German class has ended and I am relieved. The class, itself, was really not that bad. I liked my teachers effort to keep us engaged with games and quizzes and interactive activities. I liked feeling like I was learning new words and strengthening my understanding of grammar. I even warmed up to my classmates, including the Romanian women who laughed at people. Of course, I lost my notebook that first week never to see it again. I did my homework most days on the train GOING to class and didn't crack a book to study until the night before the final exam. Oh, and did I mention that I've started watching less--not more--German tv than before? So, it would come as no surprise to you that I still don't feel like I grew to be more confident in speaking the language. My problem is my bad attitude--plain and simple.
Let me first start off by saying that I know that the best way to understand a country, its culture, and its people is to learn their language. I know that, really. That is the reason why, in spite of the feelings I have towards learning German, I have soldiered on. I can't tell you how many people have lectured me on this point upon hearing that I am feeling frustrated and flustered by the language. I got lectured last night, in fact, by another well meaning German. His American wife, he tells me, encountered the same problem. She felt like she was never going to learn the language and then slowly her word bank grew and her confidence followed. Now, he said, she is practically fluent. How long did that take, you ask? Eight years, he said. EIGHT YEARS! Well, I just don't have that much time or energy to devote.
So, it begins. I get lectured--Don't give up! You can do it! which leads me to think, "No, I really don't want to. I'd rather get an appendictomy." And then, "Why is it everyone can speak this language but me?" Well, says me, "I should give up then. I'm a lost cause." I stew on the giving up part for a few weeks until I'm lectured again and feel guilted into a new class (where I don't study and psychologically kick myself for wasting money). Then, we're back to square one.
And now, where does this leave me? What's my plan next? I haven't a clue. I'm taking a break to recover what's left of my ego. Perhaps, this spring weather will jump start my positive attitude and by some fluke I'll feel motivated to really try. Until then, we'll all just have to be content with my ability to order dinner, read the ingredients on the back of a cereal box and employ useful phrases like: "Doctor, I think I'm going to throw up now."
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
A Spa Like No Other
I'm relishing my first day post German class and decided to curl up this morning with my new friend, BBC Prime. (Yes, I know, you only really want to hear how poorly I did in the class but you'll have to wait until I get some psychological distance for that one.)
Anyway, BBC Prime, for the uninitiated, is a treasure trove of stale British television shows clearly aimed at the nostalgic pensioner and cleverly marketed towards the expat desperate for english content in any form. It is trash. It is cheesy and most shows debuted and were promptly cancelled in the late 80s. Under any other circumstance, I would skip it altogether but with our outrageously expensive rip-off, I mean, "English channel cable package" it's either this or National Geographic or what like to call "When Babooms (and other predators) Attack Small African Babies Leaving Unsuspecting Viewer in A Flood of Tears Channel." Frankly, I just wasn't in the mood to watch a newly wed couple get mauled by a black bear in the Colorado Rockies...again.
Okay, where was I? Right, well, BBC Prime is crap but it serves as a chip-chip-cheerio way to start the day. First, I make myself an English Muffin and tea with cream (yes, really) and I snuggle up to Bargain Hunt for some wholesome British fun. Bargain Hunt is guarantee crowd pleaser. Two grandmas in the quilting club or two bandmates in the college tenor duo team up to scour Great Britain for bargains that they hope to sell at auction for a profit. Fascinating stuff, really. Amazing the trash that people will buy.
Then, comes the wildcard at 10am. Will it be "What Not to Wear" with Trinny and Susannah? Carleton and Stacey's rowdier predecessors whose mission is to stylize British fashion victims. (who knew they could say 'tit' on British telly without a flinch?) Or "A Life Coach Less Ordinary" about an eccentric married couple who use a mix of psychology, meditation, and positive reinforcement to cure the chronically wacked out. Think obsessive house cleaners, hair pullers, and 40 year old virgins. All good, old fashioned reality trash. Just my kind of programming.
Today. Today's show, though, took the cake. Today's show, took a turn for the worse. Today's show, took the term "reality tv" to a whole new level. Today, I was introduced to the show called "A Spa for Embarrassing Illnesses." Yes, folks, that's really the name. This fascinating drama follows 8 seemily healthy Brits, all of whom suffer from "embarrassing illnesses," as they spend two weeks detoxing at a spanish spa said to be able to cure just about anything, no matter how chronic or debilitating. There's the 25 year women whose been diagnosed with hyderhydrosis--or excessive sweating, the 26 year old who has Irritable Bowel Syndrome and who I quote, "Can't remember the last time she had a good poo," the 41 year compulsive overeater, and the 32 year man who has such bad ezcema that he wakes up in bloody sheets. Grossed out, yet? No, okay. To cure them of their varied and sundry illnesses, they undergo everything from yoga to acupunture to colonics to counseling to a seven day fast. Throughout their journey, the voyaristic viewer is exposed to every procedure, personal discovery, and bodily omission (prodding rubber gloves and manhandling of fecal material seems to provide the shock factor the show is looking for).
It is gross out tv in it's most primal form so of course, I just HAD to watch. I was fascinated, if not also a bit dismayed by the content and by my unflinching inability to step back and turn away from the programming. I laughed. I cried. I wanted to see it again and again. It was better than "Cats." Can't wait to find out tomorrow who is sent to the infirmary first and whose diet needs alternating due to excessive dehydration.
Can't say I'd want to sign for a spa quite like that but admitting to the world that I watched it is embarrassing enough. Hmmm. Maybe I'm the one with the chronic illness...
Anyway, BBC Prime, for the uninitiated, is a treasure trove of stale British television shows clearly aimed at the nostalgic pensioner and cleverly marketed towards the expat desperate for english content in any form. It is trash. It is cheesy and most shows debuted and were promptly cancelled in the late 80s. Under any other circumstance, I would skip it altogether but with our outrageously expensive rip-off, I mean, "English channel cable package" it's either this or National Geographic or what like to call "When Babooms (and other predators) Attack Small African Babies Leaving Unsuspecting Viewer in A Flood of Tears Channel." Frankly, I just wasn't in the mood to watch a newly wed couple get mauled by a black bear in the Colorado Rockies...again.
Okay, where was I? Right, well, BBC Prime is crap but it serves as a chip-chip-cheerio way to start the day. First, I make myself an English Muffin and tea with cream (yes, really) and I snuggle up to Bargain Hunt for some wholesome British fun. Bargain Hunt is guarantee crowd pleaser. Two grandmas in the quilting club or two bandmates in the college tenor duo team up to scour Great Britain for bargains that they hope to sell at auction for a profit. Fascinating stuff, really. Amazing the trash that people will buy.
Then, comes the wildcard at 10am. Will it be "What Not to Wear" with Trinny and Susannah? Carleton and Stacey's rowdier predecessors whose mission is to stylize British fashion victims. (who knew they could say 'tit' on British telly without a flinch?) Or "A Life Coach Less Ordinary" about an eccentric married couple who use a mix of psychology, meditation, and positive reinforcement to cure the chronically wacked out. Think obsessive house cleaners, hair pullers, and 40 year old virgins. All good, old fashioned reality trash. Just my kind of programming.
Today. Today's show, though, took the cake. Today's show, took a turn for the worse. Today's show, took the term "reality tv" to a whole new level. Today, I was introduced to the show called "A Spa for Embarrassing Illnesses." Yes, folks, that's really the name. This fascinating drama follows 8 seemily healthy Brits, all of whom suffer from "embarrassing illnesses," as they spend two weeks detoxing at a spanish spa said to be able to cure just about anything, no matter how chronic or debilitating. There's the 25 year women whose been diagnosed with hyderhydrosis--or excessive sweating, the 26 year old who has Irritable Bowel Syndrome and who I quote, "Can't remember the last time she had a good poo," the 41 year compulsive overeater, and the 32 year man who has such bad ezcema that he wakes up in bloody sheets. Grossed out, yet? No, okay. To cure them of their varied and sundry illnesses, they undergo everything from yoga to acupunture to colonics to counseling to a seven day fast. Throughout their journey, the voyaristic viewer is exposed to every procedure, personal discovery, and bodily omission (prodding rubber gloves and manhandling of fecal material seems to provide the shock factor the show is looking for).
It is gross out tv in it's most primal form so of course, I just HAD to watch. I was fascinated, if not also a bit dismayed by the content and by my unflinching inability to step back and turn away from the programming. I laughed. I cried. I wanted to see it again and again. It was better than "Cats." Can't wait to find out tomorrow who is sent to the infirmary first and whose diet needs alternating due to excessive dehydration.
Can't say I'd want to sign for a spa quite like that but admitting to the world that I watched it is embarrassing enough. Hmmm. Maybe I'm the one with the chronic illness...
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
A2.2
That is the level of German I tested into. It basically means that I'm in the class with the most learned of the lowest proficiency speakers. Nothing too surprising there.
It's also not surprising that the class is every bit as painful as I expected it to be. It reinforces the fact that I might very well never learn this language. I'm either too old or too dumb or too lazy or a combination of the three. I'm certain that I couldn't determine a dativ sentence from an akkusativ one to save my skin. What is ironic is that in spite of all this, I find myself getting really frustrated with the other students whose German diction is imperfect or who forget time and time again to put the verb at the end of sentences.
--Ahh, it's "ich," not "ish." It's "ich habe das vergessen" not "ich habe vergessen das."--
Yes, that's me, the pot, yelling at the kettle: "Ah, du bist schwarz!"
The only thing that annoys me more than "ish" lady is the woman in class whose diction AND grammer AND deklinations are always perfect. She giggles at people when they mispronouce words, constructs really complicated sentences fabricated with the help of her handy pocket translator, and worst of all, has the nerve to try to beat the teacher to correcting wayward students. I seeth in both red hot rage and firey jealousy. Because it's me who wants to be the lofty one who's too cool for school, who wants to think they were misdirected to a more remedial class than they should have been placed.
But I'm not. This is definately the class in which I belong. So I sit and listen and try to learn something. With a joyful attitude! Smile. I tell myself that I can do anything for a month. In fact, I might just find that my German improves once this torture, I mean, class is over.
Now, if only I hadn't left my notebook in the ladies bathroom before leaving class this afternoon .....
It's also not surprising that the class is every bit as painful as I expected it to be. It reinforces the fact that I might very well never learn this language. I'm either too old or too dumb or too lazy or a combination of the three. I'm certain that I couldn't determine a dativ sentence from an akkusativ one to save my skin. What is ironic is that in spite of all this, I find myself getting really frustrated with the other students whose German diction is imperfect or who forget time and time again to put the verb at the end of sentences.
--Ahh, it's "ich," not "ish." It's "ich habe das vergessen" not "ich habe vergessen das."--
Yes, that's me, the pot, yelling at the kettle: "Ah, du bist schwarz!"
The only thing that annoys me more than "ish" lady is the woman in class whose diction AND grammer AND deklinations are always perfect. She giggles at people when they mispronouce words, constructs really complicated sentences fabricated with the help of her handy pocket translator, and worst of all, has the nerve to try to beat the teacher to correcting wayward students. I seeth in both red hot rage and firey jealousy. Because it's me who wants to be the lofty one who's too cool for school, who wants to think they were misdirected to a more remedial class than they should have been placed.
But I'm not. This is definately the class in which I belong. So I sit and listen and try to learn something. With a joyful attitude! Smile. I tell myself that I can do anything for a month. In fact, I might just find that my German improves once this torture, I mean, class is over.
Now, if only I hadn't left my notebook in the ladies bathroom before leaving class this afternoon .....
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