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October 31, 2005

Ich bin Deustche nicht, but this ad campaign makes me wish otherwise

Since I'm studying German this semester, my ears perked when I heard this NPR story on a new ad campaign to lift Germany's national morale. The ads depict famous actors, athletes, and other German notables, along with the uplifting slogan: "Du bist ____" ("You are __insert famous person's name__").

Digression: I chuckled at the NPR reporter's use of the word "glum." People should use it more often.

The ad copy itself is an exquisite use of rhetorical hyperbole. My German is still too limited to fairly assess the tone, but Google translator and I came up with this:

Resistance and chances are nearly always equal in the balance of life. But you can decide which side wins. Passion weighs more than resistance, and dreams are heavier than stupid prejudices. If you throw everything into the scale, then nobody can stop you.

You are Germany.

Even beyond the literary aesthetics of the ads, I'm strangely fascinated. Regardless of whether or not the campaign has any effect, it takes a certain kind of national history and consciousness to even attempt to motivate an entire nation solely on the virtue of their communal heritage. I have a hard time imagining a "You are George Washington" campaign ever getting funded in the United States. Perhaps it's because, as a nation, we are perpetually the younger sibling, wishing that mom and dad wouldn't remind us that our big sister France has contributed far more to the intellectual canon of western society. An individualistic mindset is hardly receptive to the idea that one should perk up simply because of shared ancestry with Albrecht Durer.

But, hey. Deutschland, viel Glueck!

Posted by elissa at 05:20 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 28, 2005

This Week, I've Read:

And now, I must say, every single one of those papers are less ambiguous, more concrete, or more coherent. Some of them are even all three.

I like my job.

Posted by elissa at 03:57 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 26, 2005

Whatever Day of the Week Food: Asian Quesadillas

Sheer inspiration: Hispasian cuisine at its finest.

Asian Quesadillas
Serves 2

2 chicken breasts, cut into thin strips
A bottle of Newman's Own Soy Ginger dressing
1/2 of a small onion, chopped
Vegetable or sesame seed oil
1 tsp sesame seeds, lightly toasted (optional)

Margarine or butter
4 flour tortillas
Shredded Colby-Jack cheese
Handful of cilantro, chopped

  1. Place the chicken strips into a bowl or plastic bag and pour in enough dressing to just cover the pieces. Let marinate for at least half an hour.
  2. Heat a little bit of oil in a skillet. Briskly stir fry the chicken and onions. If necessary, add more dressing while cooking. Stir in sesame seeds. Once chicken is cooked through and onions are translucent, remove from heat and set aside.
  3. Heat another skillet (or wash the previous one) on medium high. Generously butter one side of each of the flour tortillas.
  4. Place one tortilla, butter side down, into the skillet. Spoon on half of the chicken onto the tortilla then sprinkle with chopped cilantro and cheese. Cover with the other tortilla.
  5. Once crispy, flip.
  6. Repeat to make another quesadilla.

Cut into quarters to serve and bring the world together in your kitchen.

Posted by elissa at 04:52 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 24, 2005

Confession: I Hold Sumo Dear to My Heart

A recent article in the Times combined two dearly cherished things (food and sumo) and reanimated my inexplicable delight in this odd and ancient sport.

Wait, I take that back. It's not inexplicable.

Growing up, sumo was a *big deal* (pun unavoidably intended). The large Japanese population in Hawaii and the success of a string of Hawaii-bred wrestlers, combined to form the perfect atmosphere for sumo to be taken quite seriously indeed. So it had a touch of the bizarre: men with rolling, flopping stomachs, drooping pectorals, and corpulent thighs, wearing nothing but a top knot and an elaborate thong, lunging at each other with fearsome momentum. We knew that. But our island hearts still warmed towards these ponderous giants. Highlights from sumo tournaments slipped into the local sportscast between baseball and football results. Recaps or human interest stories were a regular sports page feature. We even had Hawaiian music superstars like Bruddah Iz (Kamakawiwo'ole) writing tribute songs to our local sumo wrestlers, Konishiki, Akebono, and Musashimaru.

The Hawaii-bred sumotori were both the "us" and the "other." Those jiggling biceps could partly be at least partly attributed to Zippy's incredibly fattening curry and chicken katsu. But, on an island filled primarily with petite citizens of Filipino, Korean, Chinese, and Japanese ancestry, their generous girth set them apart. Their distinguishing size was almost mesmerizing. Then, too, even though they themselves were not Japanese, they somehow connected the Japanese-American and traditional Japanese experiences for us. Even when each of the wrestlers became Japanese citizens, Hawaii still stubbornly claimed them as their own. They were local boys who "made good" by succeeding in another nation and culture's sport.

And, sometimes, I miss it. Mawashi loinclothes and all.

Posted by elissa at 05:17 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

October 20, 2005

Breather


Angelic
Originally uploaded by mrs. weichbrodt.

We've returned from our trip to the University of Virginia. Charlottesville is a great place, and we had a tremendous time staying with some friends there. As far as the actual prospect of studying there, though, results were mixed in unexpected places.

As we continue to knock on the heavy door of graduate school, I'm learning that I really have very little knowledge of the door itself, not just what lies beyond it. I feel like I know less and less about what exactly stands between us and graduate work, and I am helpless when it comes to actually pushing through the door myself. Anticipated obstacles topple with barely a tap, but unforseen barriers crop up elsewhere. It's humbling, and it perpetuates tensions between faith and works, calling and contentment, sovereignty and responsibility. And that, I suppose, is why we're knocking, not manhandling the door with a sledgehammer.

Still, there is one thing that I do know. The emotional and aesthetic trauma of being caught in a surge of Cavalier orange right before game time, when normal traffic procedures do not apply and you are the only one who does not care about football, is hardly mitigated by Virginia's subsequent defeat of Florida State.

Posted by elissa at 04:31 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

"So I am here with all my resources" or, Outsourcing and the English Language

Noel sent me a great article last week about the joys and perils of outsourcing. Some of my favorite bits were when the author quoted his Indian personal assistants.

I would try to adapt myself as per your requirements that would lead to desired satisfaction
It would be great if you could invest your time and patience on giving thought about his plans. Do revert and let Jacobs know about your suggestions on the same. As you know that your decision would be accepted with utmost respect.

There are a few grammatical errors, yes, but overall it's still within striking range of standard English. And yet, itl sounds...foreign. It's almost as if a thesaurus, an English phrase book, and a style guide for business writing all went on vacation together and came back with a tan and an souvenier shell lei. Word choices are just barely off, edging into the gray expanse of shades of meaning. There's an uncanny sense of restrained effusion, polite hyperbole, or some other unquantifiable mixture pervading the text.

Today, I received my own outsourcing gem of an e-mail.

Dear Elissa Weichbrodt, Thank you for contacting Dell US Warranty Support.

I would like to inform you that the response you received was not a human one but an auto generated one. As soon as the mail hits the server it gives out a response which lacks human touch. As the auto response could not provide a solution, I am here with all my resources to help you resolve the issues you are facing with your Dell system.

As per the mail I recieved , it is clear that the Ac Adaptor and Power Cord has gone bad and needs to be replaced.

"I am here with all my resources to help you resolve the issues you are facing." I love it. I may already be spoiled by someone else's outsourcing...

Posted by elissa at 03:34 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 12, 2005

Soccer may be an international language...

...but apparently the Laws of the Game (LOTG) are still plagued with translation problems.

enables marital bliss by integrating spousal interests. This time, it's actually about a sport we both enjoy watching: soccer. One of Lieberman's cohorts, Jim Gordon, points out that a certain key rule actually changes meaning in the English translation:

Law 12 - Fouls and Misconduct; Decisions of the International F.A. Board (Decision 4):

A tackle, which endangers the safety of an opponent, must be sanctioned as serious foul play.

Did you catch that? The commas after "tackle" and "opponent" transform a restrictive relative clause into a nonrestrictive relative clause. Instead of instructing referees to only call those tackles which are dangerous, the law now defines all tackles as something "which endangers the safety of an opponent."

Interestingly, this is not how the rule is written in the Spanish or French versions of the LOTG. Referees from those fine countries understand that you need only call dangerous tackles. Suddenly, refereeing politics becomes so much more intriguing... So tonight, as we watch the U.S. vs. Panama game, I'll pay particular attention to the nationality and language skills of the man in the middle. And if I'm at all suspicious that he's read the LOTG in English, I'll feel especially entitled to yell, "Sir!"

Posted by elissa at 04:03 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

October 11, 2005

The Professorial Quotation Game

A sizable chunk of my time these days is spent manning the Writing Center: meeting with my Basic Writing students, helping walk-ins, developing resources, and occasionally just killing time. Even if I don't have a student, however, I'm rarely alone for long. The faculty copy room is tucked away in a strange, closet-like space just inside the Writing Center door, and professors pop in and out throughout the day for all their duplication needs. Some of my favorite moments are when they toss out little comments to me on their way into their electronic-filled closet.

Covenant folk, see if you can correctly match the professor to the quote. Other folk, see if you can imagine having professors like these. (One professor gets two quotes)

1. "Grrrrrr."
2. "It's lonely being on the top."
3. (speaking about me to another professor) "I think she'll probably turn into a popsicle instead of an ice cube since she's so tall and thin."
4. "You're eating with chopsticks. That's a little unexpected."
5. "Yessss... well, sometimes it's just so exciting you wonder how you can stand it, mmm?"
6. "You're an art person, aren't you? What do you think about Thomas Kinkade?"
7. "All hail, Professor Weichbrodt."
8. "Well, don't you just look like a present!"
9. "Didn't I already graduate you?"

a. Dr. McLelland
b. Dr. Wildeman
c. Dr. Hesselink
d. Dr. Trimiew
e. Dr. Davis
f. Dr. Morton
g. Dr. Clark
h. Dr. Kaufmann

Answers in the extended entry.

Continue reading "The Professorial Quotation Game"

Posted by elissa at 05:17 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

October 10, 2005

The Intrepid Fashion Explorer Discovers...The Sweater!

I broke personal fashion ground today.

This is my fifth year of living at a latitude where a sweater is actually necessary from October to March. Those of you who have grown up with cycling, seasonal closets may not realize just how difficult this climate adjustment is on one's personal sense of style. When your entire fashion life thus far has been one of matching t-shirts with shorts and swimsuits with slippers, moving to a cooler climate presents a host of wardrobe crises.

First, there's the mystery of layering. Weather-wizened friends strongly advise piling on a tank-top, shirt, sweater, scarf, and coat in tight succession. But layering also means that the number of articles needing to be matched or otherwise coordinated increases exponentially. Sure, this could be easily solved by either "not caring" or only wearing shades of a single color, but I live in perpetual dread of looking like either an Olsen twin or an Old Navy twinset spokesperson.

Secondly, tripling the amount of clothes one wears at any given moment significantly alters one's silhouette. An inch and a half overall coating of wool and fleece will hide and create curves in all the inappropriate places. Suddenly, my conception of the human form merged with my knowledge of a bag of jet puffed marshmallows. Disconcerting? Yes.

Finally: covered shoes. My freshman year of college, I obstinately resisted wearing anything other than open toe slippers or sandals until temperatures literally dipped below freezing. My rationale was, quite simply, that I would rather have unconstricted (albeit numb) toes than warm, confined ones. Even after I caved and succumbed to the shoe-wearing culture my troubles were far from over. I realized that I completely lacked any kind of aesthetic for closed-toe footwear. Were pointy toe shoes chic or witchy? Did those mules look too nurse-like? Will sparkles be too trendy in two months?

All that to say that, today, I wore a sweater over a button-down shirt for the first time in my life. Fall, I welcome you with an open closet.

Posted by elissa at 08:52 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

October 07, 2005

If you give a girl a cell phone...

(and a GRE book, and an hour and a half to study outside while waiting for her husband's class at ChattState to finish, and some killer lighting...)

Lit Trees

She will amuse herself by setting up certain parameters -- no flash, must remain seated on the bench -- and taking pictures with the cell phone.

If she is tall and thin, chances are she will frame everything vertically.

Birch on Blue Time and Space

Heavenly Butts Math Beads Glow (Except for the requisite self-portrait.)

Posted by elissa at 05:50 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

October 05, 2005

When Words Mean the Wrong Thing

I like words that hint at their meaning through their sound. Onomatopoeia, of course, is the classic example. Bells clang and jangle, doors slam, puddles splash. But other words, too, seem to closely link sound and definition (or at least connotation). For example, contumacious just sounds like it means "insubordinate; rebellious." Or "ebullience". The l's, the long vowels, and the rolling cadence practically give away the definition: "the quality of lively or enthusiastic expression of thoughts and feelings."

But then there's words whose sound and meaning refuse -- for some reason or another -- to abide peacefully in my mind. My connotation detector fails, sometimes in a most splendidly obvious fashion. So I keep two dictionaries in my head. The one: common American usage in all its denotative glory. The other: my secret wishes of what certain words should mean...

Obloquy. My intuitive, personal dictionary says that "obloquy" should mean "a difficult to understand speach." Part "obtuse," part "soliloquy." (It's a lot more biting than that. It means "abusively detractive language; sharp criticism; vituperation.")

Puissance. Surely this word was supposed to mean "cowardice, fear." The smirking "oooo" sound and the nasty double "s" demands it! Boxers should circle each other ominously, jeering, "What a puissant fellow." (Though, if they did, they'd actually be complimenting him since "puissance" means "strength.")

Salubrious. I want this word to mean "greasy" in that overly suave, ingratiating way, I suppose because there's an echo of "lubricate" in there. But can't you just imagine a salubrious man with his perfect, cheesy smile, announcer voice, and slicked back hair? Ah. (Instead, it means "promoting health of well-being.")

Sedulous. I desperately want to define this word as "moving slowly and seductively." It rolls off the tongue so lazily. You could dance sedulously or watch the sedulous movement of tree branches in the breeze. (Instead, it means "diligent, persistent; hardworking.")

Temerity. It smacks of "timidity." At some point in the future, I will likely have the impulse to say something like "She has the temerity of a mouse." (Which would be fine, if I thought that mice had "boldness, brashness, and intrepidness.")

I wonder how hard it would be to snag the editor-in-chief job for the Oxford American Dictionary and make a few personal changes...

Posted by elissa at 04:05 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

October 03, 2005

Stream of Consciousness

Posted by elissa at 09:44 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack