Language Acquisition 101: Or, Becoming Germanick

So last week I completed my first wave of finals here in Germany. WTO, Venture Capital, EU Law, Comparative Intellectual Property. Check, check, check, and check.

Now, after a feverish week of studying and test-taking (4 days straight of early-morning exams), I have an entire week off. Many in the exchange group are traveling and enjoying themselves. I have decided, somewhat masochistically it turns out, to remain here in Hamburg and take intensive German classes for 4 hours a day.

The class itself is one of the more diverse collections of people you’ll find outside of a meeting of the General Assembly of the UN. In our group of 10 we have representatives from: Albania, Poland, China, Croatia, Mexico, Brazil, Britain, Kenya, and the US of A.

The people are friendly and the peer environment supportive and non-judgmental.

The teacher/student dynamic, however, is a bit different.

It’s not so much that he points out our plentiful errors, which, fair enough, is kind of what we pay him to do. No, it’s that he sees every mistake as a reason to mock us mercilessly with some sort of long stand-up routine.

Mercilessly.

To give an example of what I mean, imagine you are a non-native, limited-ability English speaker. You are trying to say that the boy “was running” around town, but you make an error and say “the boy was runny” around town.

That's mildly funny right? Sure.

Now imagine that the teacher, even though he is perfectly aware of what you mean, looks at you incredulously.

“Runny? The boy was runny?” he says, a faux-confused look on his face. “Like, he was a liquid? What, was he melting? Was he some sort of alien or mutant or something that had special powers and could turn his body into liquid?”

You quickly correct your error, but the class has begun to laugh at his outlandish examples, encouraging him.

“Was he like some sort of snail-man who oozes snail goo all over the place?” He continues, pointing at you and gathering steam and doing his best impression of what a snail-man would move and speak like. “Hey, everybody, look at me, I'm half snail, half man! Does this creature even exist? Who knows? Apparently Nick thinks he does. Nick literally thinks that there is a creature out there that is half snail, half man. Don't you Nick?"

He pauses and looks at you, as if he expects a real answer, and you nod wordlessly and hope he begins to start mocking someone else soon.

This, as far as I can tell, is his method. I have mixed feelings about it.

On the one hand, it’s cheap and mean and dehumanizing.

On the other hand though, I’m starting to think it might be kind of brilliant. It might even be the best way possible to learn a language: one humiliating mistake after another.

Take law school, for example. The only way I can ever guarantee that I will remember something from class is if I screw it up. Or I suppose if someone else screws it up. I still remember a kid in 5th grade running out of class crying because he couldn’t remember the answer to a question about the human body (answer: tibia).

And that’s the point. You know all those memories that make you catch your breath in shame or embarrassment when you think about them? These tend to be instructive memories. And there’s this place in your brain where those memories are all indelibly recorded in high-definition to be replayed for the rest of your life. I think ideally, you need to get all your language mistakes into that part of your brain to succeed.

This is the Bob Knight school of language acquisition. And though the Bob Knight philosophy never really worked for me in basketball (it caused me to freeze-up and become erratic), I’m hoping it will be more effective in this field.

So, Mr. Professor Man, I’m going to put my faith in you. I’m going to trust that you know what you’re doing and that you are, like Bob Knight, a professional. Go wild. Next time I misuse the dative, pick up a chair and throw it against the wall. Next time I misconjugate a routine verb, call me an asshole, punch me in the gut and storm out of the classroom. Seriously, do it. You’ve got my blessing. The more outlandish and memorable the better.

It’s the only way I’ll learn.

Oh See Eye: On Word Games and Interview Season

First things first. I promised myself when I started this blog that I would never, ever apologize for not writing. I always hated tuning into a blogs and read something along these lines: “Sorry I haven’t written for a while, but . . .” What am I, your editor?

Stop with the apologies and write something.

Or don’t. What do I care?

The point of having a blog at all is that you don’t have deadlines, nobody forces you to write, and for the most part, nobody reads it. That being said, this particular period of textual drought was particularly egregious, so I figured I would at least acknowledge it.

Consider it acknowledged (Jon).

And yes, I have been a little bit busy for the last few weeks. Why? OCI.

There is this crazy thing at the end of the summer (and fall and spring) called “On Campus Interviews.” It’s where law firms visit the campus in search of the students they believe would make a good fit for their firm. For around 5 days you and your peers will interview, schmooze, drink, eat, and charm your way to positions in firms from around the nation.

So, in the last three weeks I’ve spent around 27 hours speaking to approximately 52 lawyers in several cities from about 15 different firms. I also went to the State Fair. Twice. (Hi Katie!)

And the great part about this whole OCI thing was that I actually found the vast majority of it to be quite enjoyable. Nearly everyone I met was collegial, chatty, and had a good deal of helpful things to teach me about the practice of law. Plus the food was excellent and the drinks plentiful.

Here’s a breakdown of what to expect should you ever go through a similar situation.

The interviews on campus

A lot of people don’t like the endless interviewing because they find it tedious and superficial. I don’t mind it one bit. Honestly. And it’s not just that I’m a desperately lonely and love-deprived hermit who craves eye contact and probing questions (although that’s obviously part of it).

It’s that I don’t mind small talk. I don’t mind engaging complete strangers in conversation and seeing where it leads. I’ve never minded striking up conversations in a bar, waiting in line, or sitting on a plane or bus.

True, this can backfire. There’s nothing worth than starting a lengthy conversation with a voluble dullard whilst a stellar book sits neglected in your backpack.

Or there was that one time I was seated next to a soul-saving-proselytizer.

Shoot. Me. Now.

Of course, interviews don’t have this problem. Even if you don’t absolutely hit it off, the interview’s only scheduled for 20 minutes, so you have an easy out. One interviewer and I compared the whole process to speed dating: an opportunity to get to know as many people as quickly as possible in the hopes of finding that cosmic match along the way.

The interviewer noted that she would have liked to have had more time to ask her questions. I actually thought that 20 minutes was too much. Which makes sense because my history indicates that I tend to say something inappropriate after right around 17 minutes of uninterrupted conversation.

I actually think that they could probably do the same thing in about 5 minutes. For me, it tends to be about warmth, tone, and effort, all of which can be determined shortly after the personality leaves the gate. (The downside to this foreshortened approach is what speed-datalogists call the Hans Solo/Princess Leah conundrum: when a relationship begins with outward hostility but ends with a galaxy-saving/empire-destroying union of two perfectly matched souls).

So I guess it’s a trade-off. You might miss out on your Hans Solo, but you can certainly weed out the Chewbaccas. (Hint: they hit people and scream incomprehensibly a lot).

In my opinion the best interviews were the ones that for some reason or other were unique. The interviewer was exceptionally candid or the discussion was particularly lively and interesting. That sort of thing.

For example, in one of the best interviews I had, both interviewers told me stories about how, at one point they had left their firms, only to eventually come back. The reason for their triumphant returns? They missed their friends.

AAHHH.

At the time, it was the most endearing endorsement for the intangibles of a law firm that I had heard all week.

Then there was the interviewer who continuously assured me that his firm had one of the lowest “Asshole Quotients” ( AQ’s) he’d ever seen. He was incredibly excited about the whole thing. Obviously, he explained, you’re never going to find an asshole quotient of zero, but his firm comes pretty close. Since he seemed to be about the farthest thing from an asshole I could conceive of, I believed him.

Then there was the interview outside in the sun on a bench. Nice touch.

So those are my thoughts on the interviews. Largely positive. True, there are a few downsides: you’re nervous and it’s kind of an artificial situation that and sort of thing. But if you don’t mind small talk you should be just fine. Besides, from what I found, the AQ at these kinds of things is incredibly low.

The Receptions

If the interviews weren’t really your style-- too stuffy and formal—then there’s a good chance that you were at the receptions that the different firms were hosting. These receptions were very valuable because they offered the employers and employees a chance to get to know each other in a more informal setting. And they also had booze.

During OCI Orientation we were encouraged, like always, to drink responsibly. I think the laughably low figure of one drink was thrown around as being a prudent amount.

But who really gains if we all stick to one drink? For those of you interested in politics, you are probably familiar with the term “kick the tires.”

These receptions are the hiring partners way (and ours as well) of “kicking the tires.” Sure he’s tolerable in an interview for twenty minutes or so, but what happens when we expose him to a free bar?

Does he begin dropping plates? Is his nametag on upside down? If we give out large bouncy balls as a party favor, will he begin to bounce it before leaving the function? (He will).

The basic idea is that you will have the opportunity to socialize with the person that either a) has already interviewed you for a job, or b) will be interviewing you for a job the following day. Since the students tend to far outnumber the interviewers the whole enterprise has a kind of ingratiating and ass-kissing feel to it.

That’s not a dig at the event. In fact, given everyone’s unusually pleasant and polite disposition, I think it’s an endorsement. Every joke is well received and every smile freely given as the students try to make a favorable impression on their fondest firms. And if you’re having trouble catching the attention of your latest crush/firm, you can hang out and have a couple of drinks with your friends. It’s an absolute ball.

Usually these kinds of receptions were hosted at a local bar, but the most bizarre and post-modern, (and surely the one most open to interpretation) was hosted at the Englert Theater in downtown Iowa City. At the theater, students smiled, mingled and drank expensive drinks on a lighted stage while decisions concerning their fate were being conducted by mysterious and powerful entities behind the scenes. I almost felt like I was watching my own personal version of Mulholland Drive. Of course, consistent with Lynchian tone and sense of humor, the seats of the theater remained dark and empty.

Make of that what you will.

The Errors

If I was giving myself a rating for the last few weeks, I would say that I batted .289 with a couple of homers and maybe 5 errors. This means that I will not win a golden glove award for flawlessness, but I feel like I can contribute on someone’s roster.

Error #1

Of these errors, the weirdest and most notable by far was putting the word “Scabble” on my résumé instead of the more commonly used “Scrabble.” For those of you unfamiliar, Scrabble is a popular household word game. (Note: though I contemplated listing Scrabble under the “skills” section, I eventually included it under the “interests” section or my résumé).

To begin, this is quite possibly the most ironic typographical error in the history of résumés. Ever.

To paraphrase Churchill (or somebody), it is a layer of irony wrapped in a nougat of unexpectedness and stuffed in a riotously funny Russian doll of humor.

First, the word Scrabble is itself a sort of made up word. As far as I know, it doesn’t exist in dictionaries nor is it a playable Scrabble word. So technically I misspelled a fake, made-up word. Funny stuff.

Second, and most glaring of course, was that Scrabble is a word game in which one must correctly spell a word to be successful. Thus, my claim that I have both an interest in and aptitude for the game instantly becomes unconvincing.

Let me repeat: I MISPELLED THE NAME OF A WORD GAME ON MY RESUME !

Of course, when it was brought to my attention I immediately uploaded a revised edition of my résumé for potential employers. Apparently though, all the employers had all downloaded the original version and had it lying out in front of them before the interview even began. The damage had been done.

The funny thing about this? It might have been colossally stupid, but it might also have been unintentionally brilliant. The first three minutes of every interview were spent dissecting the implications of such a bizarre typo. Several people “challenged” my spelling. One wondered if I was really as good a “scabble” player as I claimed to be and followed it with a hearty chuckle. Everyone seemed to be at least mildly amused at the novel and unconventional nature of the faux-pas.

At this point I've convinced myself that the error was at the very least a wash and moved on with my life.

Error #2

Though it wasn’t nearly as grave as the Scabble situation, I was also bit directly in the face by my friend’s bulldog just two days before several call-back interviews. She was just playing, but there was a noticeable half-inch gash between my eyes. A friend of mine suggested make-up, but he works in broadcasting so that’s his solution to everything. In the end I sucked it up and finished out my week.

Conclusion

In executive summary form, here are my suggestions for completing a successful OCI:

· Enjoy the food
· Enjoy the drink
· Enjoy the conversation
· Learn something
· Spell check
· Avoid bulldogs

Dart League Week 13: Oh Captain My Captain, has the Streak Ended?

When I walked into the Club Car at about seven o’clock, I knew we were going to be in for a rough night of darts. The team captain, long an exemplar of prudence and dedication, had been spotted leaving the premises an hour earlier. My quick inquiry of all credible sources revealed that he had been “completely wasted” at the time of said departure.

Long story short: we couldn’t field a team, but our opponents over at Charlie’s couldn’t field a team either. Everyone seemed to be a little bit embarrassed and apologetic, so we all went home early with vague plans to meet at a future date.

Now the only question that remains is whether our impressive winning streak, which we extended to two games last week, is still intact. If one team forfeits and the other is prepared to play the game, I think it’s quite obvious that the team that is prepared should be awarded a victory, and their unprepared opponents credited with a loss. But what is the rule if both teams are unable to compete? Two wins? Two losses? Something in between?

Until I get a call from the Commissioner of the Iowa City Area Dart League notifying me otherwise, I will consider the Club Car’s two game winning streak to still be valid.

Anyway, maybe that week off will prove to be beneficial to our team in the long run. As is usually the case in darts, the team that is most capable of making a run late in the playoffs is usually the team that hasn't suffered injuries throughout the season. With such a long and grueling schedule, last week was a great opportunity to keep our guys off the line, keep them fresh, and most importantly, keep them healthy to be a serious contender during the playoffs.

I ALWAYS Miss the Apocalypse

Anyone who’s spoken to me for any length of time is probably aware of my fascination with natural disasters. Especially tornadoes. The mystery, the power, the purple skies and levitating livestock, what’s not to like? It’s like a backstage pass to the Apocalypse every time the sirens start sounding.

The problem is, I’ve never actually seen any natural disaster live. Nothing. No hurricanes, no tornadoes, no mudslides or volcano eruptions, and I absolutely refuse to count the floods of ‘93. And to be honest, I’ve always felt this odd sense of inadequacy at having lived in Iowa for roughly my entire life and never, ever laid eyes on a tornado. Every night, as my friends congregate at the bar to exchange the week’s crazy tornado anecdotes, I always find myself embarrassed and trying to change the topic. Sure, if we were having a conversation in the abstract about tornadoes, I’d be all for it. But people with the experience can always one up you. Nobody wants to listen to you drone on about some lame Discovery show you were watching, when the guy next to you is talking about how his dog was freakishly lanced through a tree and still lived to fetch another ball.

Just once I‘d like the opportunity, when talking to non-tornado-alley outsiders, to boast about my close encounter with Earth’s most impressive natural disaster. “Have YOU ever seen a tornado?” They would ask me, mouth agape, eyes expectant. “Yes,” I would reply bravely, “but I don’t want to talk about it.” Then I’d start to walk away, only to stop briefly, shake my head, look at the ground and say “You’d better pray to God you don’t see one in your neighborhood.”

Which brings me to my main point.

Yesterday morning, a natural disaster that was literally IN MY HOUSE. . . and I failed to appreciate it. How fucking hard is it to miss an Earthquake? It’s not even something you can go out to chase, you just have to sit back and EXPERIENCE IT. The only thing required to take part is consciousness, and I failed.

And now I know everyone’s going to be sitting around hashing and rehashing their crazy experiences with the great earthquake of naught 8, and I’m going to be sitting there bleeding from my ears out from boredom. Every once in a while I’ll say something about how similar that must have been to the Great Floods of ’93. People will nod politely and then go back to their crazy earthquake having stories. And there’s nothing I can do. It’s always going to be like that until I experience my first natural disaster.

Until then, if anyone wants to talk about routine flash flooding, you know where to find to me.

Dart League Week 5: The End is Nigh

Last week we suffered our worst loss since, maybe ever. I'll have to check on that. We lost 32-11 behind all-around poor team performances. Part of the problem was probably the snowstorm. And part of it was the discordant singing of our adversaries, which I found to be thoroughly unpleasant and annoying. Our captain went as far as to plug in his ipod and put headphones on to block out the distractions. Hostiliy was thinly veiled on both sides of field. And another part of the problem was probably our low handicaps, and the noise, and forgetting the score sheets, and getting stuck in the snow, and starting a 1/2 hour late, and wet socks, and superdelegates, and bright lights, and bad beer, and the subpar service. And on and on and on.

Excuses are coming faster than defeats these days. And that's saying a lot.

Dumping is What I Do When I'm Called On in Class

So, as an English Lit. major embarking on a business heavy profession, there are times that the learning curve seems embarrassingly steep. I might have to start boning up.

Case in point:

Today, while I was attending a lecture on international law that offered free pizza, Mr. X described how the DNA/gene manufacturing firm that he counsels had been served notice of a complaint. Though his company is headquartered in the U.S., it has offices in Sweden as well. The complaint, filed in Sweden, alleged that his company had committed the crime of dumping.

At this point Mr. X looked at the people in attendance (roughly seven of us), and said, "You all know what dumping is right?" I immediately pictured a large dump truck emptying greenish ooze into a river populated by three-eyed fish. "Let me put it a different way, does anyone NOT know what dumping is?" he continued.

Me to self-- this seems like a trick question. Should I raise my hand, thereby verifying my green ooze hypothesis, or nod knowingly, thereby blending in with the rest of my knowledgeable peers? Surely if my conception is flawed, this flaw will be rectified by the speaker in a matter of moments with no loss of credibility to myself. The hand stays down.

"Ok then," Mr. X continues, "who can explain it to me?"

Uh oh. He looks in my direction. I quickly look away but he finds my patent avoidance of eye contact suspicious. He points at me "Go ahead."

Me: "Well, I guess when you dispose of materials in ways that you shouldn't."

Mr. X: "No. Wrong," he says. He then launches into a lengthy explanation of why it is so much easier to correct law students than undergraduates. Undergraduates are weak and take it personally, law students are resilient and indifferent to criticism, he explains. I laugh heartily and wipe away a tear forming in the corner of my eye. Surely now, after I have failed him, an explanation of dumping will be forthcoming.

Mr. X: "Suppose you are accusing me of dumping in your country, what am I doing?"

Me? Again? Really? His eyes are on me again. I quickly file through the definitions of dumping I am familiar with. There's the green ooze theory previously posited. That's not right. I'm only familiar with one other meaning of the word dumping, and I'm fairly sure that offering that explanation would not be appropriate in this context.

Me to self: time is ticking. . . think think think. . . use law words.

Me-- "I'm accusing you of infringing on some kind of property interest that I'm claiming?"

Mr. X: "This is what I love about lawyers, when they don't know, they still try to make things up."

Bingo. Not just lawyers though. Before I was in law school I was a liar too.

He then asks if anyone else can explain this concept. The hands of the six others in attendance shoot-up in unison, as if a kindergarten teacher had asked the students what their favorite color was. Have you no shame?

(Note: to extend this analogy, when the teacher asked me what my favorite color was, I replied: "motorcycle.")

The answer, which I will never, ever forget for the rest of my life? Basically predatory pricing.

Here is the Wikipedia definition of dumping under the entry "dumping (pricing policy)":

"In economics, "dumping" can refer to any kind of predatory pricing. However, the word is now generally used only in the context of international trade law, where dumping is defined as the act of a manufacturer in one country exporting a product to another country at a price which is either below the price it charges in its home market or is below its costs of production."

In my defense, Mr. X didn't actually say "What is dumping in an economic sense?" If this were the case, I probably would have pieced it together. Now that it's been explained, I admit that I've seen and heard of "dumping" used in this context before, though I've never studied the topic in any kind of formal sense.

Also in my defense, there is another entry right under "dumping (pricing policy)" entitled: "environmental dumping." Here is the definition in Wikipedia for evironmental Dumping:

Environmental dumping is the practice of transfrontier shipment of waste (household waste, industrial/nuclear waste, etc.) from one country to another. The goal is to take the waste to a country that has less strict environmental laws, or environmental laws that are not strictly enforced.

In this context, it's not so outrageous that a biotech company that specializes in creating DNA could get into trouble for environmental dumping.

There are all sorts of problems involved in GM foods contaminating the fields of others; do these same kind of problems happen in the biotech industry? Doesn't seem likely, but I really wouldn't know.

Anyway, the story ends with the biotech company losing millions of dollars in pointless litigation even though the claims were scandalously weak and indefensible. Eventually, the firm raised its prices in a "price undertaking," a kind of settlement under the WTO, and was allowed to remain in Sweden.

All in all a very well told story with lots of suspense and quite a bit of information about the often confusing and labyrinthine international system of adjudication. It even had a tidy little moral at the end that I thin we can all learn a little something from:

"Even if you don't shit on a foreign market, you might get accused of dumping."