NERDING OUT ON LANGUAGE (Part 3)

I don't mean to complain too much. I love studying Chinese. Who needs boyfriends when you have one of the world's most difficult languages to curl up with every night? I even like class sometimes, especially when the examples are weirdly charming, as when a teacher asked if I would be "willing to socialize with someone who had a Marxist worldview", or when a classmate said "Based on what I know about Qiao Wei, an ideal gift for her would have something to do with animals." That part is fun.

But the tones. F'in A, the tones.

I know I've given many of you the tone briefing already, but bear with me. I don't mean to be patronizing, but before I set foot for the first time on Chinese soil I had no idea how tones worked and I've since found that neither do the vast majority of native English speakers. I knew there were a few tonal languages, and remember that was one reason some people warned me against studying Vietnam. Tonal, I thought, must just mean extra hard. I guess I figured these tone things just added an extra flourish to a language, that they were just a part of having good pronunciation or the right accent. I had no idea that tones could be part of the basic underlying structure of a language. Not, fool that I am, that it would have stopped me.

So here's how it works:

In English, tones are employed for emphasis, emotion, and communicative subtleties. But regardless of whether I say "ma" in a high register or a low one it always means the same thing. I can employ falling tones or rising ones to express degrees of displeasure or confusion but I am still always saying 'mother'. Not so in Chinese.

In 中文 the sound 'ma' is accompanied by one of five different tones.
妈 ma with high tone = mother
马 ma with rising tone = horse
麻 ma with falling-rising tone = hemp
骂 ma with falling tone = scorn
吗 ma with neutral tone = question particle

To give another example, if you say "Shanghai" with a falling tone followed by a falling-rising tone, you're referring to the city, but if you say it with one high tone followed by a falling tone, you are referring to someone having been injured.

And the whole damn language is like this.

Sounds like wacky fun, right? Well sometimes, but in most situations screwing up tones is wildly frustrating rather than hilarious.

My tones aren't good. They are certainly better now than they have ever been before, but I often forget to remember that when I'm surrounded by classmates who are heaps better. I didn't get a very good foundation in pronunciation at IU and I've been struggling to establish one ever since. Reviewing flash cards, listening and repeating my tapes, visiting teacher's office hours; all these things have made me think a lot about why this process is so difficult, where the obstacles lie, and how I can get better.

Students with good tones often have a musical background. One of the superstars on campus has opera training and it shows in his precise, clipped oratory. I don't think the benefit of musical training lies as much in the ability to make the sounds so much as the capacity for a musical memory. I am very good at remembering letters as associated with meanings, but not very good at remembering attached tones. I've learned a few ways to trick myself into remembering, but they don't work in every case. One is that I am much better at remembering tones in combination than by their lonesome selves. In particular, I am ace at recalling two high tones, two falling tones, or a rising and a falling (this last combination always makes me think of a mountain slope). Thus when I study a new character I try to put it in context. Oftentimes if I can remember it in relationship to another character I can get it right. Unfortunately this is far from failsafe as some characters have different tones in different contexts and some change their tones depending on the character they are followed by. Jerks.

The hardest tones to remember are the ones that just seem very counterintuitive. When I first got here I had a difficult time breaking my habit of saying "wen" (to ask) with a falling tone rather than a rising one. This is a continuing problem, as I tend to use rising tones whenever I am asking a question (as is done in English), and often that makes whatever I am trying to say incorrect or just unintelligible.

Even if I remember the correct tones they often come out wrong when I say them aloud. Partially this is because it feels weird as hell to have a string of rising or falling-rising tones all in a row. I'm also not very good at many consecutive falling tones, which as I once complained to my teacher, make me feel like a cheerleader (he chuckled briefly and then instructed me to repeat the passage several more times).

I also attribute these problems to my brain being hardwired to think and speak in English, where tones are attached to states of mind, not underlying meanings. I wonder what kind of research has been done in this area and what the findings were. I would really like to see a catscan of my brain. I wonder if it could show me what parts are in use for consciously using tones in Chinese versus unconsciously using tones while speaking English. Not that it would be useful, but at least I could locate a reason for this endless frustration and blame not my own shortcomings, but those of the brightly colored language centers of the left hemisphere.

Tones are a huge part of why learning Chinese is such an endless process, as well as why my life of practice practice practice can be so monotonous and unsatisfying. Not that I have much of a choice. When the brain won't cooperate there is nothing to do but drill it into submission.

I am getting better, contrary to the dire prediction of an early teacher who said that with a bad foundation I would be stuck with poor tones forever. These days, instead of having to check the dictionary or ask Jessica what the tone for something is, I can often just say it aloud to figure out the right one. Although I used to always have to think for a second before I used "mai" (with 3rd tone it means 'to buy', with 4th it means 'to sell'), now I can't imagine ever not knowing which was which. It just feels right.

There is a suffix in Chinese, "gan" (感), that means 'to have a sense of or feeling for', as in a sense of direction or feeling of sympathy. Jessica and I were talking about grammar last week and how you can have a "yu gan" (语感) or a feel for what is grammatically correct, without knowing the exact rules. I hope I get there someday with tones.

And there you have it. Welcome to my brain, I hope you enjoyed your visit. I apologize if this was tiresome reading, but with the exception of the CCP's Tibetan disinformation campaign it is pretty much all I ever think about these days.

Oh, and of course rabbit fashion. I am always thinking about that:

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS NO ONE ASKED

Apparently there is this thing going on out on the interwebs wherein bloggers tap other bloggers to fill in the blanks for a handful of Girl Talk-style questions. The tag is referred to as a meme, although that isn't particularly accurate with regards to Dawkins' original definition of a unit of culture analogous to the gene. All that genes and memes require for transmission are hosts, not conscious participants who direct them in particular ways. I sound like a little snottypants, and I probably am, but what I really mean to say is that even though this meme didn't get here by itself, I am more than happy to oblige any request of Miss Aprile's...

I can't believe I've never....

Learned to drive. Yes, I am environmentally minded, and yes, I REALLY hate car culture, but this is getting ridiculous.

Every time I think about... I still cringe

Oh boy. I'm really spoiled for choice here, but to spare everyone the cringing awkwardness of sharing with me all those misdirected e-mails, sloppy dance floor maneuvers, and miscellaneous gaffes, I'll have to go with a classic.

It was high school. Junior year I guess, since I pretty much dropped out somewhere around then. I was having a party as an excuse to get the Sal Paradise and the Apple Pie Blues Band to play a concert in my mom's living room. The Blues band was composed of only the smartest and most charming male members of the art/music/pot/political activism set of our high school. I wasn't nearly cool enough to be friends with any of the boys in the band (although I knew some of them through the school E.C.O. Club), but my friend Vanessa was dating the illustrious Robert Blake, and I must have organized the gig through him.

It was a rocking set. I was mostly too nervous to be conscious of any Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee covers but I do clearly remember a cover of the Beastie Boys' 'Fight for Your Right to Party' (our enthusiasm for which was undimmed by the lack of visible encroachments on this right by our Kirkland neighbors). I'm pretty sure I sighed deeply, gazed at the stars, and knew deep in my heart that it was the greatest moment of my young life.

The band took its name from the Kerouac classic On the Road, whose main character rhapsodizes about stopping at roadside diners for a delicious and filling slice of Apple Pie. In the spirit of this, I gathered recipes and purchased pie tins, determined to bake enough Apple Pie to feed the whole party. But as the big evening approached I was crunched for time and opted for store-bought pie crusts. I was even pleased with myself, having scanned the ingredient list to ensure it was free of any vegan-offending butter, milk, or eggs. The pies were delicious, and were rapidly devoured. Some of the vegans even complimented me, and I pretended to empathize with the challenges they had faced in baking sans animal products.

But the party was a hit! I was cool! the vegans liked me! The German exchange student thought I was cool! Dudes in a band had come to my house!

So of course there had to be a catch. I found it as I broke down the pie crust boxes for recycling. Midway through the recipe list was something I had missed on the first scan -- a little something called lard. I had fed lard to the coolest kids in school; to the vegans, to the vegetarians (myself included), and most certainly to many who would object to eating lard on the grounds of health or mere aesthetics. I felt absolutely AWFUL, and I was terrified that someone would find out and that my social career, never exactly stellar, would be shattered.

I know this sounds tiny and ridiculous now, but I didn't actually tell a soul about this shameful event for YEARS. When I finally spilled the beans to Vanessa, eyes downcast as the word 'lard' tumbled forth from my mouth, she laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Which reminds me: V, you are still not allowed to tell Robert about this.

I wish I'd... when I had the chance

I do tend to agree with Aprile on this point. It isn't too hard to look back on one's life and recall all the missed opportunities and missteps, but then you would lose sight of all the lessons learned or the fortuitous things that happened as a result. All the same, I definitely have regrets. Generally they are small fry, of the "why didn't I buy cheese at the foreign grocery store when I had the chance?" or "damn! I forgot to grab my air pollution mask before I left the house!" variety, but there are bigger ones too. Maybe its just because not enough time has passed for me to see how things will turn out, but try as I might, I've seen a few clouds with nothing in the way of silver linings.

With that said, I wish I'd given that one guy a piece of my mind when I had the chance.

I've never felt so out of place as when I...

Considering that I am living in Asia attending a school on the campus of one of China's top two universities among private school educated Ivy Leaguers and other assorted geniuses with good tones, I feel amazingly out of place every single day. Often that doesn't bother me, but sometimes it really does.

....is my guiltiest pleasure

Succumbing to the purchase of non-ethically produced commodities on shaky pretenses, such as "I had a bad day". Doubly so when it happens on the internet. Oh the shame.

I hope...knows how grateful I am

Everyone who saw me through hard times andor believed in me when I didn't. You, my fine friends, are the reason my life took such a turn towards awesomeness. Hopefully you all know how appreciated you are, but a few might need reminding. Specifically and chronologically: Auntie Gretchen, Carly and Loita Hawkinson, Vanessa, Katy+Mark+Ryan+Sarah, Alia, Care bear, mb, Montana and John, Blammo, 狄可佳.

In my darkest hours I secretly blame... for my dysfunction

Me, myself, and capitalism

...changed my life forever

China, DUH!

Now it is my turn. I tag Moxie Sinclair, not only because I like where her priorities are at, but 'cause I want to hear more about this graduate school thing. You're it!

祝你三八三八快乐 HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY, BITCHES

Today is International Women's Day, called sanba jie (三八节) in Chinese. It's kind of a big deal here. Most women who work outside of the service industry get the day off, there are events and gatherings, and we get free admission to museums and sightseeing destinations like the Forbidden City. Stopping by on an errand this morning, our landlord even wished Jessica and I well on our special ladies holiday. The Chinese observance of this holiday just gives me a warm feeling inside, despite the rather large contradictions it contains.

Sanba means 3-8 in Chinese (jie just means 'holiday'), and became the nickname for Women's Day because the holiday always falls on the 8th day of the 3rd month. Sanba also means bitch, and as you can guess, this is far from purely coincidental. Sexy Beijing did an episode on sanba last year, though it isn't one of my favorites:



Now I love numbers that become nouns just as much as the next guy. I am always asking my peeps to give me the '411' (114 in China, just as 911 is 119 here), referring to homicides with the catchy '187', or patronizing retail outlets called '420', but I think sanba has got to be my favorite. Firstly, while doing its very best to demonize uppity women, it makes absolutely clear why we need them. If you slander someone using a word whose power comes from its association with an idea like gender equality, you inadvertently highlight the level of socially acceptable animosity against such an idea. Thus, it is because the idea of a sanba can exist in the public consciousness that we need sanbas in the first place.

Secondly, I can't see how anyone can use the word in seriousness without finding it patently hilarious. I don't think I've ever actually been called an sanba, at least to my face, but if it happened, I'm pretty sure I'd burst out laughing - "Are you really calling me International Women's Day? What a dick."

And then I'd summon my sanba army.

ODDS AND ENDS FROM THE 春节 HOLIDAY

天坛 Temple of Heaven Park

日坛公园Ritan Park

Mural near Ritan Park:

Nicholas astutely pointed out that there are numerous little ladies in the jars depicted. I'm afraid to offer conjecture.

厕所幽默 Toilet humor

Yes, the sign really reads "Pees only". The small print beneath it promises that "Offenders are fined."

This is me outside of a "4-star toilet" at the Temple of Heaven park. What a proud day that was.

东城的附近 - Around Dongcheng

Nick getting measured and then fitted for his sharp tailor-made suit.

后海 Houhai


One day we wandered into a mall in trendy Xidan, stepping on the first escalator that presented itself then slowly realizing it took us 6 floors up in one swoop. Reaching the top, we were confronted with this map:

It took a while to figure out how to get down again as all the down escalators only went one floor at a time and once reaching that floor (Trendy? Sexy? Crash?) there was no connecting escalator in sight, but shops filled with shiny, appealing commodities stretched as far as the eye could see. Designed by an evil genius, I tell you.

This compilation for lovelorn executives was available in one of the shops:

I really wish I had taken the time to try and figure out what was on it. I'm so very curious now. Sade? David Gray? Hall & Oates' Rich Girl as re-envisioned by Kenny G?

首都博物馆 Capital Museum...

... where there was a really cool exhibit on Olympic posters from the last century:

Here, Nick and I learned that the first few resuscitated Olympic games were held in conjunction with the World's Fair. Which means that the St. Louis 1904 World's Fair was also the site of the Second Olympic Games. Represent!

YONGHEGONG LAMA TEMPLE

The day after Nicholas arrived was mostly spent traipsing around the city shopping for things to get him warm and adjusted. It involved an unfortunately large amount of time spent on the subway, where ridership was not quite back to the pre-holiday level, but getting uncomfortably close. After making many successful purchases at various locations, I thought we would head into the city so I dragged poor Nick onto the subway again for another subterranean journey. Counting of the stops to go I noticed that we would pass through "Yonghegong Lama Temple Station", a stop I had always suspected was near to a temple of some kind. Nick was happy to get off early to explore and save the city center for another day.

The best part of having family in town was finally getting to share China; getting to see people I care about express curiosity and wonder at this fascinating, chaotic, sometimes cruel, and occasionally beautiful place. The second best part was just seeing the place I live through their eyes. Although Beijing is among the last places in China I would choose to live, it is undeniably awesome that you can just get off a subway car here and in a short while be here:

While the whole place is stunning, the most impressive part of the temple is the Maitreya Buddha housed in this building:


The Buddha stands 18m high (that's approximately 54 feet for you poor backwards pagans) with several meters underground to keep the girl stable, and is made of a single trunk of white sandalwood. We weren't allowed to take pictures inside, which truthfully, I was glad of, as it would have ruined the atmosphere, so I cribbed a photo from here:


Fragrant incense burned in every courtyard, but instead of blending in with the Beijing smog, the smoke hung like mist or curled like steam against the backdrop of the crisp, startlingly blue afternoon.


As with every other old temple or significant building in Beijing, two lions flanked either side of the entrance, one pausing with his paw on a ball in a position that suggests he was teasing a rival team with his possession of it,

and the other engaged with a tiny lion lying on his back who he is either threatening with death or tickling (I'm sure that if you knew how to use them, those claws could be weapons of endless tickle).

Someday I am really going to have to figure out the real significance of these lion-guardians and their accessories, but for now, ignorance at least allows me to imagine highly entertaining possibilities....

Confidential to flamingbanjo: I can't respond in the comments section due to the limitations of the software I use to get into my blog, but I can tell you that the orb is generally understood to represent heaven and earth united and/or the totality of Buddhist law. As these abstractions have historically been embodied by the emperor, I would say it is quite fair to say that they represent imperial power.