-sounding – Kleinkläranlage).
• Starchy foods are referred to as féculents, I guess because you’ll be needing your fosse septique when you eat them.
• Since I’ve gotten back into shape, 2 margaritas is really my limit for a weeknight.

ekkentros:

So, my intention to forever be an innocuous tumblr lurker has been foiled by my inability to contain my RAGE at seeing certain well-intentioned but ridiculous posts.

In response to the post I reblogged earlier, someone suggested that the OP didn’t speak English as a native language and thus the…

This cake? SO not dry. Pardon my less-than-professional decorating and photography skills.

Let’s be honest. Does anyone actually like white asparagus? Or do you guys just make a big deal out of it because it’s only available for a few months of the year? I just don’t get what all the fuss is about, especially because it means that the more tender and flavorful green asparagus gets pushed to the side. Seriously people, green asparagus is the superior asparagus.

For once, I’ve learned a bit of German geek speak that isn’t just some poorly pronounced Anglicism (I’m looking at you, REview and EXcel) but rather an actual German word used in an unconventional way. That word is “abfackeln”, which to many German nerds and wannabe nerds means something along the lines of “finish” or “take care of” in terms of a project or task. 

In actuality, the term refers to the burning off of excess gas in places like oil refineries. Colloquially, it can also mean to torch something, as in burn it to the ground. 

Geeks. Seriously so violent.

Do you people realize just how much easier it is to learn a language when you’re surrounded by it? I know, I know, this isn’t anything groundbreaking, but my most recent trip to Belgrade really solidified for me the old adage that immersion is the best way to learn.

This trip was different from my previous ones, primarily because I had to be responsible. Being in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language very well is easy if you have a native to look after you at all times, but being in charge of the well-being of both me and my boyfriend added a certain amount of exhilerating stress to what was otherwise a very relaxing weekend. All this stress, though, was in the name of practice. And man, I got really good at saying “I’d like a taxi for two from A to B”, even managing the correct cases and genders. I was a noun inflection MACHINE!

Unfortunately, the second the person on the other end answered with anything other than “ok, that’ll be 5 minutes”, the entire conversation would devolve into an embarrassing mélange of “excuse me?”, “I don’t understand” and “slower, please”.

But no matter. Everyone knows that talking on the telephone is the absolute scariest thing one can do when learning a new language. I did pretty well with the rest of it and built up a lot of confidence. Plus I learned such indispensible Serbian phrases as Šta radiš, bre? (“What’s up, dude?), Samo malo (“Excuse me”, literally “just a little”) and Do jaja! (“Awesome!”, literally “up to my balls”).

Anyone following current events in Germany over the past couple of months doesn’t need to listen to me beat the dead horse that is the Great Immigration/Integration Debate. On the other hand, this article in the New York Times was interesting to me for a few reasons, so I’m going to bring it up anyway.

The article is about Burhan Qurbani, a young German filmmaker whose parents fled Afghanistan during the Soviet invasion. According to the article, the poor guy can’t escape the label of “immigrant” in spite of the fact that he was born in this country and describes himself as “mostly German” with Afghan roots. Unfortunately, this is not how the German public seems to see him. He is quoted as saying “I’m not the filmmaker who worked with brilliant actors and a talented cinematographer; I’m the Afghani.”

I don’t consider myself an immigrant per se (although, given the economic climate in my native Detroit, it might not be too inappropriate a label), but I am a foreigner in this country. Unlike Qurbani, I was not born here and did not grow up speaking German. However, I’m quite sure that I don’t have to deal with half the shit he does just because he happens to look less “German” than I do.

On the other hand, he also mentioned this beautiful quip from his grandfather:

You are like a bird without legs; You cannot land….You will never be at home here and you will never be at home in Afghanistan.

Ain’t that the truth.

This is an invasive species known as Japanese knotweed, and it’s what former Booker judge Philip Hensher uses in a metaphor describing the ubiqituous use of the present tense in contemporary novels. It might be fashionable, but I’m more apt to agree with Salon’s Laura Miller, who says, “the present tense is only one among any number of crutches clung to by mediocre writers, usually because they’ve seen other, more talented writers use them to advantage”.

Many people view dreaming in a foreign language as a milestone of your progress in that language. I can’t remember exactly when I started dreaming in German, but I imagine it must have been a few months after I started speaking it every day. Needless to say, it’s nothing unusual at this point (though it would be pretty awesome to dream in a third or fourth language someday), until weird things happen, like in my dream last night.

Only rarely are people actually interested in someone else’s dreams, so let’s skip the details. Basically, I was distressed by something and speaking German to a German person. I eventually get so upset that I flawlessly switch to English, which is something I’ve never been that fantastic at. Even weirder, the German person immediately and very smoothly switches to flawless English as well. However, before these phenomena have a chance to raise any suspicion in me, I am overcome with that everyday annoyance that I feel whenever a German person starts speaking English to me, and thus I remain convinced that what is happening is in fact real life.

Most English people and Americans will agree that the differences between their respective varieties of English are by and large harmless, amusing, and a great topic of lighthearted conversation. Occasionally, however, these differences are used to start fights.

Arguments about whose English is more correct remind me of a scene from All in the Family where Archie and Meathead let their tempers flare while debating the best way to put on your shoes and socks. Whether you put on both socks before you start on your shoes or whether you choose to dress one foot completely before moving on to the other one is plays no role in your intelligence and is nothing more than a matter of habit. You could say the exact same thing about accents and dialects.

I suspect both nationalities are equally likely to instigate the squabble, though it seems that in my case it’s always my transatlantic counterpart who wants to start the fight rather than vice-versa. This may be because I work with a lot of English people in a European company that has decided use American English, which some of my colleagues take as a deep, personal insult. As a result, I am subjected to bellowing, woe-is-me moans when my whiskey aficionado colleague sees me type the name of his beverage of choice with an “e” and nearly audible eyerolls when my car enthusiast colleague hears me talk about a stick shift.

Most of the time, I don’t take their taunting bait, but sometimes my pride forces me to put them in their place by showing them the virtues of American English. This is usually because I’ve sensed that they think my nationality and gender make me an easy mark for rigorous intellectual debate. Unfortunately for them, these are exactly the types of arguments I’m most likely to win.

I’d pretty much forgotten about the existence of writer’s cramp until I woke up this morning and noticed the ache in my right arm. I can’t help but take it as a sign of the success of last night’s Serbian lesson, in which I furiously scribbled Cyrillic notes for an hour and a half. (Mind you, my notes were all in printed capital letters because at this point that’s all I can read, much less write.)

Tonight I will have my first ever formal Serbian lesson. I found a teacher rather serendipitously after over a year of studying the language independently and can’t wait to start honing my ability to say 5 consonants in a row while thinking in 7 cases. I’ve been mildly obsessed with Slavic languages ever since I spent a couple of weeks in Poland several years ago and was thrilled by the prospect of the seemingly impossible pronunciation coupled with the dizzying complexity of the inflection system. (Honestly, what’s not to like?)

Now I have chosen to learn Serbian because of my love affair with Belgrade. Since my first visit in 2008, I have gone back to that crazy city 6 or 7 times and will definitely be going back again soon, hopefully armed with enough knowledge of the language to hold a conversation with the mother of my friend, a woman who has housed and fed me on almost all of my visits despite our lack of a common language.

Of course I would ideally like to become completely fluent in Serbian, but I’m starting to accept that I’ll probably never have the same command of another foreign language that I have of German, and of course I’ll never speak German quite as well as I speak English. However, neither of these facts seem to dampen my resolve to get better in all of my languages. If only I could be so resolute about cleaning my apartment…