Hehm... I'm just noticing my last posting was about complaining... Well, this one is about a lament. Haven't felt like blogging in the last few days, but was organizing my music this morning and came across this song by Boris Vian: perfect to fill in some space and deaden that sense of guilt...
Autrefois pour faire sa cour
On parlait d'amour;
Pour mieux prouver son ardeur
On offrait son coeur.
Maintenant c'est plus pareil.
Ça change, ça change...
Pour séduire le cher ange
On lui glisse à l'oreille:
Ah Gudule, viens m'embrasser, et je te donnerai...
Un frigidaire,
Un joli scooter,
Un atomixer
Et du Dunlopillo.
Une cuisinière
Avec un four en verre,
Des tas de couverts
Et des pelles à gâteau!
Une tourniquette
Pour faire la vinaigrette,
Un bel aérateur
Pour bouffer les odeurs,
Des draps qui chauffent,
Un pistolet à gaufres,
Un avion pour deux...
Et nous serons heureux!
Autrefois s'il arrivait
Que l'on se querelle,
L'air lugubre, on s'en allait,
En laissant la vaisselle.
Maintenant, que voulez-vous,
La vie est si chère...
On dit: "rentre chez ta mère"
Et on se garde tout.
Ah Gudule, excuse-toi, ou je reprends tout ça...
Mon frigidaire,
Mon armoire à cuillers,
Mon évier en fer,
Et mon poêle à mazout.
Mon cire-godasses,
mon repasse-limaces,
Mon tabouret-à-glace
Et mon chasse-filous!
La tourniquette
À faire la vinaigrette,
Le ratatineur dur
Et le coupe friture.
Et si la belle
Se montre encore rebelle
On la ficelle dehors,
Pour confier son sort
Au frigidaire,
À l'efface-poussière,
A la cuisinière,
Au lit qu'est toujours fait,
Au chauffe-savates,
Au canon à patates,
A l'éventre-tomates,
À l'écorche-poulet!
Mais très, très vite
On reçoit la visite
D'une tendre petite
Qui vous offre son coeur...
Alors on cède
Car il faut qu'on s'entraide
Et l'on vit comme ça
Jusqu'à la prochaine fois!
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
On Children
One day when i was a kid of 8 or 9 my mom came back from the grocer's shop and recited this poem to me and my brothers. She had written it on the backside of her shopping list, having copied it off a poster on one of the shop's walls while she was waiting for her turn. You know, one of those tacky posters with a sunset on the background and some text written in curly letters. It happened to be a fragment of Khalil Gibran's "The Profet":
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
These lines stayed with me for a long time, but it was only a couple of years ago, when a student lent me Gibran's book, that i discovered where they came from. The makers of the poster at the grocer's shop of my childhood had not bothered to mention the author, as i saw myself when it was my turn to go shopping. Yet, their spanish translation was faithful enough that when i came across the fragment in english, over 20 years later, i recognized it.
Then again today, while surfing on the net, i found Sweet Honey on the Rock's musical version of the text, and it brought the memory up again.
My mom did not have the opportunity to go to school beyond the 6th grade. She had to work from a very young age, and her parents couldn't afford, or didn't think it important enough, to educate her beyond elementary school. All her life she's had to fight against the disadvantages this meant for her. Her lack of a formal education could have made her deny it to us, perhaps, or become so obsessed with it that she pushed us towards the "good and profitable" fields of study, ways of life, worldviews...
Yet she and my dad always made it clear that we could choose what we wanted, even when it was obvious they didn't understand our choices. When i told them i was going to study literature they must have been scared shitless: that really is a starvation sentence in a small town in Argentina. When i came out to them (rather, when they figured out i was gay), the notion must have gone against everything they were brought up to believe, yet they dealt and are dealing with it. Two of their three children have emigrated, and the third will probably do so next year. If we miss them, i can't imagine how they must miss us.
Of course, parents have their own ideas about life and what's right, and you live by those when you're little... When you start to get older, some of their values and points of view have stuck to you, and even if you see things differently, there's a time when you're still sensitive to their preferences... Some of those you spend years trying to shed off, only to discover they've crept back on you when you least expect it.
I think about my mom going into that grocer's shop and coming across that poem on the wall. It must have truly spoken to her beliefs, for her to come back so excited and read the poem to us so enthusiastically.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
These lines stayed with me for a long time, but it was only a couple of years ago, when a student lent me Gibran's book, that i discovered where they came from. The makers of the poster at the grocer's shop of my childhood had not bothered to mention the author, as i saw myself when it was my turn to go shopping. Yet, their spanish translation was faithful enough that when i came across the fragment in english, over 20 years later, i recognized it.
Then again today, while surfing on the net, i found Sweet Honey on the Rock's musical version of the text, and it brought the memory up again.
My mom did not have the opportunity to go to school beyond the 6th grade. She had to work from a very young age, and her parents couldn't afford, or didn't think it important enough, to educate her beyond elementary school. All her life she's had to fight against the disadvantages this meant for her. Her lack of a formal education could have made her deny it to us, perhaps, or become so obsessed with it that she pushed us towards the "good and profitable" fields of study, ways of life, worldviews...
Yet she and my dad always made it clear that we could choose what we wanted, even when it was obvious they didn't understand our choices. When i told them i was going to study literature they must have been scared shitless: that really is a starvation sentence in a small town in Argentina. When i came out to them (rather, when they figured out i was gay), the notion must have gone against everything they were brought up to believe, yet they dealt and are dealing with it. Two of their three children have emigrated, and the third will probably do so next year. If we miss them, i can't imagine how they must miss us.
Of course, parents have their own ideas about life and what's right, and you live by those when you're little... When you start to get older, some of their values and points of view have stuck to you, and even if you see things differently, there's a time when you're still sensitive to their preferences... Some of those you spend years trying to shed off, only to discover they've crept back on you when you least expect it.
I think about my mom going into that grocer's shop and coming across that poem on the wall. It must have truly spoken to her beliefs, for her to come back so excited and read the poem to us so enthusiastically.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Complaint
I saw this poster on a bus, and took a picture.
It's basically an add from the consumers' council here in Norway. The card says:
"To Vinedal Catering:
RE our wedding,
we just wanted to say that
THE FOOD SUCKED!
................Camilla & Anders"
And then the caption underneath goes:
"DISSATISFIED?
The Consumers' Council will help you."
Heheheh. Made me smile.
It's basically an add from the consumers' council here in Norway. The card says:
"To Vinedal Catering:
RE our wedding,
we just wanted to say that
THE FOOD SUCKED!
................Camilla & Anders"
And then the caption underneath goes:
"DISSATISFIED?
The Consumers' Council will help you."
Heheheh. Made me smile.
Not fair!
US policies cost Latin America years under dictatorships, economic & social crises... and all Argentina manages to get back is Barbara Bush's purse and cell phone??? Which, rather than being shared, the pickpocket will surely keep -- that is how politics always works in Argentina, anyway.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Mary
Ok, back to one of my pet topics. Seriously, i don't do it on purpose, but just now i found myself thinking about religion... and the virgin Mary.
Why was it so important that Jesus' mother was a virgin? Would either of them have lost any sacredness if she hadn't been? I mean, that a virgin conceived god's son is not so spectacular, given that he is almighty and all... Wouldn't it be even more miraculous if Mary hadn't been a virgin, people had known it, and still they had accepted Jesus as the son of god?
Also, i'm wondering, why couldn't god have used Joseph's sperm to fertilize Mary? If he didn't, did he cause her egg to have a full set of 46 chromosomes, rather than the normal 23? Or was her egg just a regular one, and god just made 23 additional chromosomes to simply appear inside it? What were the genes in god's Y chromosome, for instance? I mean, i know Jesus is the spirit made flesh, but the instructions to make flesh are contained in DNA, which is matter... Did god concoct his own kind of DNA just on the spot, at the moment of Jesus' conception, or did he copy it from someone else, from people already living or who had lived in the past? If the first, it would really be interesting to see how god's DNA looks like; if the second, who did he pick as model/s?
In either case, what kind of genetic traits did he pick over what others? Knowing how fractious people are, isn't it a bit careless to make the redeemer of all humankind look like the members of one group in particular? It'd have simplified things if he'd included a disclaimer, something like "don't fight guys; it was a random process; i did it with my eyes closed -- he just happened to come out male and caucasian".
Why was it so important that Jesus' mother was a virgin? Would either of them have lost any sacredness if she hadn't been? I mean, that a virgin conceived god's son is not so spectacular, given that he is almighty and all... Wouldn't it be even more miraculous if Mary hadn't been a virgin, people had known it, and still they had accepted Jesus as the son of god?
Also, i'm wondering, why couldn't god have used Joseph's sperm to fertilize Mary? If he didn't, did he cause her egg to have a full set of 46 chromosomes, rather than the normal 23? Or was her egg just a regular one, and god just made 23 additional chromosomes to simply appear inside it? What were the genes in god's Y chromosome, for instance? I mean, i know Jesus is the spirit made flesh, but the instructions to make flesh are contained in DNA, which is matter... Did god concoct his own kind of DNA just on the spot, at the moment of Jesus' conception, or did he copy it from someone else, from people already living or who had lived in the past? If the first, it would really be interesting to see how god's DNA looks like; if the second, who did he pick as model/s?
In either case, what kind of genetic traits did he pick over what others? Knowing how fractious people are, isn't it a bit careless to make the redeemer of all humankind look like the members of one group in particular? It'd have simplified things if he'd included a disclaimer, something like "don't fight guys; it was a random process; i did it with my eyes closed -- he just happened to come out male and caucasian".
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Marcelo Tinelli & the Mapuche
Not the name of a rock group, i'm afraid.
Marcello Tinelli: a famous Argentinean TV presenter and comedian.
The Mapuche: the only indigenous group that, although seriously decimated and marginalized, managed to preserve its culture and language in Patagonia.
Marcello Tinelli: has bought thousands of acres in the Patagonic province of Chubut.
The Mapuche: 30 families live in this land, part of a community of around 700 individuals who, although there for centuries, still have no legal possession.
Marcello Tinelli: wants to build a mega tourist center (it would have a Mapuche name).
The Mapuche: have to go.
The argentinean government: does nothing, of course.
The argentinean media: not a peep.
Money: talks!
More info:
Universidad de Quilmes: http://extramuros.unq.edu.ar/03/art_moira_millan_3.htm
Marcello Tinelli: a famous Argentinean TV presenter and comedian.
The Mapuche: the only indigenous group that, although seriously decimated and marginalized, managed to preserve its culture and language in Patagonia.
Marcello Tinelli: has bought thousands of acres in the Patagonic province of Chubut.
The Mapuche: 30 families live in this land, part of a community of around 700 individuals who, although there for centuries, still have no legal possession.
Marcello Tinelli: wants to build a mega tourist center (it would have a Mapuche name).
The Mapuche: have to go.
The argentinean government: does nothing, of course.
The argentinean media: not a peep.
Money: talks!
More info:
Universidad de Quilmes: http://extramuros.unq.edu.ar/03/art_moira_millan_3.htm
Friday, November 17, 2006
Recruiting campaign
Just checked my yahoo & msn accounts, and there's these new US army adds everywhere. A new recruiting campaign:
"Climbing a mountain is strong.
Landing a helicopter on a mountain is Army Strong!
There's strong... And there's Army Strong!"
Just google "Army Strong" to read more about this, if you're interested. I just wonder... Do they mean strong as in "brute force"? Have they thought of trying with other adjectives, too?
"Jumping off a bridge is dumb.
Jumping off a bridge because somebody tells you to is Army Dumb!
There's dumb... And there's Army Dumb!" (Unless you're into bungee jumping, of course).
Or what about this other one?
"Killing is wrong.
Collateral damage is Army Wrong!
There's wrong... And there's Army Wrong!"
But no, only strength in mentioned. Again, no creativity, no flair... The curse of the military!
"Climbing a mountain is strong.
Landing a helicopter on a mountain is Army Strong!
There's strong... And there's Army Strong!"
Just google "Army Strong" to read more about this, if you're interested. I just wonder... Do they mean strong as in "brute force"? Have they thought of trying with other adjectives, too?
"Jumping off a bridge is dumb.
Jumping off a bridge because somebody tells you to is Army Dumb!
There's dumb... And there's Army Dumb!" (Unless you're into bungee jumping, of course).
Or what about this other one?
"Killing is wrong.
Collateral damage is Army Wrong!
There's wrong... And there's Army Wrong!"
But no, only strength in mentioned. Again, no creativity, no flair... The curse of the military!
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Dream
Oh, i forgot to tell you about a dream i had yesterday night. I was running in a snowy forest, like the ones i'd seen during the day. I had white socks on, but the rest of my legs (at least) were bare. My feet only sank a couple of centimeters in the snow. Every few steps i'd jump and rise above the treetops, and then i'd come down again, without changing speed, just following an arch. The sky was dark, black, but somehow i could see the forest below me, and around me when i ran among the trees. It felt incredibly good, but the best part was... Well, i didn't really tell myself i was dreaming, but i had a thought like "Now i know how to do this, i'll be able to do it later, too!". I was damn sure i'd discovered something, like it was absolutely clear why i could do it now and not before. It was such a good feeling that when i woke up... Of course, i know i can't jump like that, but the good feeling stayed.
Trusty Thursday
Am writing from my room, back in Tromsø. Got up this morning at about 8:00 and decided to just head back. I could have continued north, but long distance buses run basically once a day (or at least, that's the case with the routes i considered), so that coming back would have taken almost as long as getting there, and moreover along the same track... Besides, still have over 4 weeks here. Better take another trip later, perhaps south, by way of Kiruna, as Anni suggested (will get in touch with you!).
Apart from that, not much to tell, really. Counted the time from the first glimmer of daylight in the sky to the last, and it's around 7 hours. Not that extreme. In fact, i'm actually afraid that i'll never get to experience days on end of absolute darkness. Bummer. I really wanted to see how that felt; instead, i feel a bit swindled. Why do they call it mørketida if it never gets totally dark, huh?
Anyway, on the way here i noticed the sun never got above the horizon, but around noon the clouds in the south were really orange and sparkly, and the tops of some mountains were illuminated, too, all in a pinkish color. It's a conceptual shock to realize that sunlight here is actually coming from below. You see it in the way the higher clouds are lighted, but lower ones are black, opaque.
Apart from that, not much to tell, really. Counted the time from the first glimmer of daylight in the sky to the last, and it's around 7 hours. Not that extreme. In fact, i'm actually afraid that i'll never get to experience days on end of absolute darkness. Bummer. I really wanted to see how that felt; instead, i feel a bit swindled. Why do they call it mørketida if it never gets totally dark, huh?
Anyway, on the way here i noticed the sun never got above the horizon, but around noon the clouds in the south were really orange and sparkly, and the tops of some mountains were illuminated, too, all in a pinkish color. It's a conceptual shock to realize that sunlight here is actually coming from below. You see it in the way the higher clouds are lighted, but lower ones are black, opaque.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Weird wednesday
Am writing on my laptop, will post on blog later. It's 8:52 on wednesday, and travelling up here is turning out to be more expensive and complicated than i thought. Not only are bus tickets quite pricey, but money seems to simply whoosh out through the neat double hole spelled by 'room' in 'room and board'. For instance, both in Nordreisa and here in Alta i couldn't find any free space at the couple of pensions and one youth hostel i walked to after getting off the bus. Apparently, there's quite a lot of tourism here at this time of year, and i should have made reservations... In particular, since wind chill was about -15 when i arrived yesterday night, i didn't get to check all the places i'd written down, and... Well, let's say that the only reason i can't really say i've been robbed is that the clerk at the reception wasn't actually holding a gun... Wouldn't have been surprised if she poked my eye out with her pen, though.
Tourist information office opens in half an hour; will ask them about bus schedules in Finnmark. According to what i found on the net, only way to get to Finland from here is through Karasjok, which i wouldn't mind visiting, except there is only one bus per day from Alta, and by the time it gets there, the daily connection to Finland has already left... Also, the only housing available in Karasjok seems to be this really fancy "Rica" hotel, which would again be heavy on the wallet... but which is also completely booked out for tonight, according to the website...
Dang it! I'd really like to visit Finland. Maybe i could even get to Oulu and surprise Anni... Let's see what they say at tourist info.
- - - - 0 - - - -
It's now 11:50 and am at Alta library. At tourist info they confirmed i do indeed have to overnight in Karasjok if i want to get to Finland. Bus leaves Alta at 14:20, arrives in Karasjok at 18:55, and connection to Rovaniemi is tomorrow at 9:25 (finnish bus company goes by musical name of "Eskelisen Lapin Linjat" and their time table is labeled "aikataulu" which i don't really know the meaning of. "Time table", perhaps? Anyway, i love this abundance of vowels! It's a good change after consonant-heavy english & norwegian).
Guy at tourist info was friendly – and cute as hell! Big fat wedding ring on his finger, though. Funny how rings can be read as "KEEP OUT" signs... Perhaps that's the way they're supposed to function. Digression aside, he gave me this magazine with data about accommodation throughout Lapland, and it turns out there are places to stay in Karasjok other than the Rica Pocket Rippers from Hell Hotel. I rang "Annes Overnatting Motell og Hytter", and a single room at their place costs 300 kroner per night, which is not that bad. They're not near the bus station, but the man who answered said i should call him back when i'm about to arrive, and he'll go pick me up. Very nice of him, isn't it? Also, the whole conversation was in norwegian, and managed to say and understand everything i needed to! Am still in shock.
After that, i walked around the city for a little while. The temperature on the big digital panel outside one of the shopping centers reads -5, but again, it's quite windy today. There are very few people about, but i don't know if it's because of the weather, or simply because few people live here.
Couple of tableaux that made an impression: construction workers at a building site, going about their business in the sub zero air. Imagine having to work outside for months on end at such temperatures! I've seen this in Tromsø, too: road works that don't stop even when it's very cold, or snowing a lot. And yes, i know that noticing this kind of stuff says a lot more about where i come from than about life here. "There is no bad weather, only bad clothing", the norwegian saying goes, and although i've been hearing that for years, it's only been here in the north that it's finally sank in: people truly live by that rule!
Also, on my way to the library, i noticed an ambulance very badly parked right in front of a supermarket doorway, blocking it. I wondered if there'd been some kind of emergency inside. Then, from the library window, i saw the supermarket doors slide open, and out came the two paramedics, one after the other, dressed in red and fluo-green overalls with "Helse Finnmark" stamped in big white letters on their backs. They seemed to be in a hurry, each carrying a white styrofoam container... that obviously held their lunch. Before getting in, one of them spat on the icy sidewalk. This last gesture in particular seemed very undoctorish to me, but after all, why shouldn't a doctor spit? As long as he doesn't do it on his patients...
The library is very well stocked, and has a cozy atmosphere. I'm sitting at a table by a window from which i can see a forest of naked trees, rocking in the wind, and snowy mountains in the distance. I imagine some would call this landscape bleak. For me it's magical, though. Rough, but beautiful. And best of all, the feeling of being contained in this little pocket of warmth. It seems incredible, almost impossible, that nature should allow it.
- - - - 0 - - - -
Ehm..... How dumb can a person be? More to the point: how dumb can I be? It's 15:06 and i'm indeed NOT on my way to Karasjok, nor will i continue to Finland tomorrow. Half an hour before the bus was to depart i decided to take a look at the map on the magazine i got from Cute Guy at tourist info, just to check the geography i would be moving through. As i was munching on my brødskive med øst and sipping from a warm cup of gløgg, i noticed on the map an unobtrusive black dot labeled 'Grensen', which of course, means 'Border'. "Good command of vocabulary, Mariano!", i said to myself, while my mind wondered how many passengers would be on the bus tomorrow, and how long the identity check would take...
...And that's when i remembered i don't have neither my passport nor my norwegian identity card with me. DUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Guess this travel-on-a-whim thing only works if you pack at least some brains. Lacking that, one should at least have two bodies, so that one of them can kick the other's ass, which is exactly what i wanted to do to myself for a while there.
But, it passed. Yeah, i'll miss on Rovaniemi and Oulu (sorry, Anni!) but at least the system here is that one buys tickets on the bus, so i didn't lose the $. Plus, i'll be back some other time. Promise.
An additional upside is that i've walked to Bossekop, a little suburb of Alta, and found a nice little lodge to spend the night in, all rough-cut wood panels and overlooking the Alta fjord. They have a sauna, too, so i'll go there before dinner, then for a drink at the pub below. There's also this movie i downloaded while in Tromsø, "Crustacés e Coquillages", which i may watch before going to bed.
Tomorrow... Well, i don't know. Either keep going, or start going back...
Tourist information office opens in half an hour; will ask them about bus schedules in Finnmark. According to what i found on the net, only way to get to Finland from here is through Karasjok, which i wouldn't mind visiting, except there is only one bus per day from Alta, and by the time it gets there, the daily connection to Finland has already left... Also, the only housing available in Karasjok seems to be this really fancy "Rica" hotel, which would again be heavy on the wallet... but which is also completely booked out for tonight, according to the website...
Dang it! I'd really like to visit Finland. Maybe i could even get to Oulu and surprise Anni... Let's see what they say at tourist info.
- - - - 0 - - - -
It's now 11:50 and am at Alta library. At tourist info they confirmed i do indeed have to overnight in Karasjok if i want to get to Finland. Bus leaves Alta at 14:20, arrives in Karasjok at 18:55, and connection to Rovaniemi is tomorrow at 9:25 (finnish bus company goes by musical name of "Eskelisen Lapin Linjat" and their time table is labeled "aikataulu" which i don't really know the meaning of. "Time table", perhaps? Anyway, i love this abundance of vowels! It's a good change after consonant-heavy english & norwegian).
Guy at tourist info was friendly – and cute as hell! Big fat wedding ring on his finger, though. Funny how rings can be read as "KEEP OUT" signs... Perhaps that's the way they're supposed to function. Digression aside, he gave me this magazine with data about accommodation throughout Lapland, and it turns out there are places to stay in Karasjok other than the Rica Pocket Rippers from Hell Hotel. I rang "Annes Overnatting Motell og Hytter", and a single room at their place costs 300 kroner per night, which is not that bad. They're not near the bus station, but the man who answered said i should call him back when i'm about to arrive, and he'll go pick me up. Very nice of him, isn't it? Also, the whole conversation was in norwegian, and managed to say and understand everything i needed to! Am still in shock.
After that, i walked around the city for a little while. The temperature on the big digital panel outside one of the shopping centers reads -5, but again, it's quite windy today. There are very few people about, but i don't know if it's because of the weather, or simply because few people live here.
Couple of tableaux that made an impression: construction workers at a building site, going about their business in the sub zero air. Imagine having to work outside for months on end at such temperatures! I've seen this in Tromsø, too: road works that don't stop even when it's very cold, or snowing a lot. And yes, i know that noticing this kind of stuff says a lot more about where i come from than about life here. "There is no bad weather, only bad clothing", the norwegian saying goes, and although i've been hearing that for years, it's only been here in the north that it's finally sank in: people truly live by that rule!
Also, on my way to the library, i noticed an ambulance very badly parked right in front of a supermarket doorway, blocking it. I wondered if there'd been some kind of emergency inside. Then, from the library window, i saw the supermarket doors slide open, and out came the two paramedics, one after the other, dressed in red and fluo-green overalls with "Helse Finnmark" stamped in big white letters on their backs. They seemed to be in a hurry, each carrying a white styrofoam container... that obviously held their lunch. Before getting in, one of them spat on the icy sidewalk. This last gesture in particular seemed very undoctorish to me, but after all, why shouldn't a doctor spit? As long as he doesn't do it on his patients...
The library is very well stocked, and has a cozy atmosphere. I'm sitting at a table by a window from which i can see a forest of naked trees, rocking in the wind, and snowy mountains in the distance. I imagine some would call this landscape bleak. For me it's magical, though. Rough, but beautiful. And best of all, the feeling of being contained in this little pocket of warmth. It seems incredible, almost impossible, that nature should allow it.
- - - - 0 - - - -
Ehm..... How dumb can a person be? More to the point: how dumb can I be? It's 15:06 and i'm indeed NOT on my way to Karasjok, nor will i continue to Finland tomorrow. Half an hour before the bus was to depart i decided to take a look at the map on the magazine i got from Cute Guy at tourist info, just to check the geography i would be moving through. As i was munching on my brødskive med øst and sipping from a warm cup of gløgg, i noticed on the map an unobtrusive black dot labeled 'Grensen', which of course, means 'Border'. "Good command of vocabulary, Mariano!", i said to myself, while my mind wondered how many passengers would be on the bus tomorrow, and how long the identity check would take...
...And that's when i remembered i don't have neither my passport nor my norwegian identity card with me. DUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Guess this travel-on-a-whim thing only works if you pack at least some brains. Lacking that, one should at least have two bodies, so that one of them can kick the other's ass, which is exactly what i wanted to do to myself for a while there.
But, it passed. Yeah, i'll miss on Rovaniemi and Oulu (sorry, Anni!) but at least the system here is that one buys tickets on the bus, so i didn't lose the $. Plus, i'll be back some other time. Promise.
An additional upside is that i've walked to Bossekop, a little suburb of Alta, and found a nice little lodge to spend the night in, all rough-cut wood panels and overlooking the Alta fjord. They have a sauna, too, so i'll go there before dinner, then for a drink at the pub below. There's also this movie i downloaded while in Tromsø, "Crustacés e Coquillages", which i may watch before going to bed.
Tomorrow... Well, i don't know. Either keep going, or start going back...
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Alta
Just arrived in Alta. Spent most of the day in Nordreisa, walking around, sitting at a cafe and reading. There's very few hours of daylight, and am not really well equiped to go hiking, but went a little way into a forest, following the cross country ski tracks someone had made. Totally silent, as if there really weren't anybody else around. Felt as if the trees were daring me to go among them and try to find my way out again...
Anyway, i should have come better prepared. If i had a very, very thick sleeping bag i'd spend a night out, just looking at the sky. It is very clear tonight, and one of the breaks the driver took on the way here coincided with the most amazing northern light i've yet seen: spread out from horizon to horizon, green, but shimmering with waves yellow, red, and almost blue, shifting shape, sprouting spikes...
Tomorrow i'll spend sometime here, but in the afternoon i'll get on a bus and go somewhere else. Maybe cross to Finland or Russia? I don't know if the inland bus lines operate in winter, but there's this city, called Rovaniemi, that i've wanted to visit since i watched Medem's "Los amantes del círculo polar". I'll have to ask.
Gotta get off, they're charging me by the minute!
Anyway, i should have come better prepared. If i had a very, very thick sleeping bag i'd spend a night out, just looking at the sky. It is very clear tonight, and one of the breaks the driver took on the way here coincided with the most amazing northern light i've yet seen: spread out from horizon to horizon, green, but shimmering with waves yellow, red, and almost blue, shifting shape, sprouting spikes...
Tomorrow i'll spend sometime here, but in the afternoon i'll get on a bus and go somewhere else. Maybe cross to Finland or Russia? I don't know if the inland bus lines operate in winter, but there's this city, called Rovaniemi, that i've wanted to visit since i watched Medem's "Los amantes del círculo polar". I'll have to ask.
Gotta get off, they're charging me by the minute!
Monday, November 13, 2006
On a whim
There's the norwegian course end-of-year gathering in a couple of hours. No more classes, and i've no plans till mid december. So, i've just put some clothes in my backpack and after the gathering will go to the bus station and hop on a bus to... somewhere. Will be back in a few days.
Vi sees!
Vi sees!
El aromo
de Atahualpa Yupanqui
Hay un aromo nacido
en la grieta de una piedra.
Parece que la rompió
pa’ salir de adentro de ella.
Está en un alto pelao,
no tiene ni un yuyo cerca.
Viéndolo solo y florido
tuito el monte lo envidea.
Lo miran a la distancia
árboles y enredaderas
diciéndose con rencor
"pa’ uno sólo cuánta tierra...
En oro le ofrece al sol
pagar la luz que le empresta
y como tiene de más
puñao por el suelo siembra."
Salu, plata y alegría
tuito al aromo le suebra
asegún ven los demás
del lugar en que lo observan.
Pero hay que dir y fijarse
cómo lo estruja la piedra,
fijarse que es un martirio
la vida que le envidean.
En ese rajón el árbol
nació por su mala estrella
y en vez de morirse triste
se hace flores de sus penas.
Como no tiene reparos
tuitos los vientos le pegan,
las heladas lo castigan,
l’agua pasa y no se queda.
Ansina vive el aromo
sin que ninguno lo sepa
con su poquito de orgullo
porque es justo que lo tenga.
Pero con l’alma tan linda
que no le brota una queja,
que no teniendo alegrías
se hace flores de sus penas.
Eso habían de envidiarle
los otros, si lo supieran.
Que no teniendo alegrías
se hace flores de sus penas.
Hay un aromo nacido
en la grieta de una piedra.
Parece que la rompió
pa’ salir de adentro de ella.
Está en un alto pelao,
no tiene ni un yuyo cerca.
Viéndolo solo y florido
tuito el monte lo envidea.
Lo miran a la distancia
árboles y enredaderas
diciéndose con rencor
"pa’ uno sólo cuánta tierra...
En oro le ofrece al sol
pagar la luz que le empresta
y como tiene de más
puñao por el suelo siembra."
Salu, plata y alegría
tuito al aromo le suebra
asegún ven los demás
del lugar en que lo observan.
Pero hay que dir y fijarse
cómo lo estruja la piedra,
fijarse que es un martirio
la vida que le envidean.
En ese rajón el árbol
nació por su mala estrella
y en vez de morirse triste
se hace flores de sus penas.
Como no tiene reparos
tuitos los vientos le pegan,
las heladas lo castigan,
l’agua pasa y no se queda.
Ansina vive el aromo
sin que ninguno lo sepa
con su poquito de orgullo
porque es justo que lo tenga.
Pero con l’alma tan linda
que no le brota una queja,
que no teniendo alegrías
se hace flores de sus penas.
Eso habían de envidiarle
los otros, si lo supieran.
Que no teniendo alegrías
se hace flores de sus penas.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Alfajores de maizena
I'm pooped. Just got back from a party. Didn't stay long, but long enough to get a little tipsy, i suppose. It was the birthday of a friend of Quade's. Kristi or something like that. They'd taken over the laundry room, so there we were, squeezed in among the machines, shoving each other and trying to talk over the music, the whirr of the dryers and the slushing of water in the washers.
Anyway, i've spent most of the day trying to make alfajores de maicena. My mom used to make them for all our birthdays when we were kids, and i thought i'd kill two birds with one stone: make some for the party tonight, and some for this other gathering there is on Monday, to celebrate the end of the norwegian course.
This is the recipe:
100 g. butter
150 g. sugar
2 egg yolks
1 egg white
grated lemon peel (half a lemon)
150 g. corn starch (maizena)
60 g. flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
250 g. de dulce de leche
3 tablespoons grated coconut
You basically beat the butter together with the sugar till you get a creamy mix. Then add the yolks, egg white and lemon peel, beating all the while. Sift in the starch, flour and baking powder, mix, and then start kneading with your hands until you have a nice, homogenous dough. Let it rest for 15 minutes. Then you sprinkle some flour on the table and stretch the dough over it with a rolling pin, till it's about 1/2 cm thick. Cut out circles with a drinking glass (you pick the size; just make sure they're all the same, and that you end up with an even number of circles).
Place these "cookies" on a baking sheet (don't forget the baking paper beneath), and give them 15 minutes at medium heat. You should take them out just as they begin to change color. Let them cool before you peel them off the sheet; otherwise they might break easily.
Make a 'sandwich' with two cookies, by spreading dulce de leche (Hapå, if you're in Norway; don't use too much!) on the flat side of one, and then sticking it to the flat side of another. Some of the dulce de leche will come out on the sides; that's all right. Now roll the cookies around in the coconut and it will stick to the edges, and voilá! Alfajores de maizena.
I hadn't made these in a long time. Had to consult with my mom to check that i remembered the recipe right. Plus, it took me a while, because i multiplied by five (otherwise would have gotten some 20 alfajores; way too few!). Tja... They turned out ok, but it was more fun to watch my mom make them. The excitement! To eat bits of the raw dough, spoon out the last of the dulce de leche from its jar, get up at siesta time, in the heat, and tiptoe to the kitchen to steel a couple of freshly made alfajores from the fridge...
Anyway, i've spent most of the day trying to make alfajores de maicena. My mom used to make them for all our birthdays when we were kids, and i thought i'd kill two birds with one stone: make some for the party tonight, and some for this other gathering there is on Monday, to celebrate the end of the norwegian course.
This is the recipe:
100 g. butter
150 g. sugar
2 egg yolks
1 egg white
grated lemon peel (half a lemon)
150 g. corn starch (maizena)
60 g. flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
250 g. de dulce de leche
3 tablespoons grated coconut
You basically beat the butter together with the sugar till you get a creamy mix. Then add the yolks, egg white and lemon peel, beating all the while. Sift in the starch, flour and baking powder, mix, and then start kneading with your hands until you have a nice, homogenous dough. Let it rest for 15 minutes. Then you sprinkle some flour on the table and stretch the dough over it with a rolling pin, till it's about 1/2 cm thick. Cut out circles with a drinking glass (you pick the size; just make sure they're all the same, and that you end up with an even number of circles).
Place these "cookies" on a baking sheet (don't forget the baking paper beneath), and give them 15 minutes at medium heat. You should take them out just as they begin to change color. Let them cool before you peel them off the sheet; otherwise they might break easily.
Make a 'sandwich' with two cookies, by spreading dulce de leche (Hapå, if you're in Norway; don't use too much!) on the flat side of one, and then sticking it to the flat side of another. Some of the dulce de leche will come out on the sides; that's all right. Now roll the cookies around in the coconut and it will stick to the edges, and voilá! Alfajores de maizena.
I hadn't made these in a long time. Had to consult with my mom to check that i remembered the recipe right. Plus, it took me a while, because i multiplied by five (otherwise would have gotten some 20 alfajores; way too few!). Tja... They turned out ok, but it was more fun to watch my mom make them. The excitement! To eat bits of the raw dough, spoon out the last of the dulce de leche from its jar, get up at siesta time, in the heat, and tiptoe to the kitchen to steel a couple of freshly made alfajores from the fridge...
Thursday, November 09, 2006
The war against terror in Argentina
My dad sent me this funny e-mail. It's a spoof, obviously, argentinean in origin, but it says a lot about life in there...
Washington DC, CNN Special, 11.07.2006, 11:30 a.m.
Secret documents recently made public by the FBI revealed that Al Qaeda had planned to sabotage the Summit of the Americas that took place in Mar del Plata, Argentina, in November of last year. Osama Bin Laden had ordered two experienced terrorists of his organization to hijack a plane and crash it against the Casa Rosada (Argentina's equivalent of the White House), in repudiation of George Bush's attendance to the summit.
According to the records of several secret services offices, the two terrorists arrived in Ezeiza International Airport on Sunday, October 30, at 21:45, on an Air France flight from Paris.
However, their mission meets obstacles from the start, as the terrorists find out that their luggage has been sent to Santiago de Chile by mistake. After some five hours of form-filling and being redirected from office to office, unable to communicate with anyone due to their poor command of Argentinean Spanish, the two individuals are advised to return with an interpreter the following day. They leave the airport at around 3:00 on Monday.
They take a taxi to the city center. The driver, upon noticing that they are foreigners, drives them around for three hours and finally abandons them near the shanty town Villa 31, where three criminals (presumably in league with the taxi driver) rob them at gun point.
The two radicals have managed to retain a few dollars hidden in pouches on the inner side of their belts. They bribe a truck driver with some of it, and the man agrees to take them to a less inhospitable part of the city.
On Monday at 7:30 am, and thanks to the guerrilla training they have acquired in Afghanistan, they manage to jump onto a train and arrive at a hotel in Plaza Once. Subsequently, they rent a car and head again for the airport, determined to hijack a Boeing 747, as planned.
However, since route 39 has been cut by piqueteros, public employees and teachers on strike, the two men are delayed a further three hours. When they finally get to the airport, they are involved in an altercation with the car-rental company, as their insurance policy does not cover the severe dents nor the broken windshield which resulted when the pair attempted to push their way through the strikers' march.
Since they are denied entrance to the airport unless the damage to the car is paid, they return to the city at 12:30, looking for a money exchange office. They do not realize they have been given false banknotes until they drop one in a beggar's tin can, and he spits in their faces.
Finally out of options, the two men have to give up on their original plan and decide to settle for Aeroparque Jorge Newbery. Although equipped only for national flights and thus housing much smaller airplanes, it is within walking distance, and they head towards it at 13:25.
When they arrive there at 15:10, they find themselves in the midst of another protest, this time involving the workers of Aerolíneas Argentinas, who are complaining about new regulations proposing to cut the leg room in the pilot and co-pilot seats so that a new row of passenger seats can be added. The only plane on the runway is one belonging to Aerolíneas' rival company, Austral, but due to a strike of the oil industry it has no fuel in its tanks.
Thought part of the mob of passengers and workers that is wreaking havoc in the airport hall, the two men are among those arrested by the airport police. Taken to Police Station number 54 in the Caballito area, they manage to escape after recovering from the effects of the tear gas and the concussion suffered by one of them at the time of the arrest. The time is 19:00, which coincides with guard turnover at the aforementioned station. Apparently, bribing is also involved in the incident, although it is unclear what the two men could have offered the corrupt policemen, as they no longer had any money with them.
A waiter at a famous restaurant reports two foreign men "dirty, beaten-up and walking funny, kind of bow-legged" begging for scraps at closing time that evening, but the next ascertainable notice of the would-be terrorists is on the morning of Tuesday at 4:30, when they arrive to Hospital Casa de Mayo with a severe case of food poisoning. As there are no beds available, they are driven to four other hospitals, and finally admitted in Hospital Regal at 9:40.
They are released on Sunday at 17:30. Though each of them is missing a kidney, they are now in possession of some cash again, having made a deal with the head physician at that health center.
Since by this time the summit is over, they attempt to leave the country. They buy a bus ticket to Asunción del Paraguay, but when the engine breaks near the city of Rosario, the bus is broken into by a band of highway robbers. Excepting underwear, all passenger possessions are taken away.
In pain, hungry and desperate, they fall asleep in the hallway of an electro-domestics warehouse in a Rosario suburb. Taken in by an ONG with hidden Catholic roots, they spend the next three months at a rural community in La Pampa, where they are fed and allowed to work in exchange for learning and reciting the psalms.
As they recover their strength, they manage to escape and in May of this year walk into the Central Police Station of Buenos Aires. As foreigners lacking documents, they are deported, mysteriously avoiding further physical abuse. "They said they were carriers of an extremely contagious kind of STD", reported an officer.
Washington congratulated President Kirchner on the country's excellent security. "Although the two men managed to get away" said A.D. Ashley, head of the FBI, "the deterrent measures deployed within all levels of Argentinean society make of that country a model to be followed by our allies in the war against terror."
Washington DC, CNN Special, 11.07.2006, 11:30 a.m.
Secret documents recently made public by the FBI revealed that Al Qaeda had planned to sabotage the Summit of the Americas that took place in Mar del Plata, Argentina, in November of last year. Osama Bin Laden had ordered two experienced terrorists of his organization to hijack a plane and crash it against the Casa Rosada (Argentina's equivalent of the White House), in repudiation of George Bush's attendance to the summit.
According to the records of several secret services offices, the two terrorists arrived in Ezeiza International Airport on Sunday, October 30, at 21:45, on an Air France flight from Paris.
However, their mission meets obstacles from the start, as the terrorists find out that their luggage has been sent to Santiago de Chile by mistake. After some five hours of form-filling and being redirected from office to office, unable to communicate with anyone due to their poor command of Argentinean Spanish, the two individuals are advised to return with an interpreter the following day. They leave the airport at around 3:00 on Monday.
They take a taxi to the city center. The driver, upon noticing that they are foreigners, drives them around for three hours and finally abandons them near the shanty town Villa 31, where three criminals (presumably in league with the taxi driver) rob them at gun point.
The two radicals have managed to retain a few dollars hidden in pouches on the inner side of their belts. They bribe a truck driver with some of it, and the man agrees to take them to a less inhospitable part of the city.
On Monday at 7:30 am, and thanks to the guerrilla training they have acquired in Afghanistan, they manage to jump onto a train and arrive at a hotel in Plaza Once. Subsequently, they rent a car and head again for the airport, determined to hijack a Boeing 747, as planned.
However, since route 39 has been cut by piqueteros, public employees and teachers on strike, the two men are delayed a further three hours. When they finally get to the airport, they are involved in an altercation with the car-rental company, as their insurance policy does not cover the severe dents nor the broken windshield which resulted when the pair attempted to push their way through the strikers' march.
Since they are denied entrance to the airport unless the damage to the car is paid, they return to the city at 12:30, looking for a money exchange office. They do not realize they have been given false banknotes until they drop one in a beggar's tin can, and he spits in their faces.
Finally out of options, the two men have to give up on their original plan and decide to settle for Aeroparque Jorge Newbery. Although equipped only for national flights and thus housing much smaller airplanes, it is within walking distance, and they head towards it at 13:25.
When they arrive there at 15:10, they find themselves in the midst of another protest, this time involving the workers of Aerolíneas Argentinas, who are complaining about new regulations proposing to cut the leg room in the pilot and co-pilot seats so that a new row of passenger seats can be added. The only plane on the runway is one belonging to Aerolíneas' rival company, Austral, but due to a strike of the oil industry it has no fuel in its tanks.
Thought part of the mob of passengers and workers that is wreaking havoc in the airport hall, the two men are among those arrested by the airport police. Taken to Police Station number 54 in the Caballito area, they manage to escape after recovering from the effects of the tear gas and the concussion suffered by one of them at the time of the arrest. The time is 19:00, which coincides with guard turnover at the aforementioned station. Apparently, bribing is also involved in the incident, although it is unclear what the two men could have offered the corrupt policemen, as they no longer had any money with them.
A waiter at a famous restaurant reports two foreign men "dirty, beaten-up and walking funny, kind of bow-legged" begging for scraps at closing time that evening, but the next ascertainable notice of the would-be terrorists is on the morning of Tuesday at 4:30, when they arrive to Hospital Casa de Mayo with a severe case of food poisoning. As there are no beds available, they are driven to four other hospitals, and finally admitted in Hospital Regal at 9:40.
They are released on Sunday at 17:30. Though each of them is missing a kidney, they are now in possession of some cash again, having made a deal with the head physician at that health center.
Since by this time the summit is over, they attempt to leave the country. They buy a bus ticket to Asunción del Paraguay, but when the engine breaks near the city of Rosario, the bus is broken into by a band of highway robbers. Excepting underwear, all passenger possessions are taken away.
In pain, hungry and desperate, they fall asleep in the hallway of an electro-domestics warehouse in a Rosario suburb. Taken in by an ONG with hidden Catholic roots, they spend the next three months at a rural community in La Pampa, where they are fed and allowed to work in exchange for learning and reciting the psalms.
As they recover their strength, they manage to escape and in May of this year walk into the Central Police Station of Buenos Aires. As foreigners lacking documents, they are deported, mysteriously avoiding further physical abuse. "They said they were carriers of an extremely contagious kind of STD", reported an officer.
Washington congratulated President Kirchner on the country's excellent security. "Although the two men managed to get away" said A.D. Ashley, head of the FBI, "the deterrent measures deployed within all levels of Argentinean society make of that country a model to be followed by our allies in the war against terror."
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Another one
Well, it just seems like supposed plans of mine keep being blasted into the air -- by non other than me, of course. POWERRRRRR!
Yesterday evening i was talking to my friend José, who's getting married in Uruguay in march. We were talking about how nice it'd be to take a trip in the Patagonia in January, before he ties the knot... And i realized the idea fits perfectly!
I'll be finished with my intermediate norwegian course in December, then go to Spain to spend xmas and new year with my brother. After that, off to Argentina for six months! Will spend a good deal of time with my family, plus travel, attend the wedding, maybe get a little involved in anti-mining activism...
Bought the tickets already.
Now i have to go to the u and give them back the piles of books i'd been taking out. It's gonna take at least 5 trips...
Phew!
Yesterday evening i was talking to my friend José, who's getting married in Uruguay in march. We were talking about how nice it'd be to take a trip in the Patagonia in January, before he ties the knot... And i realized the idea fits perfectly!
I'll be finished with my intermediate norwegian course in December, then go to Spain to spend xmas and new year with my brother. After that, off to Argentina for six months! Will spend a good deal of time with my family, plus travel, attend the wedding, maybe get a little involved in anti-mining activism...
Bought the tickets already.
Now i have to go to the u and give them back the piles of books i'd been taking out. It's gonna take at least 5 trips...
Phew!
Monday, November 06, 2006
SNORE!
I talked to my teachers today. Told them exactly what i wrote in here over the weekend. They weren't too happy about my quitting, but not nasty, either. I suppose it's unconventional, but it feels like the right thing to do right now. Can, the guy next door, said i was just being lazy; i liked his honesty. Not that i agree with the judgement, but i suppose it can be seen that way. I'm definitely not planning to just sit and twiddle my fingers for the next year and a half; i just don't want to go ahead with this masters program.
I also hope i won't have to live on fish alone, either, as Minge suggested: fishing bores me, and i'd probably starve before i catch any.
Wondering: by quitting like this, am i setting a bad example for my ex-students? I know some of you guys read this... Funny how i used to worry that my not quitting something was a bad example (smoking) and now quitting something else still causes that kind of reaction in me.
Wondering: is the patronizing, ego-inflated attitude behind such a reaction something that comes with being a teacher, or is it just me? As if my actions had such influence over the decisions of people that can think and reason by themselves!
Anyway, it's late. Going to sleep.
I also hope i won't have to live on fish alone, either, as Minge suggested: fishing bores me, and i'd probably starve before i catch any.
Wondering: by quitting like this, am i setting a bad example for my ex-students? I know some of you guys read this... Funny how i used to worry that my not quitting something was a bad example (smoking) and now quitting something else still causes that kind of reaction in me.
Wondering: is the patronizing, ego-inflated attitude behind such a reaction something that comes with being a teacher, or is it just me? As if my actions had such influence over the decisions of people that can think and reason by themselves!
Anyway, it's late. Going to sleep.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Coming out
Interesting video:
http://www.insideimdancing.com/blog/2006/07/my-closet-is-only-full-of-clothes-now.html#comments
A guy talks about his experience coming out to his parents.
http://www.insideimdancing.com/blog/2006/07/my-closet-is-only-full-of-clothes-now.html#comments
A guy talks about his experience coming out to his parents.
La luna llena
La luna llena salió a las dos de la tarde.
La luna, llena y presente.
La gorda luna llena recién salida.
La luna llena salió en el noroeste.
La luna llena sobre las montañas nevadas.
La luna llena, blanca.
La luna llena y el sol aún sin ponerse.
La luna llena y blanca y el sol que hacía rosa la nieve.
La luna llena a mis espaldas.
La luna llena y yo viajando en bus.
La luna llena ahora en el cielo oscuro.
La luna llena, que parte el fiordo negro en dos.
La luna llena que borra las estrellas.
La luna llena que me llena la ventana.
La luna llena que me llama.
La luna, llena y presente.
La gorda luna llena recién salida.
La luna llena salió en el noroeste.
La luna llena sobre las montañas nevadas.
La luna llena, blanca.
La luna llena y el sol aún sin ponerse.
La luna llena y blanca y el sol que hacía rosa la nieve.
La luna llena a mis espaldas.
La luna llena y yo viajando en bus.
La luna llena ahora en el cielo oscuro.
La luna llena, que parte el fiordo negro en dos.
La luna llena que borra las estrellas.
La luna llena que me llena la ventana.
La luna llena que me llama.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Decisions, decisions...
Hmmmm. I think i'm gonna leave the masters program at UiTø. I want to stay in Tromsø, and continue with my norwegian lessons, but the whole point of me taking a couple of years away from Flekke was that i was tired, and that i wanted to do something different, and relax... But here i am, squeezing my brains trying to understand this very technical stuff, spending hours in front of the computer, writing essay upon essay. Interesting as it all is, it's definitely not what i want to be doing right now. So, ha det bra.
Of course, it's not as easy as that. I have to start looking for a new place, 'cause if i'm not a student at the u, i can't keep living in the cheap dorm; i have to quit my norwegian classes at the u and change to the course taught at voksenopplæring senteret, because the one at the u is for students only; i'll have to find some kind of job in town, too, so as not to eat up all my savings; then there is the move to organize...
Doesn't sound very relaxing, either, but here i am, and these are the choices. Yup, i think that's that for the masters. Thanks for all the fish.
Of course, it's not as easy as that. I have to start looking for a new place, 'cause if i'm not a student at the u, i can't keep living in the cheap dorm; i have to quit my norwegian classes at the u and change to the course taught at voksenopplæring senteret, because the one at the u is for students only; i'll have to find some kind of job in town, too, so as not to eat up all my savings; then there is the move to organize...
Doesn't sound very relaxing, either, but here i am, and these are the choices. Yup, i think that's that for the masters. Thanks for all the fish.
The Language Instinct
I'm reading this book by Steven Pinker. Check out this passage:
Consider an alleged atrocity committed by today's youth: the expression I could care less. The teenagers are trying to express disdain, the adults note, in which case they should be saying I couldn't care less. If they could care less than they do, that means that they really do care, the opposite of what they're trying to say. But if these dudes would stop ragging on teenagers and scope out the construction, they would see that their argument is bogus. Listen to how the two versions are pronounced:
The melodies and stresses are completely different, and for a good reason. The second version is not illogical, it's sarcastic. The point of sarcarsm is that by making an assertion that is manifestly false or accompanied by ostentatiously mannered intonation, one deliberately implies its opposite. A good paraphrase is, "Oh yeah, as if there was something in the world I care less about."
Consider an alleged atrocity committed by today's youth: the expression I could care less. The teenagers are trying to express disdain, the adults note, in which case they should be saying I couldn't care less. If they could care less than they do, that means that they really do care, the opposite of what they're trying to say. But if these dudes would stop ragging on teenagers and scope out the construction, they would see that their argument is bogus. Listen to how the two versions are pronounced:
The melodies and stresses are completely different, and for a good reason. The second version is not illogical, it's sarcastic. The point of sarcarsm is that by making an assertion that is manifestly false or accompanied by ostentatiously mannered intonation, one deliberately implies its opposite. A good paraphrase is, "Oh yeah, as if there was something in the world I care less about."
Vladimir Nabokov
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
Dr. Seuss
And NUH is the letter I use to spell Nutches
Who live in small caves, known as Nitches, for hutches.
These Nutches have troubles, the biggest of which is
The fact there are many more Nutches than Nitches.
Each Nutch in a Nitch knows that some other Nutch
Would like to move into his Nitch very much.
So each Nutch in a Nitch has to watch that small Nitch
Or Nutches who haven't got Nitches will snitch.
Who live in small caves, known as Nitches, for hutches.
These Nutches have troubles, the biggest of which is
The fact there are many more Nutches than Nitches.
Each Nutch in a Nitch knows that some other Nutch
Would like to move into his Nitch very much.
So each Nutch in a Nitch has to watch that small Nitch
Or Nutches who haven't got Nitches will snitch.
Friday, November 03, 2006
La buona novella II
This is another fragment of de André's "Good News". In it Mary tells Joseph about her conception of Jesus.
"In the womb of the temple, wet and dark dark,
the shadows were cold, incense-swollen;
the angel came down, like every evening,
to teach me a new prayer.
Then, suddenly, he unclasped my hands
and my arms became wings.
When he asked me "Do you know the summer?"
I ran, for a day, for an instant,
to see the color in the wind.
We truly flew, over the houses,
beyond gates, gardens and streets.
Then we slid among valleys in bloom
where grapevines hug olive trees.
We came down there, where the day gets lost
looking for itself in the greenery.
The angel spoke, as if praying,
and at the end of each prayer
he counted out a vertebra in my spine.
The priests's long shadows
pushed the dream into a circle of voices.
I thought to escape with my wings from before
but my arms were naked, and i could not fly.
Then i saw the angel become a comet
and the severe faces became stone,
their arms, the outline of branches
in the still postures of another kind of life:
their hands, leaves; their fingers, thorns.
Voices from the street, the sounds of people,
stole me from the dream and gave me back to the present.
The image vanished, color was extinguished,
but the far away echo of short words
repeated the strange prayer of an angel.
Maybe it was a dream, but it wasn't sleep.
"They'll call him the son of God."
Blurry words in my mind,
vanished in the dream, but present in my womb."
And the words, tired,
dissolved into tears.
The fear in the lips
was collected in the eyes
half-closed in the semblance
of a calmness
that is actually burning up, waiting
for an indulgent look.
And you slowly placed your fingers
at the edge of her forehead:
when they caress, old people
are afraid of being too rough.
"In the womb of the temple, wet and dark dark,
the shadows were cold, incense-swollen;
the angel came down, like every evening,
to teach me a new prayer.
Then, suddenly, he unclasped my hands
and my arms became wings.
When he asked me "Do you know the summer?"
I ran, for a day, for an instant,
to see the color in the wind.
We truly flew, over the houses,
beyond gates, gardens and streets.
Then we slid among valleys in bloom
where grapevines hug olive trees.
We came down there, where the day gets lost
looking for itself in the greenery.
The angel spoke, as if praying,
and at the end of each prayer
he counted out a vertebra in my spine.
The priests's long shadows
pushed the dream into a circle of voices.
I thought to escape with my wings from before
but my arms were naked, and i could not fly.
Then i saw the angel become a comet
and the severe faces became stone,
their arms, the outline of branches
in the still postures of another kind of life:
their hands, leaves; their fingers, thorns.
Voices from the street, the sounds of people,
stole me from the dream and gave me back to the present.
The image vanished, color was extinguished,
but the far away echo of short words
repeated the strange prayer of an angel.
Maybe it was a dream, but it wasn't sleep.
"They'll call him the son of God."
Blurry words in my mind,
vanished in the dream, but present in my womb."
And the words, tired,
dissolved into tears.
The fear in the lips
was collected in the eyes
half-closed in the semblance
of a calmness
that is actually burning up, waiting
for an indulgent look.
And you slowly placed your fingers
at the edge of her forehead:
when they caress, old people
are afraid of being too rough.
La buona novella
Fabrizio de André is my favorite italian composer and singer. In this fragment of "The Good News", an album he made in 1970, he has one of the thieves crucified with Jesus talk about the 10 commandments.
"You will not have other gods beside me"
has often made me think:
others, from the east,
said that it didn't make any difference.
They believed in someone else
and they didn't hurt me.
They believed in someone else
and they didn't hurt me.
"Do not use the name of the Lord,
do not use it in vain."
With a knife stuck on my side
i screamed my suffering and his name:
but maybe he was tired, maybe too busy,
and he didn't hear my pain.
But maybe he was tired, maybe too far away,
i really did it in vain.
"Honour your father, honour your mother
and honour their staffs, too."
Kiss the hand that broke your nose
because you were asking for food:
When my father's heart stopped
i didn't feel pain.
When my father's heart stopped
i didn't feel pain.
"Remember to sanctify the holidays."
It's easy, for us thieves,
to go into the temples that vomit psalms
of slaves and their masters
without ending up tied up to the altars,
our necks slit, like animals.
Without ending up tied up to the altars,
our necks slit, like animals.
The fifth says "You must not steel"
and perhaps i've respected it
by emptying in silence the swollen pockets
of those who had stolen:
but i, lawless, stole in my name;
they did it in the name of God.
But i, lawless, stole in my name;
they did it in the name of God.
"Do not commit impure acts"
that is to say, don't waste your seed.
Make a woman pregnant every time you love her
and thus you'll be a man of faith:
then lust is gone, and the child remains
and many are killed by hunger.
Maybe i've mistaken pleasure for love
but i haven't created pain.
The seventh says "do not kill
if you want to be worthy of heaven."
Look at this law of God, today,
three times nailed to a cross:
look at the death of this nazarene
and still, not a thieve less dies.
Look at the death of this nazarene
and still, not a thieve less dies.
"Do not raise false testimony"
and help them kill a man.
They know divine law by heart
and always forget forgiveness:
i have denied God and my honour
and no, i don't feel pain.
I have denied God and my honour
and no, i don't feel pain.
"Do not covet what belongs to others,
do not covet their wife."
Say that to them, ask those few
that have a woman and something:
in other's beds, warm with love,
i didn't feel pain.
Yesterday's envy is not over:
tonight i envy your life.
But now that night and darkness come
they take the pain away from my eyes
and the sun glides beyond the dunes
to rape other nights:
in seeing this man, dying
i feel pain, mother.
In compassion that doesn't give in to resentment
i have learned love, mother.
(For the italian original, you can go to http://www.frascolla.org/FDA/t04.htm ).
"You will not have other gods beside me"
has often made me think:
others, from the east,
said that it didn't make any difference.
They believed in someone else
and they didn't hurt me.
They believed in someone else
and they didn't hurt me.
"Do not use the name of the Lord,
do not use it in vain."
With a knife stuck on my side
i screamed my suffering and his name:
but maybe he was tired, maybe too busy,
and he didn't hear my pain.
But maybe he was tired, maybe too far away,
i really did it in vain.
"Honour your father, honour your mother
and honour their staffs, too."
Kiss the hand that broke your nose
because you were asking for food:
When my father's heart stopped
i didn't feel pain.
When my father's heart stopped
i didn't feel pain.
"Remember to sanctify the holidays."
It's easy, for us thieves,
to go into the temples that vomit psalms
of slaves and their masters
without ending up tied up to the altars,
our necks slit, like animals.
Without ending up tied up to the altars,
our necks slit, like animals.
The fifth says "You must not steel"
and perhaps i've respected it
by emptying in silence the swollen pockets
of those who had stolen:
but i, lawless, stole in my name;
they did it in the name of God.
But i, lawless, stole in my name;
they did it in the name of God.
"Do not commit impure acts"
that is to say, don't waste your seed.
Make a woman pregnant every time you love her
and thus you'll be a man of faith:
then lust is gone, and the child remains
and many are killed by hunger.
Maybe i've mistaken pleasure for love
but i haven't created pain.
The seventh says "do not kill
if you want to be worthy of heaven."
Look at this law of God, today,
three times nailed to a cross:
look at the death of this nazarene
and still, not a thieve less dies.
Look at the death of this nazarene
and still, not a thieve less dies.
"Do not raise false testimony"
and help them kill a man.
They know divine law by heart
and always forget forgiveness:
i have denied God and my honour
and no, i don't feel pain.
I have denied God and my honour
and no, i don't feel pain.
"Do not covet what belongs to others,
do not covet their wife."
Say that to them, ask those few
that have a woman and something:
in other's beds, warm with love,
i didn't feel pain.
Yesterday's envy is not over:
tonight i envy your life.
But now that night and darkness come
they take the pain away from my eyes
and the sun glides beyond the dunes
to rape other nights:
in seeing this man, dying
i feel pain, mother.
In compassion that doesn't give in to resentment
i have learned love, mother.
(For the italian original, you can go to http://www.frascolla.org/FDA/t04.htm ).
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Conversation
-Do you know what time it is?- i asked.
-I was just reading a book- he answered.
-What is it about?- i tried.
-Wow! It's almost three! Gotta run to class!- and off he was.
-I was just reading a book- he answered.
-What is it about?- i tried.
-Wow! It's almost three! Gotta run to class!- and off he was.
Idiom
Why should someone shit bricks when they're scared? I'd become scared if i shat bricks, not the other way around!
La Traviata
Here's a fragment of Verdi's La Traviata. The melody has been ringing in my head all day long. Thought it'd be nice to translate it and post it here:
Folly! Folly!
A vane craze this is!
Poor woman,
alone,
abandoned,
in this populous desert they call Paris.
What is there to wait for, anymore?
What must i do?
Just seek pleasure
and perish in the turmoil.
I must be always free,
stumble from joy to joy.
I want my living to flow
through the paths of pleasure.
Both when the day is born and when it dies
enjoyment is always to be found.
To delights always new
must my thought fly.
Folly! Folly!
A vane craze this is!
Poor woman,
alone,
abandoned,
in this populous desert they call Paris.
What is there to wait for, anymore?
What must i do?
Just seek pleasure
and perish in the turmoil.
I must be always free,
stumble from joy to joy.
I want my living to flow
through the paths of pleasure.
Both when the day is born and when it dies
enjoyment is always to be found.
To delights always new
must my thought fly.
Hvorfor ikke?
Someone had written this in the snow outside my house:
I can think of many answers:
Because the snow melts.
Because someone will step on it.
Because more snow will cover it.
Because the snow plough will plough it away.
But the one i like most is:
Indeed! Why not?
I imagine how it must have felt, to dip a finger in the snow and carve the words out. Who cares what becomes of them?
I can think of many answers:
Because the snow melts.
Because someone will step on it.
Because more snow will cover it.
Because the snow plough will plough it away.
But the one i like most is:
Indeed! Why not?
I imagine how it must have felt, to dip a finger in the snow and carve the words out. Who cares what becomes of them?
Voices in the head
Does it ever happen to you that you hear other people's voices in your head? Like you carry those people inside you?
Seriously. Sometimes, when i'm wondering about a situation, or experiencing something particularly intense, or when i have to take a decision, i can distinctly hear what such-and-such friend or relative would say about it. I don't call them, either. Their opinions just pop up and vanish, and i'm left with that nice feeling one gets after a surprise. Yeah, i'm thrilled by the unexpectedness of it, because sometimes i totally disagree with what they say. I would argue with them about it, but they're gone before i can grab them.
This morning, while i was freezing at the busstop, my grandma, dead 11 years, told me i should have put on a scarf. Just like that, out of the blue -- or the grey, as it was actually very overcast and snowing. Then zap!, she was gone, and i realized i couldn't even remember how her voice really sounded. She used to fuzz about our clothing like that, when we were kids. I hadn't thought about her in a while.
It'd be nice to think that we carry inside at least pieces of the people who are or have been close to us. Whether we got along or not. Of course, my skeptical mind says that when i hear these voices, i'm simply having my brain play a game, assigning identities to my own points of view, for one reason or another. I'm very fond of my skeptical mind, and trust her a lot.
Yet, i like the poetry of the other image, the possibilities it opens. If i have people in my head, then maybe i'm in other's people's heads, too... Even inside the head of the people inside my head... And the me inside the heads of the people inside my head has other people inside his head, and it's all like a matrioshka doll, except that instead of dolls people's heads hold universes within themselves.
If i could communicate at will with the people inside my head, they might tell me "look, i don't have time to argue with you, i have all these people inside my head i need to talk to". As it is, i just catch glimpses of their interiors, and that's why thankfully there's also a universe outside of our heads, with people i can talk to and get near to and love... And yet be as far from knowing their internal universes as i am from knowing my own. On the other hand, if i didn't know them at least a little, i wouldn't be able to imagine what they would say in my head, which is heartening.
Got to go to norwegian class. Don't bother to call the insane asylum, as i already did. They're reinforcing their straight jackets, and coming for me this evening.
Seriously. Sometimes, when i'm wondering about a situation, or experiencing something particularly intense, or when i have to take a decision, i can distinctly hear what such-and-such friend or relative would say about it. I don't call them, either. Their opinions just pop up and vanish, and i'm left with that nice feeling one gets after a surprise. Yeah, i'm thrilled by the unexpectedness of it, because sometimes i totally disagree with what they say. I would argue with them about it, but they're gone before i can grab them.
This morning, while i was freezing at the busstop, my grandma, dead 11 years, told me i should have put on a scarf. Just like that, out of the blue -- or the grey, as it was actually very overcast and snowing. Then zap!, she was gone, and i realized i couldn't even remember how her voice really sounded. She used to fuzz about our clothing like that, when we were kids. I hadn't thought about her in a while.
It'd be nice to think that we carry inside at least pieces of the people who are or have been close to us. Whether we got along or not. Of course, my skeptical mind says that when i hear these voices, i'm simply having my brain play a game, assigning identities to my own points of view, for one reason or another. I'm very fond of my skeptical mind, and trust her a lot.
Yet, i like the poetry of the other image, the possibilities it opens. If i have people in my head, then maybe i'm in other's people's heads, too... Even inside the head of the people inside my head... And the me inside the heads of the people inside my head has other people inside his head, and it's all like a matrioshka doll, except that instead of dolls people's heads hold universes within themselves.
If i could communicate at will with the people inside my head, they might tell me "look, i don't have time to argue with you, i have all these people inside my head i need to talk to". As it is, i just catch glimpses of their interiors, and that's why thankfully there's also a universe outside of our heads, with people i can talk to and get near to and love... And yet be as far from knowing their internal universes as i am from knowing my own. On the other hand, if i didn't know them at least a little, i wouldn't be able to imagine what they would say in my head, which is heartening.
Got to go to norwegian class. Don't bother to call the insane asylum, as i already did. They're reinforcing their straight jackets, and coming for me this evening.
Homework
Due in 6 hours. I suppose i should have started a little earlier. As it was, i just took a verbal laxative and let it all flow out... You can tell, i'm sure.
QUESTION 2: The Critical Period
One of the arguments for the biological foundation of linguistic knowledge is the notion of critical period. First, explain what is meant by critical period and provide examples from the natural world to demonstrate your point. Then explain how the notion has been expanded to apply to language and what kinds of arguments have been used to do so. Finally, give an evaluation of the validity of this argument in relation to language.
As the name implies, a critical period defines a limited window of time within which a certain event or chain of events must occur, and outside of which they cannot. When applied in the field of First Language Acquisition, as proposed by Wilder Penfield (1959), Steven Pinker (1994) and others, "critical period" refers to the idea that there exists in people's lives a time beyond which a native-like acquisition of language becomes impossible.
The implications of this concept will be elaborated and explored later in the paper. As an introduction to that, however, it is important to consider other natural processes, taking place in the animal world, which must be accomplished within a critical period. The fact that they are biological is fundamental to our analysis, because if an analogy can be established between them and the process of language acquisition, an argument can be made for the presence of an implicit, biologically based 'ability' for language in human beings.
As noted by Thorpe (1958), one very clear case of the existence of a critical period within which a capability must be "initialized" in the animal realm is that concerning the chaffinch's command of its singing. This bird, which is capable of producing a characteristic and very systematic song, will never properly perform it unless it hears it before reaching maturity. Likewise, as pointed out by Lorenz (1970), greylag geese can only be imprinted, and their imprinting changed, within the first 36 hours of their birth; after that, it becomes impossible.
Thus, although the susceptibility to being imprinted and the ability to sing a specific song are physiologically inherent in these creatures, it is apparent that both must be cued and stimulated during a certain, early period of their lives for the innate potentialities to properly manifest themselves. Other processes presenting these characteristics are the acquisition of binocular vision in children (Almli et al. (1987)), which fails to appear if not used between one and three years of age, and of the vestibular system, at least as far zebrafish go (Moorman et al. (2002)).
These facts, although they clearly attest that there are critical periods which bear on the manifestation or lack thereof of genetically coded capabilities in other animals and even in humans, do not directly prove the theory about the existence of such a period for language acquisition. Nevertheless, they serve as a point of analogy and make evident the fact that it is exposure and/or exercise of certain organs or innate abilities that determine their functioning or manifestation in later life.
Incontrovertible evidence for the existence of a critical period in language acquisition could be provided by a comparative study of adults who had been exposed to language at different stages of childhood and adolescence. If, regardless of environment, intensity of exposure and teaching methods, an inferiority in the language command of those who were exposed later could be detected, it would become very difficult to think of theories that accounted for this fact other than the critical period one.
Fortunately, language is such an undissociatable part of being human that most children are exposed to it from birth, in one way or another. So called feral children, who have been kept away from all human contact from a very young age, are very rare – only a hundred or so have ever been reported and, indeed, it has proven very difficult for them to acquire language. However, the isolation they suffered resulted also, almost invariably, in an inability to acquire other traits that are usually thought of as inherently human, like walking "properly", or in social behavior difficult to judge other than as impaired by any cultural standard. Whereas these facts might indicate that language is not the only process with cognitive associations that is sensitive to a critical period, often they have also served to cast doubts on the mental health of these children (Newton (2002)). Thus, it has been argued that the reason for their failure to acquire a proper command of language lies in innate brain defects, and not in an expired critical period. Nevertheless, it is equally possible to argue that, even if such children were to show differences in brain activity and/or development in the most modern medical tests, we would be hard pressed to say whether the damage was a birth defect or a result of failure to meet those critical windows with the appropriate input.
A case in point is that of Genie, who was isolated, restrained and punished if she made any noise until the age of thirteen and a half. Being the most recent and dramatic case of a feral child, mention of her is very common in all language acquisition literature that deals with the critical period theory. Although the same questions are pondered as to her possible brain defects, a particular fact about her allows us to finesse this discussion: Genie had practically no language at all when she was discovered, yet she soon learned many words, and began to string them together; however, these sentences were very short, and contained very gross syntax violations (Pinker (1994)). She never got past this stage. A similar case is that of Chelsea, who only at 31 got a hearing aid to compensate for her deafness. Though provenly normal at the emotional and neurological levels, she was never exposed to any form of language till then. And like Genie, although she quickly acquired a rich vocabulary, her syntax remained extremely bizarre (IDEM (1994).
The facts examined to this point support quite strongly the view that a critical period exists, if nothing else, for syntax acquisition. The human brain seems to include a 'skeleton' on which syntax is to grow, which must be exercised within a certain age. Other indications of it are found in the study of deaf children who begin acquiring sign language at a very early age from deaf adults who only acquired it in their teens (Singleton et al.(2004)). In these cases, the children are better able to absorb the correct grammatical rules and set parameters to the right value, even when they have no interaction with other second generation speakers. This means that when exposed to language at this age, but not later, they are able to pick right from the inconsistent input around them.
Even more revealing are those studies that have explored the transition from pidgins, which tend to be mere collections of vocabulary that do no have any organized grammatical order, into creoles, which do. Pidgins are usually created when adults that do not share a common language are thrown together and must find some means of communication, but the first generation of children that is born into a pidgin-speaking society (or, presumably, introduced to the pidgin within the critical period), almost instantly transform the haphazard collection of words into a creole, rich in grammatical rules and consistent with them. This happens whether the original pidgin is spoken (Bickerton (1992)) or signed (Kegl et al. (1989)), all of which indicates, once more, that children are "geared" to take advantage and be aware of syntax in ways that adults are not.
As for other aspects of language acquisition, such as phonetics and pronunciation, it seems that a critical window of exposure can also be assumed. For instance, it has been noted that, if s/he is exposed after a certain age, the speaker will always have an accent identifiable as non-native, whether s/he is a first or second language learner (Oyama (1982)).
Authors such as Pinker (1994) argue that if introduced to it after the age of six, children's ability to acquire a native-like command of a language, be it first or second, is compromised. If after puberty, normal first language acquisition is unexpected, and if the learner already possesses a first language, the new one will not be as perfectly known.
Personally, I am satisfied that, at least as far as the acquisition of syntax is concerned, there is enough evidence to speak of a critical period. I believe that this is the core of the argument, anyway. After all, the critical period theory, together with the poverty of the stimulus argument, are important mostly in that they support the idea of a Universal Grammar innate in all humans. In this sense, what is important is to prove the existence of a critical period for the first setting of the principles and parameters of a grammar. It may or may not be possible to fully reset those principles and parameters to accommodate a second or third language after a certain age, but this is not so relevant. The same goes for pronunciation, because if a critical period exists for the acquisition of it, this will point, in my opinion, to a set of innate capabilities different from those underlying UG
QUESTION 2: The Critical Period
One of the arguments for the biological foundation of linguistic knowledge is the notion of critical period. First, explain what is meant by critical period and provide examples from the natural world to demonstrate your point. Then explain how the notion has been expanded to apply to language and what kinds of arguments have been used to do so. Finally, give an evaluation of the validity of this argument in relation to language.
As the name implies, a critical period defines a limited window of time within which a certain event or chain of events must occur, and outside of which they cannot. When applied in the field of First Language Acquisition, as proposed by Wilder Penfield (1959), Steven Pinker (1994) and others, "critical period" refers to the idea that there exists in people's lives a time beyond which a native-like acquisition of language becomes impossible.
The implications of this concept will be elaborated and explored later in the paper. As an introduction to that, however, it is important to consider other natural processes, taking place in the animal world, which must be accomplished within a critical period. The fact that they are biological is fundamental to our analysis, because if an analogy can be established between them and the process of language acquisition, an argument can be made for the presence of an implicit, biologically based 'ability' for language in human beings.
As noted by Thorpe (1958), one very clear case of the existence of a critical period within which a capability must be "initialized" in the animal realm is that concerning the chaffinch's command of its singing. This bird, which is capable of producing a characteristic and very systematic song, will never properly perform it unless it hears it before reaching maturity. Likewise, as pointed out by Lorenz (1970), greylag geese can only be imprinted, and their imprinting changed, within the first 36 hours of their birth; after that, it becomes impossible.
Thus, although the susceptibility to being imprinted and the ability to sing a specific song are physiologically inherent in these creatures, it is apparent that both must be cued and stimulated during a certain, early period of their lives for the innate potentialities to properly manifest themselves. Other processes presenting these characteristics are the acquisition of binocular vision in children (Almli et al. (1987)), which fails to appear if not used between one and three years of age, and of the vestibular system, at least as far zebrafish go (Moorman et al. (2002)).
These facts, although they clearly attest that there are critical periods which bear on the manifestation or lack thereof of genetically coded capabilities in other animals and even in humans, do not directly prove the theory about the existence of such a period for language acquisition. Nevertheless, they serve as a point of analogy and make evident the fact that it is exposure and/or exercise of certain organs or innate abilities that determine their functioning or manifestation in later life.
Incontrovertible evidence for the existence of a critical period in language acquisition could be provided by a comparative study of adults who had been exposed to language at different stages of childhood and adolescence. If, regardless of environment, intensity of exposure and teaching methods, an inferiority in the language command of those who were exposed later could be detected, it would become very difficult to think of theories that accounted for this fact other than the critical period one.
Fortunately, language is such an undissociatable part of being human that most children are exposed to it from birth, in one way or another. So called feral children, who have been kept away from all human contact from a very young age, are very rare – only a hundred or so have ever been reported and, indeed, it has proven very difficult for them to acquire language. However, the isolation they suffered resulted also, almost invariably, in an inability to acquire other traits that are usually thought of as inherently human, like walking "properly", or in social behavior difficult to judge other than as impaired by any cultural standard. Whereas these facts might indicate that language is not the only process with cognitive associations that is sensitive to a critical period, often they have also served to cast doubts on the mental health of these children (Newton (2002)). Thus, it has been argued that the reason for their failure to acquire a proper command of language lies in innate brain defects, and not in an expired critical period. Nevertheless, it is equally possible to argue that, even if such children were to show differences in brain activity and/or development in the most modern medical tests, we would be hard pressed to say whether the damage was a birth defect or a result of failure to meet those critical windows with the appropriate input.
A case in point is that of Genie, who was isolated, restrained and punished if she made any noise until the age of thirteen and a half. Being the most recent and dramatic case of a feral child, mention of her is very common in all language acquisition literature that deals with the critical period theory. Although the same questions are pondered as to her possible brain defects, a particular fact about her allows us to finesse this discussion: Genie had practically no language at all when she was discovered, yet she soon learned many words, and began to string them together; however, these sentences were very short, and contained very gross syntax violations (Pinker (1994)). She never got past this stage. A similar case is that of Chelsea, who only at 31 got a hearing aid to compensate for her deafness. Though provenly normal at the emotional and neurological levels, she was never exposed to any form of language till then. And like Genie, although she quickly acquired a rich vocabulary, her syntax remained extremely bizarre (IDEM (1994).
The facts examined to this point support quite strongly the view that a critical period exists, if nothing else, for syntax acquisition. The human brain seems to include a 'skeleton' on which syntax is to grow, which must be exercised within a certain age. Other indications of it are found in the study of deaf children who begin acquiring sign language at a very early age from deaf adults who only acquired it in their teens (Singleton et al.(2004)). In these cases, the children are better able to absorb the correct grammatical rules and set parameters to the right value, even when they have no interaction with other second generation speakers. This means that when exposed to language at this age, but not later, they are able to pick right from the inconsistent input around them.
Even more revealing are those studies that have explored the transition from pidgins, which tend to be mere collections of vocabulary that do no have any organized grammatical order, into creoles, which do. Pidgins are usually created when adults that do not share a common language are thrown together and must find some means of communication, but the first generation of children that is born into a pidgin-speaking society (or, presumably, introduced to the pidgin within the critical period), almost instantly transform the haphazard collection of words into a creole, rich in grammatical rules and consistent with them. This happens whether the original pidgin is spoken (Bickerton (1992)) or signed (Kegl et al. (1989)), all of which indicates, once more, that children are "geared" to take advantage and be aware of syntax in ways that adults are not.
As for other aspects of language acquisition, such as phonetics and pronunciation, it seems that a critical window of exposure can also be assumed. For instance, it has been noted that, if s/he is exposed after a certain age, the speaker will always have an accent identifiable as non-native, whether s/he is a first or second language learner (Oyama (1982)).
Authors such as Pinker (1994) argue that if introduced to it after the age of six, children's ability to acquire a native-like command of a language, be it first or second, is compromised. If after puberty, normal first language acquisition is unexpected, and if the learner already possesses a first language, the new one will not be as perfectly known.
Personally, I am satisfied that, at least as far as the acquisition of syntax is concerned, there is enough evidence to speak of a critical period. I believe that this is the core of the argument, anyway. After all, the critical period theory, together with the poverty of the stimulus argument, are important mostly in that they support the idea of a Universal Grammar innate in all humans. In this sense, what is important is to prove the existence of a critical period for the first setting of the principles and parameters of a grammar. It may or may not be possible to fully reset those principles and parameters to accommodate a second or third language after a certain age, but this is not so relevant. The same goes for pronunciation, because if a critical period exists for the acquisition of it, this will point, in my opinion, to a set of innate capabilities different from those underlying UG
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