For the first time in years, someone actually pronounced my name in the way that I mistakenly thought French people always did: Ezzère. It felt a bit weird. I’ve gotten so used to Ezzeur, that when people are having difficulty figuring out how to say it, I give them that to help (and to avoid some other unfortunately butchering). The worst of course is the occasional Alsatian Haether (both with it’s aggressive Germanic pronunciation and its accompanying frequent spelling mistake, such as that on my marriage certificate. Yeah, that’s right. Despite providing who-knows-how-many pieces of ID, loads of papers from myself and from the Canadian Embassy with my name on it (how I love bureaucracy, let me count the ways) the geniuses at City Hall spelled my name wrong on probably one of the most important legal documents I will ever have. Of course, nobody (including myself) noticed: who proofreads what they’re signing in the middle of their wedding ceremony, so we all (myself, Luc, and our 4 “witnesses”) signed a document that had Luc marrying some chick named Haether. That has since been corrected (or so I’m told – I’m not entirely sure how they could have corrected it seeing as how it was signed, and they never showed me the correction; they just provided with me with several “extraits” (which is used in France as a stand in for all such documents pretty much; they don’t give you certified photocopies like in Canada) on which my name was spelled correctly. So yeah, there are many me’s floating around this country apparently, although some come around more often than others. So all that to say that it was weird to “see” Ezzère again.
A little sketchy on the 9th (Day 9…still)
Number 9 wasn’t my best work, but I’m still patting myself on the back for sticking to a single set.
I’m also suddenly conscious of my choice of words in the post title…I wonder if people still say “sketchy”, and here’s why: I suspect that my English (and particularly my slang) has been stunted. I’ve been out of Canada for over 6 years now, speaking French more than 50% of the time, and speaking English mostly with non-anglophones (and of the anglophones, the majority are not Canadian, or even North American), so my slang is probably either outdated, or downright non-existent.
My friend Dave’s mom is from France, but has lived in Canada for 30 years or so. When Dave came to visit me several years ago, one of my friends commented that his French was perfect, but that he used really outdated expressions that were odd coming from someone our age. I wonder if that’s where my English is going…not to mention all the expressions I can no longer remember.
Actually, I master no languages really – at work we speak Frenglish, due to the fact that both marketing and the internet (software / web development…) contain unreasonable number quantities of English; further fueled by the pure bilingualism of the CEO, the fact that 90% of our clients work in English (keeping in mind, of course, the 87.5% of all statistics are made up on the spot), and that there has been a dramatic increase in the number (and proportion) of English speakers in the company I work for since I started (at which point I was the only one).
For good measure I like to through in a couple of words from other languages now and then, with the most frequent being (and now that I put this in writing, I bet it’s really annoying to other people) “ein moment bitte”. Actually, I bet I’m not even saying it right, but oh well.
So back to the subject at hand: tomorrow is the first big milestone I guess: day 10. Maybe I’ll celebrate by going out and climbing some walls 
The giggles
I came home from Spanish class tonight with a serious case of the giggles, which reminds me of a French expression for having the giggles that, for some, undoubtedly leads to more giggling: I ate a clown. Actually, it sounds quite creepy in English, but in French it makes me laugh.
Morning! and other misnomers
What’s in a morning? Depends on whole you ask… and where. In the land of frogs and snails, a “morning” refers to a radio show hosted in the early part of the day: a morning show if you will. Yep, another case of taking an English term, and dropping the key part (i.e. the noun) and using the descriptive word(s) (adjective or otherwise) as the new term.
A personal favourite of mine is the “red hots”, better known in the anglo world as the “chili peppers”.
That plural also reminds me of another cute one: adopted anglo foods, like chips and cookies stay plural, even when they’re singular, as in “I would like a cookies, please”. This is particularly amusing since the French frequently don’t pronounce an “s” at the end of a word, particularly in the case of plurals (which makes sense , given that they aren’t usually pronounced in French).
Also known as…
When I first arrived in Mulhouse (pronounced like toulouse, not like Milhouse) I was a bit irritated by the inability of, well, just about everybody, to pronounced my name. I adjusted bit by bit, first seeing “ezzère” (actually an inaccurate attempt at showing the pronunciation I heard most often, which more closely resembles “êzzeur”) as something of a nickname before finally accepting it as my name. (In retrospect, seeing it as sort of a cute nickname is probably just as insulting to the poor folks whose mouths have never been used quite that way, but the post isn’t about insulting anyone, just about my own feelings at hearing my name massacred (or so it felt at first) day after day. Since then, I have accumulated pronunciations which each take some getting used to (some of which I still haven’t).
I suppose it starts with the Quebecois, but they are forgivably (and mercifully?) close, but since we’re counting, let’s start there: Hedder, or (getting further, or, shall we say, Frencher) ‘edder. Thanks to the anglo influence, they generally get the vowels and the “r”, and I don’t every remember, being bothered by the “th” being replaced by a “d”, or even the disappearance of the “h” (for example during that semester or two that I lived with a girl from Trois-Rivières).
The next stage was harsh, perhaps because I didn’t expected the French to pronounce it so differently from Quebecers. Any hope for the “h” was lost, the “d” turned into a “z” (or the occasional “f” or “v” -shudder-), and the “r” was being pulled from a whole differently section of the mouth: êzzeur.
Then there is the occasional soul who thinks “I know how to speak English, and an “e” followed by an “a” makes a long “e” sound”, and for them I am ‘eezer (or heezer).
But this is not just France, this is Alsace, with it’s Germanic history and dialect, were “ea” don’t exist in that order, but “ae” do, replacing ä. In this corner of the world, the “h” is pronouncable, and for those who are still influenced by the dialect, I am Haeter (written Haether, but pronounced HAEter with heavy emphasis on the first syllable, in proper Germanic form).
Update: I almost forget “essère”!
Then I started taking Spanish classes, with an Argentinian. The “h” therefore disappears once again, and “th” impossible, not to mention the rolled “r”, and for Miguel I am something resembling “eeter”. But the Spanish fun doesn’t stop there…I was briefly in touch (for work) with a woman from Barcelona who actually seemed to pronounce Heather correctly (or close enough that I never noticed), except that in her emails, she started calling me Header. What else can I say about that, other than: then who’s Footer?
There are certainly others that I’m forgetting, but this brings me to the reason for this post: I have a new one. Last Wednesday I started Japanese classes. Here the problem is double, and pronunciation is the first half, because to write Heather in Japanese, I have to break it into symbols that can then be translated into Japanese characters. I get my “h” back again, but you can say goodbye to “th” and, due to pronunciation, even the “r” is dropped, making me “hezâ” (where the accent indicates that that syllable is pronounced for a bit longer – think of those Bud commercials from about 10 years ago: “wazzup” and you’re not far). And so, in Katakana (one of the 4 ways of writing in Japanese – the one used for writing non-Japanese words), you can call me へザ─
Creating new realities through accepted (but initially incorrect) translations
I don’t talk often enough about the amusing translations from English to French (and vice versa) that can sometimes make for interesting misunderstandings, or at least just sound funny.
This one isn’t actually a translation, but a perversion on the pronunciation that turned “egg” into “love”. Hmm, when I put it that way, one could argue that the reverse could happen; turning love into an egg. Although that would turn this whole posting into a bizarre mix of low-brow and high-brow humour that I should really put a stop to right – - – about – - – now.
So, about those eggs. Back in the day (you know, the day), tennis was a sport of French princes and aristocracy (come to think of it, all things being relative in this world of globalisation, that hasn’t really changed all that much), but the key word here is “French”. When a player had no points on the board, this was referred to a “l’oeuf”: the egg…which must be what the zero on the board looked like to the hungry on-lookers (maybe it’s the French influence that makes me think about food so often…). Anyway, then the Brits started to play at this French past-time (when they were getting along with the French anyway, other times I’m sure they simply claimed it was a British creation), and the princes and aristrocracy showed off their faaaaabulous French, but using the French terms. Except, we all know how well the English typically do with speaking French (just kidding Liz, and Wendy, and John!) so the pronunciation was probably mildly bastardised. Then, as the sport moved to the lower classes (well, it never did get far, but you get the picture) and those still less skilled with foreign languages (too busy actually living their lives…except for when they were paying tennis, of course) people must have twisted the pronunciation to fit a word that they actually knew. Or perhaps it was deliberate, because they just LOVED tennis. So next time you’re officiating a tennis match, forget 15-love it’s 15-”the egg”.
For more totally random observations on our attempts to mutually destroy both languages, here are my thoughts on:
Dried fruit
Footwear
Sports
Words ending in -ing
Words (not actually) ending in é
Grapes
and, finally
More on food
Tack för tack
As we waited for take-off, it became obvious (or at least probably) that the two guys next to me were Swedish. The advice of my linguistics prof (who I mentioned here) and my own curiosity was running through my head: he had suggested that if someone said “tack” (thank you) to me, I should respond with “tack för tack” (thank you for thank you). I wondered if anyone would ever say thank in Swedish, since I certainly wouldn’t be striking up any conversations with my incredible knowledge of the language (smorgasbord…uh…that’s about it), so I gave into temptation and asked my neighbours. They looked at me in a way not unlike how I would have looked at someone that responded to a thank you with “thank you for thank you” and noted that they’d never heard that before, but reassured me that it didn’t have any hidden meaning that I should be concerned about. A few minutes later, as the cabin lights were dimming for take-off, while I was working on a Kakuro, my neighbour turned on his reading light and mine. With all the confidence of a teenager trying to answer a tough question in front of the whole class, I quietly said “tack” to which I got a big grin and “tack för tack” in response, followed by a hearty laugh.
The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful, and as my ears started to pop, letting me know that we were descending and thus getting close, I closed my Kakuro book to enjoy the view. We passed over what I guess was Stockholm: a sea of lights surrounding but complete, utter blackness. There is something particularly beautiful about a city surrounding by nothingness: not a small village, not a lit highway (except the one we seemed to be following out of town to reach the airport), nothing. It was amazing, and became my first inkling that once Stockholm would be one of those Lays cities (bet you can’t visit just once) for me.
We followed the highway out a fair distance (to the point that it was almost worrisome), and finally started seeing runway lights. The landing was equally uneventful, and we were soon on our way into the airport. I was immediately struck by the pleasant smell of wood (not unlike a cool sauna before it is heated up and filled with sweaty people) emanating from the wood floor. Past customs I tried to determine the best place to wait for my colleague, Bruno, (scheduled to land from Paris a half hour or so later). I walked to the end of the baggage claim area, in the hopes of locating the conveyor belt where his luggage (well not his, since he theoretically only had cabin baggage) but at least that of his flight, would be coming out. It wasn’t posted yet, so I headed back to the entrance, where a television screen posted the listed. Nearby there was what appeared to be a small waiting area (complete with IKEA-like rug, table and chairs). I couldn’t quite read the screen from that far, but I settled in to my book, and tried not to worry about the time. Another guy settled into a seat a distance away (clearly less comfortable than my IKEA corner, but who am I to judge). Each time a new influx of people made their way past me, I listened for French accents, and thought I caught a couple at one point, but didn’t see Bruno. A while after the flight was supposed to land, the guy across the hall came over and asked if I was waiting for the flight from Paris too. Apparently it had just disappeared from the board. We walked up to the nearest airport employee, and found out that the flight was in the process of landing. Taking our respective seats again, the wait continued. I sped my way through the (short) novel I had brought with me, and finally saw him get up to greet the person he was waiting for. It was a few minutes more before Bruno appeared, slightly frazzled (when was the last time I even heard that word??) and irritated at the lateness (his flight into Paris had also been late, and the trip had been generally not that great). On the bright, for him, he got dinner on his flight: I had got a menu with a price list, that I decided not to delve into. We found our way to the Arlanda Express train into the city, just as the train pulled out. With another train half an hour later, it wasn’t a big deal (if not for my hunger), so we just took the time to chat.
Language learning – the next generation
At the risk of spam comments, here’s a bit about my latest discovery after my summer learning hiatus.
A few months ago, I told you about Babbel: a website that combines language learning with social networking, with 5 languages (English, French, German, Spanish and Italian) from which you can learn words and phrases based on photos submitted by the users, and audio provided by Babbel. I still like the site, and their latest evolution adding tutorials (even if I’m less than impressed with their attention to users, since it was they who approached me to ask if I wanted to test that function, then never gave me access until the testing was done and it became available to everyone).
Anyway, I recently discovered, thanks to my favourite blog for all kinds of interesting discoveries: lifehacker, I discovered Busuu, a language learning / social networking site with a much stronger emphasis on the social networking part of things. The vocabulary on the first (very basic) units I have tried so far is a little light, but combined with photos and sound, it’s a good review. What’s interesting is that the second level, after seeing the vocabulary, is writing a couple of sentences, which are then corrected by native or advanced speakers on the site to learn other languages. For me the clear lack is (as a beginner) trying to go from vocabulary to actually writing a sentence, but since I’ve started with Spanish, in which I have some “traditional” learning behind me, it was ok. With that basis though, it’s really an amazing way to move forward. I actually started by commenting on a couple of other users sentences in English, which gave me a first idea of how things worked. Besides, in this sort of community, there is little sense in taking (the advice/corrections of others) if you are not going to give (and help other users). I have helped a couple of people with their English, a couple of others with their French, and gotten some help on my Spanish. The site offers vocab for English, French, Spanish and German, but provides a full list of languages that you can indicate that you speak. You seem to be limited to “learning” 4 languages, but you can indicate any on the list (in addition to German and Spanish, I’ve added Italian and Japanese, following a recent decision with Luc to give that a try this year). I quickly became “friends” with two Spanish-speakers who are learning English, and who gave me some great help with my Spanish, as well as a Japanese speaker who is learning English. I’ve only been at this for a couple of hours though, so I’ll have to see how it pans out.
What’s interesting, is that I find myself automatically looking for people around my age, perhaps because I feel subconsciously like they will be the best help for me, and (who knows) the least judgmental. With users I’ve seen ranging from 16 to their 50s or 60s it seems like just about everyone can be that picky too
Passer du coq à l’âne
I love looking at how ridiculous some expressions sound as an outsider, but also the fantastic ways we find to express certain things. Why say “I’m changing the subject” when you can say (all risqué translations aside) “I’m going from the rooster to the donkey”?
We have more than our fair share of these expressions in English, and the late George Carlin (a favourite comedian of mine) does a few excellent bits on expressions and euphemisms, like this one.
Enjoy!
I feel special
While using Babbel over the past several months, I noticed a feedback button that appeared a while back, with which I could, well, provide feedback. Use it I did, sending notes over time for a number minor errors or bugs. A couple of weeks ago, before I started my summer break from language learning (which has stuck to some extent, because lots of other things have filled in the time otherwise spent on languages after work and on weekends) I sent them a message via feedback that if there was anything I could do to help them fix bugs and such, I would be happy to help. I soon forgot about it. Last week I got an email from Thomas at Babbel, letting me know that some new features were in the works, and would I like to test them when they were ready. Cool. The email was addressed to me (no mass email) and when I responded to say that I would be thrilled to help, I got a message back within half an hour thanking me, and letting me know that while they were not ready just yet, they would keep in touch. Now, even though it means another pull on my free time, I can’t wait for the new features to be ready not only because it will give me another good reason to keep learning, but also because I feel special to have been asked.
Every time I mention Babbel I get a “comment” (read: blog-ortiented marketing message) about Edufire a competing/complementary language learning service. I was put off by their “covert” tactics that assumes all bloggers are idiots, but eventually (when they modified their tactics a bit) gave in and let them post their occasional comment (it is complementary after all, and this is about learning, so who am I to prevent people from finding tools they may find useful). I just hope that before sending me a poorly-disguised marketing-generated comment, they take note that far more important than getting their name out is making people really, truly happy with their services (great customer service makes me happy, regardless of which side of it I’m on!), and focusing their energy on them, rather than annoying me.
