Ceci n'est pas une endive - the other words

How Speaking Too Many Languages Is Limiting

notafish — Sun, 05 May 2013 09:08:00 +0200

I know, by saying this - that speaking too many languages is limiting- I probably go against years and hours and sweat tears of very dubious as well as very serious research that say the contrary. As a matter of fact, if you go about googling the advantages of speaking many languages, the number of results is around 123 million results (yes, millions). So who the heck do I think I am to say the contrary?

Well, here goes. I've always liked writing. I've written as long as I can remember, which probably dates back to my absolutely quiet and boring adolescence. We're talking a few decades here. However, ever since I've moved to Germany, I've stopped writing. Not completely, I will take the occasional napkin or more fashionable Facebook status to spit out a few well thought-out words that are spinning round in my mind. But on average, I have not written in the past eight years nearly a quarter as much as I have in the 20 odd years before that. Why? Not sure. But today I came to the realisation that this whole "I speak so many languages it's so cool" thing might be the core of the problem.

My thing about writing is that I usually write for someone. Not always someone in particular, but as I jot words down on a piece of paper, a name will pop out, and then maybe another, people past or present, who I'm thinking might find my words funny, moving, stupid or great, whatever. These people usually never get to read those words, but they are still the targets of my words. The problem starts when these people don't speak the language I'm writing in. Mind you, I write in English or French most of the time, and German comes a far third, so it's not that many languages. But still. That's three languages, and not all of my friends or acquaintances, or people I want to talk to actually speak all of those three languages. Some might speak one, others two, a few do speak the three, some even speak only very little of those to start with (that would be some of my Italian and Spanish speaking friends). So of course every time I write, I feel limited in who I can talk to.

Take this blog. Lately I've written in German, because it makes sense to write about Germany in German, and because frankly, it's often easier than to have to translate what I'm living on a day to day basis. But it's frustrating. Because as much as Germans might be interested in what I have to say about them, I'm also quite sure that my French speaking friends are interested in what I have to say about Germany. And I've caught myself numerous times citing my blogposts to someone as an example of what I think/do/feel and realizing that the blogpost i'm talking about is written in a language they do not speak.

Truth is, I am one person. No matter what language I speak. So if you know me in one language, you know me, and not just some part of me. And while I find that speaking three languages somewhat correctly and understanding two more quite well has sharpened my thinking process (the more languages you speak, the more accurate words you find to say exactly what you want to say), it also has limited my will and freedom of expression. I want to say things, but I'd like to say them in all the languages I speak AT ONCE. Not have to translate, but just write things as they come and they'd be automagically translated (and make sense, as opposed to simple machine translation) in all the languages I'd like to see them translated to. Unfortunately, we're not there yet, so I'm frustrated and I don't write.

But I have made a decision. I don't care any more. I am just going to write. If it's in a language you understand, good for you. If it's not, I am sorry, you'll either have to pass, or use bad machine translation. I need to write more, it's all cluttered in my many language head these days, I need to sort things out and writing is my way out.

Of Language and Thought: Gender Awareness

notafish — Sat, 18 Sep 2010 10:08:00 +0200

Partant d'un article du New York Times sur la question essentielle de savoir si la langue que nous parlons décide de nos pensées, quelques considérations sur la langue en général et en particulier l'utilisation de différents genres pour les mêmes choses, notamment en français et allemand.

In an article titled "Does Your Language Shape How You Think?", Guy Deutscher tackles how our mother tongue may or may not shape our thoughts. The state of research as he presents it shows how language affect our relation to the world. Deutscher speaks about gender, space, color and even reality and how those are affected by the language we speak. The article is highly interesting, you should read it. As I have already written about in other posts on this blog, the subject is one that I am constantly thinking about.

In my experience, the most mysterious thing about how language affects the way we think still resides in the use of gender. Deutscher gives extensive examples of how languages differ in how they affect a gender to things. I speak at least three languages which have a completely different approach to gender.

French has two genders for things: masculine and feminine. German has three: masculine, feminine and neutral. English has one: neutral. How do you reconcile all of this in the way you look a the world? As far as I am concerned, learning English wasn't too much of a problem. Neutral does not exist in French, so having to say "it" for everything didn't really bother me. I kept thinking the differences in gender while speaking the "it". The moon is feminine, the sun is masculine, both ofthem can be referred as "it", and basta. But German introduced a whole new way of looking at things. What happens is that many words are of the opposite gender. The sun is a she and the moon a he, which is extremely confusing. And then comes neutral, which in the end, does not really make sense to me. I could understand it in English because it is used across the spectrum, but in German, the neutral seems to be totally random. I mean, a "young girl" (Mädchen) is neutral, go figure.

My way of dealing with this is interesting. There are words for which I don't care. A table is feminine in French, masculine in German, but frankly, that does not keep me awake at night. However, there are some other words I really have trouble with. Sun and moon are of those. But things like the world (feminine in German, masculine in French), or even worse, a letter (feminine in French, masculine in German) I just can't grasp. Or rather, I can't imagine them having another gender than the French one (mother tongue). I realize that with time that I simply put gender aside in German when it clashes too much with my conceptual world in French. This means that when I talk about a letter (der Brief) in German, I do use the masculine, but in my head, it's still a "she".

What I find fascinating today is looking at my daughter growing up learning both French and German at the same time. Her use of gender for things is still a bit off, but I suppose her grasp of the feminity or masculinity of things will be radically different from mine or that of her father, since she'll have learned both at the same time and without one or the other taking prevalence (or will they?). I am curious whether for her, gender for things, in the end, will have the same meaning. Will it be a she-moon? a he-sun? Both or neither? I can't wait for her to be old enough to actually answer this question.

Why the Accent Is so Important

notafish — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 16:14:00 +0200

Où la pub p)our une application iPhone sur le site spotify fait du multitâche une histoire un peu sale, faute d'accent.

You may know, or may not know, that we just had a son. He's now almost 7 weeks old and we took him to Wikimania in Poland. For that purpose, we had a passport made. You may remember, or may not remember, that passport making in the family is quite an adventure.

Well, our son got his double hyphen alright, but they forgot his accent. Well, they forgot mine, really, since the accent is on my name. Not a tragedy, especially since the German passport has the last name written in capital letters, so people tend to forget accents on those anyway (not the WIkipedians, I know). Still, I would have liked him to have an accent, but we needed to go to Poland, so I decided to keep the passport like this.

But sometimes, forgetting the accent can lead to interesting interpretations. Proof, the banner on the spotify website, for an iPhone app. The banner reads "Multitache sur votre iPhone". It should read "Multitâche sur votre iPhone" (see the little accent circonflexe - hat- on the a?). The difference is huge. As it is, it advocates stains on yuor iPhone. Well, maybe that's the intended meaning, but I don't think so.

Multitache=multistain (tache= a stain, a dirty spot)
Multitâche=multitask (tâche= a task)

Moral of the story, if you don't want to end up dirty, you might want to pay attention to the accent.

Faute de grammaire, on mange de la dessert

notafish — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 01:55:00 +0200

It is probably a marketing trick to be using French sounding names in countries where French is not spoken. Especially for food. The "Cuisine flair, I suppose". But what really really bothers me, is when marketing does not check its grammar and ends up using the wrong gender for a word, or making a pathetic spelling and grammar mistake. Two examples in Germany, where the gender of "dessert" has been changed, or where a mousse-like dessert is called Crème Composé when it should be Crème ComposéE.

J'ai toujours eu l'impression, à tort ou à raison, que le français jouissait d'une place particulière en Allemagne. Pas seulement en Allemagne d'ailleurs, un peu partout dans le monde. Du coup, il est utilisé dans un peu tous les domaines. Et plus particulièrement dans celui de la cuisine et de la nourriture. J'imagine que la cuisine française donne une image plutôt positive d'elle même et que donc par extension, utiliser le français quand on parle de nourriture permet de donner une image positive d'un produit.

Depuis quelques mois, la télévision allemande fait de la pub pour un dessert, dont le nom est "La Dessert". Et je dois avouer que cette grossière erreur de grammaire me hérisse le poil. Bien sûr, on peut imaginer que l'erreur n'en est pas une, mais plutôt un néologisme bidon destiné à permettre le dépôt de la marque. Je me dis que si ce "néologisme" avait été pensé par une marque française, je trouverais peut-être cela très spirituel. Mais du fait que ce produit soit exclusivement allemand, je ne peux m'empêcher de penser que les marketeux ont tout simplement mal fait leur boulot et qu'en voulant faire "français", ils ont sorti ce nom de leur chapeau sans penser plus avant.

Voilà pourtant que la semaine dernière, en faisant mes courses, je trouve dans les rayons de mon supermarché un nouveau produit (marque du distributeur, en l'occurrence REWE, le Leclerc du coin, genre) qui me fait à nouveau bondir. La crème composé (sic), si elle est fort bonne, me fait mal à l'oeil et à la grammaire. Il lui manque un "e" salutaire, que ma bonne âme de française qui corrigeait à l'école les dictées de ses copains a du mal à digérer (la crème elle, était bonne). Cela s'écrit "Crème composéE", bande de mauvais !

Je suppose qu'il y a des milliers d'exemples de grammaire hachée et torturée pour les besoins du marketing, mais ceux-là sont dans mon quotidien et ils m'énervent.

Animals Too Speak Foreign Languages

notafish — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 11:17:00 +0200

Les onomatopées utilisées pour les cris d'animaux sont très différentes d'une langue à l'autre. Entre le "cocorico" français, le "cocka doodle doo" anglais et le kikiriki français, je me demande comment notre fille va apprendre à faire parler les animaux.

Seriously. They do. There is something fantastic about bringing up a child in two languages, it is that you discover things about your own languages that you never really thought about.

When a child learns to speak, one of the first thing you do, is teach them the noises that animals make. I guess all parents have gone through this ordeal of making themselves ridiculous while imitating a dog, a cow or God knows what animal, instead of plainly saying "this is a dog", you'll go "this is a dog, wow wow".

Well, here comes the problem. As stated in this blogpost, German animals make different noises than English speaking ones. And to top it all, French ones say things differently as well. So how does a child make the difference? I mean, which are the true animal languages? Take the rooster for example. It goes Cocka doodle doo in English, Kikiriki in German, and Cocorico in French. Mind you, seeing that the rooster is one of the French national symbols (granted, due to a funny etymology history), I'm tempted to say that we (the French) know better what it really says^[1] Same for the frog (we are the ones eating frog legs, after all), which goes ribbit in English, kwock in German and coââ - coââ in French. Frankly, the English speaking frogs are strange, and I am pretty sure they can't understand the French or German ones, which seem to speak neighbour languages.

All in all, I find it interesting that such things as onomatopea are so different from one language to another. You'd think that with a few quirks, due to existing sounds in one or the other languages, animal talk would be transcribed in approaching ways. After all, it is just a matter of listening and reproducing. But no, that's not the way it works. I'm wondering how our daughter will handle those differences. Maybe her rooster will say something like Cocoriki?

Notes

[1] Image to prove my point: Coq gaulois from the statue of the Girondins, Place des Quinconces in Bordeaux © Jean-Marie DAVID Dinkley, CC-BY-SA 3.0.

Vorauseilender Gehorsam

notafish — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 14:36:00 +0200

While reading one of the blogs I follow from afar on the "intercultural" scene, I stumbled upon the concet of "vorauseilender Gehorsam" (obedience before the order), an interesting concept which the commenter on the blog thought could be an explanation for the rise in English words within other languages. The idea being that people obey soe "unknown boss" that expects them to strew their conversations with English words to be fashionable, because it is the thing to do.

Ne crisez pas, ce billet est en français, seul le titre est en allemand. Je me baladais sur l'un des blogs "interculturels" que je lis de temps en temps (je suis une piètre lectrice de blogs, mais c'est une autre histoire) et suis tombée sur ce billet qui fait écho à mes billets précédents sur la difficulté (ou le bonheur) de parler plusieurs langues.

Le phénomène de Vorausleidender Gehorsam (obéissance avant l'ordre), tel qu'expliqué par Matthias sur le billet de Caroline est un concept que je ne connaissais pas et que je trouve particulièrement intéressant. Je ne suis pas certaine qu'il s'applique à l'exemple donné par Caroline, qui me semble plutôt relever du "which language says it best". En l'occurrence, le contexte (conversation avec un américain) appelle le mot le plus proche du sens que l'on veut dire, facilité par le fait que l'on sait que la personne à qui l'on parle comprendra ce mot de toutes façons. Il suffit d'écouter les conversations de personnes à la langue maternelle commune mais vivant dans un pays étranger pour voir se profiler nombre des ces "localisations" sauvages. Combien de fois ai-je parlé du Finanzamt à un français d'Allemagne, parce que le Trésor Public est un concept franco-français...

En revanche, cette idée de "vorauseilender Gehorsam" me paraît intéressante pour expliquer la "montée" des mots anglais dans les autres langues. On peut imaginer que le "chef" désincarné dans le contexte actuel est le phénomène de mode. Il est de bon ton de truffer son vocabulaire de mots anglais, pour montrer qu'on est "in" (à la page !), même si on les utilise parfois à tort et à travers. Les allemands sont très forts pour ça, entre le Handy (cell phone) et le Beamer (projector) qui s'ils ont des consonnances anglophones, ne sont pas de vrais mots de la langue anglaise. Je me suis surprise parlant d'un beamer à des anglophones qui me regardaient dun air étrange. Bref, que ce soit la mode, le net ou tout autre "chef" qui nous pousse à mélanger les langues et les genres, je trouve ce concept développé par Matthias très intéressant.

Which Language Says it Best?

notafish — Sat, 30 May 2009 16:14:00 +0200

Quand on apprend une langue étrangère dans le pays où elle est parlée, on apprend souvent des mots dans leur contexte étranger. Du coup, il devient extrêmement difficile de les traduire dans sa langue maternelle. C'est aussi le cas dans l'autre sens, de sa langue maternelle vers la langue étrangère. Certains mots n'ont simplement pas de traduction qui revête toutes les nuances d'un mot dans une autre langue. Quelques exemples.

A few days ago, I wrote about the extended meaning of words, and how some words in a language we learn take on a wider meaning because we have an approaching word in our own language. This made me think about the words that one learns in a foreign language which just don't have a satisfying translation.

Speaking another language is a difficult endeavour, but it is also a very rewarding one. However, while learning the language in the country it is spoken is probably the best way to learn it, rather than at school, it brings on whole new set of challenges in speaking your mother tongue.

There is a whole context to learning a new word, which we probably forget because we were too young when we learned words, or too engrossed in learning to remember the circumstances in which we learned them. My theory goes though, that you don't know a word fully until you have tried to translate it.

How many times have I come across words that just "say it best" in another language than the one I am speaking at the time?

Let me try a few examples.

Wilderness. Wilderness is a word I learned at the foot of the rockies, in the middle of nowhere. In the wilderness. But when I came back to France and had to translate it, I just couldn't. There is so much to the word that it takes at least a full French sentence to even come close to it. The wild, the fauna, the flora, the outdoors, what do I know. It's a concept that simply does not really exist in French. I noticed that for example, the translation of Jack London's White Fang in French used the Wild in English, because there is simply no French word that carries the same meaning.

Mensch. Mensch is a German word which means something like human being. But not really. Or rather, more than that. It's a human being which carries the whole of Humanity (notice the capital H) with it. A concept that neither French nor English really have.

N'importe quoi. N'importe quoi means "anything", but it also means "silly things" or "silly words". N'importe quoi is used as an interjection in French, which would mean something like 'nonsense". But it's also used in conjunction with the verb 'make'. you can "make n'importe quoi" but you can't make nonsense. Again, untranslatable.

I find it absolutely fantastic to be able to have an array of vocabulary that goes beyond one's mother tongue. It is also highly frustrating, to know of words, and the concept behind them, and not be able to translate them accurately in the language you are speaking at a moment M. It's a bit like looking at the world with a magnifying glass and seeing things which you can't show other people because you can't give them that magnifying glass.

There are probably thousands of other examples, which I simply can't think of right now, but I'll try to keep a list. I'd be interested to hear what words you have stumbled upon and which you have not been able to translate in one or the other language you speak.

The Extended Meanings of Words

notafish — Thu, 21 May 2009 23:43:00 +0200

Les mots sont parfois plus parlants dans une langue que dans une autre et disent plus que leur simple définition. Mais ceci est souvent dû au fait que l'on ne peut apprendre une langue sans teinter certains mots avec ceux que l'on connaît déjà. Certains mots prennent ainsi dans notre esprit un sens élargi par rapport à leur défnition de base. Le mot embarazada en espagnol évoque l'embarras pour un français, alors qu'il veut dire "être enceinte", probablement sans aucune arrière pensée. De même le mot groß en allemand, qui veut dire grand mais que j'utilise rarement parce que j'ai toujours l'impression de qualifier quelqu'un de gros alors qu'il est simplement grand.

I was in Bordeaux a week ago, talking with a friend of mine, who loves lists. She makes lists about different funny things, but one that struck me, and which I might actually start on my own, was her list of words that "fit" in a language, better than in another, or that, on the contrary, just don't fit at all. She speaks Italian, Spanish, English and French (she's a native French speaker) and so we toyed with a few words and argued about them.

She started with a word I didn't know, the word for pollution in Italian. The word is inquinamento. To her, that word was much stronger than the French (or English for that matter) pollution. It has this kind of sticky ring to it, which evokes something crawling under your skin. I looked up the etymology of it, which refers to "stink" (puzzare) and "putrefaction" (putrefazione) in its indo-European roots. I must say that although I do not fully grasp the word, I can relate to the feeling by hearing it.

We then went on to the Spanish for pregnant, which is embarazada. I have to say that this is one of the most common faux-amis (false friends) for French speakers (I guess it works in English too). You find yourself embarrassed and end up ... pregnant, by using the wrong words. My friend thought the use of the word could be seen as a good illustration of women's condition in society, ie. they feel embarrassed (not at ease) because they're pregnant. Looking up the etymology brings interesting things. The Spanish word as well as the French word ''embarrasser'' seem to be derived from the same root, but have evolved differently. Embarazo in Spanish is really pregnancy, that's all. The interesting thing here is that one language actually taints the other, I suppose that Spanish speakers don't ever think of embarrassment when they use the word embarazada.

I found this to be the most interesting example. Because we speak another language, which may or may not share roots with the language we learn, some words simply take on much more (or many more) meaning(s) than they really have. Looking back, I realise it is simply impossible not to taint some of the words with those you already know. Which sometimes means that you have trouble using a perfectly harmless word because it just rings different bells in your own language. One good example in my everyday life is the word groß (pronounced gross and which means tall). In French, gros means fat. So it's always really strange for me to tell someone they are tall, because I always have second thoughts about the fact that I might just have called them fat. I guess that works in English too... Calling someone gross is not exactly very nice!

Peau neuve

notafish — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 23:08:00 +0200

This post exists also in English :)

Bon, voilà enfin un billet en français, qui est le jumeau, ou presque, du précédent en anglais. Aujourd'hui est à marquer d'une pierre blanche, puisque c'est le jour où d'une part, ce blog fait peau neuve, grâce à ma copine Kozlika qui a développé le beau thème qui habille maintenant ce blog.

L'un des changements majeurs qu'apporte ce thème est la possibilité qu'il me donne, un peu comme le fait Stephanie sur son blog , de mettre pour chaque billet un résumé en anglais (ou en français, selon la langue d'origine du billet). Du coup, je vais pouvoir écrire en français et en anglais et essayer non pas de traduire (je ne sais pas faire) mais au moins de partager le contenu de mes billets dans les deux langues. Bien que la façon dont nous faisions ça ici ne soit pas encore la meilleure, elle a le mérite d'exister.

Mais le plus important est que je trouve ce thème fabuleux, il est beau et va bien à mon blog. J'espère qu'il vous plaira aussi.

New skin

notafish — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 23:07:00 +0200

Pour une fois, ce billet va être écrit en français aussi :)

This is going to be the only post I am ever going write again in French, because it marks quite a change in this blog. My friend Kozlika worked on a (beautiful) new theme for this blog, which you now can see if you come by.

One of the major improvements of this theme is that it will allow, along the lines of what Stephanie does on her blog, for a French (or English, depending on the post) summary of the post I write. While the way we've done it here is not yet the best way, it actually serves its purpose for now.

I am really happy with this new theme, I find it simply beautiful and fitting. I hope you enjoy it too.

The Bowl Theory

notafish — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 15:32:00 +0200

I'm being lazy today, and I am just translating an article I wrote quite some time ago on my other (dead) blog, which explores the way words are interpreted with a cultural filter.

The full title for this post was The Bowl Theory, or The Dictionary Has its Reasons Which Reason Does Not Know ^[1]

Let us take the French word "bol". If you flip through (even virtually) a bunch of dictionaries, you will find the following definitions:

In French :

BOL, subst. masc.
A. 1. Pièce de vaisselle de forme généralement hémisphérique servant à prendre certaines boissons
A piece of china generaly of a hemispheric shape, used to take in some beverages.

In English :

bowl –noun
1.a rather deep, round dish or basin, used chiefly for holding liquids, food, etc.

In German, it's already a bit more complicated. Leo translates bol by Schale which my dictionary ^[2] describes in the following terms:

Schale -n
1 - eine relativ flache Schüssel
''a relatively flat "Schüssel"^[3]
2 - Tasse
A cup

Which brings us back to the definition of Schüssel, still in that Langenscheidts dictionary

Schüssel -n
1 - ein tiefes, rundes Gefäß, das oben offen ist und in dem man Speisen auf dem Tisch stellt.
A deep and round recipient, often open at the top, which is used to serve food on the table (see image provided).

So. If you stop at the base definition of the word bol, you end up on roughly the same thing. A round and hollow utensil. So far, so good. However, it becomes complicated when you start using the word in every day life.

Imagine the simple sentence :

Tous les matins, je prends un bol de chocolat. (Every morning, I take a bowl of chocolate).

For a French person, no problem, it's a rather logical use of the word bol. It is even, one could say, the primary use of the word bol. In France, you drink a bow of coffee, or a bowl of tea, preferably with a croissant in the morning. Occasionally you have a bowl of soup, that works too.

Except that when you tell an English speaker I'm drinking a bowl of chocolate., they're bound to look at you funny. Because bowl in English speaking countries is more often used for soup than it os for coffee. For coffee at breakfast, you have cups or mugs, not bowls.

Let me not even speak about the Germans, which only know the Tasse (cup) for chocolate and have only heard about Schale or Schüssel in relation with fruits, icecream or even salad. Not to mention that they probably have never seen a bol as I know it.

All of this to illustrate how much culture influences language and the difficulty that you may face trying to translate a word without explaining the context. Even words that we might use on an every day basis carry way much more history and cultural influences than you'd think. I can't imagine what the British would do if I asked them for a bowl of tea, or the Germans if I asked for a bowl of coffee...

I'd be interested though, what the meaning of bol is in other languages. Are there more meanings of the word out there?

Notes

[1] This is actually a pun on a French phrase: "Le coeur a sa raison que la raison ne connaît pas" which I might explain one day or another.

[2] Langenscheidts Großwörterbuch - Deutsch als Fremdschprache (German as a foreign language)

[3] Dictionaries make a point of referring to an equivalent object to explain a word. If you don't know the definition of said object, you're dead. When of course said object does not refer in turn to the word you were looking for in the first place...

Truly multilingual

notafish — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 23:35:00 +0200

Our neighbours are what one would call a really truly multilingual family. The mother is Swedish, the father is Italian. Together they speak English. The kids speak Swedish with their mother, Italian with their father. They lived the first years of their life in Switzerland, which means the children speak "Swiss German" (believe me, it's as far from German as Chinese from English) , They now live in Germany, so everyone is learning "High German" (Hochdeutsch, the "clean" German), and the kids are in an international school where English is the primary language, practicing the English they've picked up from their parents. In short, you have 3 kids aged 8, 6 and 3 who understand and speak 4 languages, 4 languages that their parents don't even all master.

Apart from the amazing-ness of it, I found it to be truly encouraging, to see that kids that young could simply pick up all those languages and feel at ease in any of them. We had coffee one afternoon and the kids indifferently spoke German or English with us, while conversing with their parents in Italian and Swedish.

I can't wait to ask my daughter questions about what it is like to learn more than one language at once. Although I now speak and understand four foreign languages myself, albeit at different levels, I learned them once my French was already there, meaning that gender, concepts and thought structure were already shaped in my mother tongue. I am especially interested in trying to understand what it feels like having different words for a same "thing" especially when those words convey different impressions or feelings, such as different genders for example. It'll be interesting, for sure.

Shifting Standards and the Center of The World

notafish — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 10:56:00 +0100

I have been working on an international survey in the past few days, which is being answered by 11 teams of 11 different countries. And one thing really struck me in the way answers were given to certain questions.

It was not so much the actual content of the answer which I found striking, but rather the way this answer was given, which made me think about what standards were "universal". I live in a country that is not the country I was born in or, more important, raised in, which means there are parts of the popular culture that I don't know about. This goes from political figures to humorists or famous TV presenters. There are also things that I have learned to recognize since I have been here, such as which newspapers are the most influent. I take the example of the newspaper because it is the one example that struck me in the answers given.

There was one question about the press, and how the team felt they were doing with it. Whether they had a good relationship with the press in thir country and also whether they had been working with them, through partnerships and such. One group answered and gave the name of a magazine with which they were talking on a regular basis and developping partnerships with. And they were kind enough to add, after the name of the magazine (something like "Zabadaba" to me), that it was the equivalent of Time or Newsweek in the US. Which of course was very helpful, because frankly, Zabadaba was completely unknown to me.

It then struck me that I would probably have not done that, had I had to fill the survey, and would have casually strewn my answers with Le Monde (the French newspaper), or "Frankfurter Allgemeiner Zeitung" (the German daily) without having thought further. After all, those are known enough to the people around me for them to know what I am talking about, aren't they?

I must say that La Repubblica, or der Spiegel, or even the Daily Mirror, or Newsweek are names of news organs I can associate with their country of origin very easily and I can even say whether they are weekly Magazine or daily newspapers. But that's me. I've read those, lived or visited the country where they are known. However, I am not sure how many people would actually have an idea of what exactly those papers represent in their countries if I didn't have the idea to actually compare them to wider known titles.

This struck me as an interesting way to look at the world, and see where the standards are. The interesting move here, was that the standard taken was that of the US, as if it was the one that would be mostly understood. More interesting is that if I know what Time and Newsweek are, I have no idea what their impact in the US are. ie. I know them through their international editions, and for all I know, those might be completely marginal in the US. But the comparison did help me get a sense of what Zabadaba might be. It also convinced me that there are people who are very aware that what is a well known entity in their country might be completely unknown elsewhere, and don't feel that they're living at the center of the world.