I’m currently about 50 pages into Kleine Freie Männer, and I’m really enjoying it. Granted, the first few pages were rather hard work, and I had to consult my English-language original pretty regularly, but I’ve gotten back into the swing of things and have gotten to where I only need to check the original a few times a page, usually to confirm a word. I find myself rather geekily pleased when I can read several reasonable-sized paragraphs straight, and understand them clearly. (Granted, it’s technically a young adult novel, but given that I haven’t really used my German vocab since college, I’m just happy that I can still handle the various past tenses.)
The translation by Andreas Brandhorst (who seems to have translated pretty much all of Pratchett’s novels) is really rather good. Some jokes inevitably have to go, when they rely too heavily on English; others get adapted to make as much sense as possible while still maintaining some sense of the original. Some of these work better than others, I think, but given how amazingly hard that sort of thing would be, I stand in awe whenever they work at all. One of my favorites is a sign for a grammar teacher, among whose offerings was the chance to get “I before E completely sorted out.” In German, at least as far as I have ever seen, that’s not really a concern, because native non-borrowed German words are spelled with an admirable consistency that matches the pronunciation: if it’s “i before e,” it’s pronounced “eee”; if it’s “e before i,” it’s pronounced “eye.” As long as you know how to say a word, you should be able to spell it. Thus, the translator substituted a German-appropriate variation: “Das Problem mit dem Eszett gelöst” (basically, “the problem with the ß resolved”). Pretty freakin’ brilliant solution, I thought.
It’s also working pretty well as a vocabulary builder, though I’m still better at sight recognition than on-the-spot recall (e.g., I stand a much better chance of knowing what the word “Schilf” means when I see it than of remembering the German word for “reeds” if I need to use it in a sentence). My absolute favorite new vocabulary word so far, though, is the following:
Basically, it means “swearword.”
On a related note, it was interesting reading the translation of Tiffany and Miss Tick’s discussion of cursing versus cussing; the English original used both words, but the German simply used “Fluchten” (”cursing” in the vernacular, nonmagical sense) and “richteges Fluchten” (loosely, “proper cursing” in the “I hope your nose falls off” sense).
The things you learn, reading young adult novels. . . .
Anyway, I’m having lots of fun slogging through my translated book. My plan is to order a few more German copies of books I already own in English — probably another couple of Pratchetts, and a Gaiman or two, plus some cookbooks (esp. if I get around to buying a kitchen scale) — and then order one that I don’t already have in English, and try to read that one with just my trusty Beolingus as an aid.
That still probably won’t help with my speaking ability, but whatever. At least I’m keeping off the streets.
Thanks to TNT, I have now seen the entire LotR* movie series, and all I can say is that it’s damned lucky that FotR was the only one I ever saw with human company, and that I watched the other two in the privacy of my own home, with only Nigel and the neighbors to worry about disturbing with my outbursts.
I mean, they’re visually stunning movies. The casting was largely excellent** — honestly, I’ll watch Ian McKellen in damned near anything — the effects generally outstanding, the performances usually quite moving — if you discount your inner cynic’s knee-jerk laughter response to the endless “Frodo fall down, go boom!” sequences. For instance, I’m watching the Shelob scene as I type this particular section, and what with my latent phobia of tarantulas, it was all I could do not to squeal like an idiot when she came on the scene. (I’m only a smidge better than Ron Weasley when it comes to big hulking spiders.) Happily, my feet were already tucked up on the futon, so I didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of moving them out of reach of any spider monsters that might be hiding under the mattress ready to grab them.
On the other hand, again taking the Shelob scene as an example, it did not freakin’ well happen that way. There was no such nonsense about Smeagol/Gollum framing Sam for devouring the last of the lembas and trying to steal the ring. I’ll admit to being less strong on the whole Aragorn storyline (boring, compared to the hobbits), but I swear I don’t remember him going over a cliff, ever. And why did they fuck around with the Entmoot and its aftermath, changing it so that the Ents were basically manipulated into sacrificing themselves, rather than going into battle against Isengard freely, of their own choice? Bah.
I watched FotR in the theatre with my parents, who were up here for a visit; when we walked out, my mom said that if she’d realized when I was 10 that the books were that violent, she wouldn’t have let me read them when I was 10. The books, however, weren’t all that violent: there were lots of battles, true, but if you have the sort of mind that I have that is easily bored by Manly Men Swinging Swords That Go “Ting!” and Wearing Helmets That Make Them Go Crosseyed, the battles are just sort of background noise that you have to get through to get to the interesting drama. The boring battle bits are less easy to evade, though, in the movies.
Anyway, seeing FotR in the theatre and realizing how many liberties they’d taken with a story I grew up holding nigh unto sacred made me sure that I should never, ever see the other two movies in company. Indeed, there have been many times Saturday night and tonight that I’ve been moved to shout, “It did not [insert swear words of your choice, preferably alliterative] happen that way!” or “That did not [colorful expletive] happen!” at my hapless television.
Why does it bother me so much with this series, though, when the changes to, for instance, Stardust and the Harry Potter movies don’t so much? I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’ve come up with a twofold theory. (Or perhaps a Penfold theory, but that’s another story entirely.) Fury at “creative” rewriting of movie scripts depends on (1) how sacred the original books are to me, and (2) the involvement of the original author. If the creator of that universe is not involved and it happens to be a particularly dear universe to me, I will heap everlasting scorn and vitriol upon any movie that dares to stray from verbatim canon text, even while appreciating its pretty cinematography, costuming, and performaces.
(This also explains why I loved the Hitchhiker’s movie, despite the facts that it strayed rather wildly from the book canon and that the books were holy enough to me that I wore my “Don’t Panic” button on my patched denim jacket for years, and even today the name “Eddy” still reminds me inexorably of the feeder line, “Eddies in the space-time continuum,” and the response, “Ah, is he? Is he.” Douglas Adams was involved in the early versions of the script before his untimely and tragic death, and thus the whole project bore his glowing stamp of approval. Thus, I was free to enjoy the movie as another adaptation in the HGttG series, which has changed in each new medium it’s tried; without it, not even Stephen Fry’s delightful narration would have been enough to stop me from screaming, “Heresy! That never happened in the book! Burn the heretics! Burn them!“)
As for LotR, I appreciate the amount of work that went into the details; they even got the inscription right on Balin’s tomb. However, I just cannot get over how much they played with the vital story lines (did I completely miss the Entdraught sequence? and the whole Arwen deal was largely extra-canon extrapolation; I don’t care about Arwen, don’t particularly care about Aragorn, so shut up about it already — and why does Elrond look so creepy?).
I know I should appreciate it as a separate work, but it’s really hard when it’s something that was so dear to me for so many years — and now a whole bunch of people who’ve never read the books, who’ve never seen how glorious the real thing is, see the freakin’ movies a time or two and fancy themselves Middle Earth geeks without the hassle of reading the source books, like the stupid woman a few years ago on “Fear Factor” who bragged that her wedding took place in a replica of — and I quote — “Hobbitsville.”
Hobbitsville. I ask you, is that blatant stupidity alone not enough to justify my ire?
*** *** ***
*Note for Mark, my parents, and others less overtly in touch with their geeky sides: LotR = Lord of the Rings; FotR = Fellowship of the Ring (1st installment); TTT = The Two Towers (2nd); TRotK = The Return of the King (3rd installment).
**My only major complaint is that the Elves just looked like pretty humans with pointy ears. I still think they should’ve looked like a separate but parallel lineage, which is what they were. They should’ve looked way more exotic, and I still firmly believe that Björk should have played Galadriel.
My parents are safely back from Jena and are on their way home to Statesboro as I type this. They had a great time and were very impressed with Germany in general, and the university town of Jena in particular.
Almost as important, they brought me books!
The German translation of Terry Pratchett’s Wee Free Men. Given that the Nac Mac Feegle in the English-language original speak in a heavy mock Gaelic-ish manner (e.g., “Taek a heid full o’ dandruff, ya sconner!”), it’ll be interesting to see how/whether that translates into German. . . .
A vegetarian cookbook, which will be good practice for food vocabulary and a useful resource once I figure out how much 500 g of spinach is in volumetric measurements. Presumably it’s larger than 500 g of cornmeal, which one would think would be denser and thus take up less space for the same mass. . . . Also need to figure out what exactly is meant by medium heat, high heat, etc., when it comes to baking: perhaps medium is around 350°F, high around 400°F, and low about 300°F? But then what does “at a good heat” indicate, exactly? Is it whatever heat you feel like using? o.O Bit confused.
Nigel had a vet appointment this morning, during which he had his nails trimmed, his blood sampled for T4 levels, a bald spot on his tail examined (pronounced a probable mosquito bite, gone bald from his licking, but regrowing hair now and not a problem), a weird knobby growth under his collar checked (a harmless skin tag; looks kind of like an albino tick but with no legs and no exoskeleton), and what I thought was a mole on his cheek scrutinized. For the last one, the vet took one glance at it and immediately said, “Oh, that’s a wart. That’s nothing to worry about.”
Well. I’m not quite sure how to take that. I mean, I’m immensely grateful that it wasn’t skin cancer — it’s on the side of his face that’s exposed to the sun when he sits in the window, after all — or some other unpleasantly malignant growth. Compared to that, a wart is nothing. Yay for warts!
On the other hand, my dog has a wart on his actual face. A wart: not the swankiest of skin growths, though I suppose most skin growths are no better. I think it’s just the inelegance of the word that irks me; it’s harsh and unpleasing, and kind of brutish-sounding. It’s not much better in other languages: “die Warze” in German, “vårta” in Swedish, and “wrat” in Dutch; it’s a bit better in French (”verrue”), but still . . . it lacks that certain something. Hmm. We shall have to come up with a better word.
(International wart words confirmed by and/or obtained from, depending on my level of facility with the specific language, the following sources: Beolingus for German, Lexin for Swedish, and good old Babelfish for Dutch and French.)
Anyway, it’s (for me, at least) a busy weekend, and shall continue to be so. The monster chair arrives tomorrow, with its accompanying ottoman and a little occasional table. I think I’ve cleared enough space by the giant bookshelves to put the chair there, to create a little library; failing that, I’ve now got enough free space in the main room for the new furniture. (And if anyone out there needs an oval Queen Anne-style coffeetable or a rectangular folding table about four feet long, let me know; they’re to be donated to a furniture bank if no one else needs them.)
This afternoon saw my parents being safely shipped off to Germany, where they’re going to a week-long conference in Jena. I’m currently suffering from nontraveler’s remorse, but I really do need to save some money this year and, for me, that means not going to Europe at all, despite the fact that I must burn off just over two weeks of vacation time before the end of the year, or lose it entirely. Waaah. (I’m sort of vaguely planning a trip next April, which would be right after we ship the 2008 book’s lasers to the printer; a sort of mini-ramble that would theoretically hit Stockholm, Ghent, Brughes, and Nürnberg, and possibly any other city that takes my fancy between now and then. I haven’t yet bought tickets or even seriously priced them, though, so those plans may evaporate.)
I’m plowing through the initial stages of another online dating/social site, and quite frankly I’m appalled. Typos! Grammatical mistakes! Inanity! Writing that I would’ve been ashamed of when I was six!
This is the worst I’ve yet seen, copied and pasted directly from the source:
“im 32 years old divorced to girls ages 11, 13 whom which live with there mother. im living by the beach in the south looking for a understanding,forgiving,loving,supporting women who love’s live and life after.”
I’d attribute the source, but even I’m not appalled enough to shame someone by username — even though I initially was under the impression that his ex-wives were significantly underage. Bless his little illiterate cotton socks. I mean, he even tried to be all correct by [mis]using “whom,” but completely cocked it up in so many ways and on so many levels. (Obviously, though I feel pain for him, I am emphatically not the “women” he seeks, because I also want to cause him a little of the pain he’s made me feel by writing in such a manner. I don’t understand his composition, I don’t forgive his horrible writing, I feel revulsion rather than love, and I would kick his misspelling backside to the curb before I would support him in any sense of the term. I know I should probably blame the U.S. public schools, not him, but why didn’t he at least have the sense to have someone else proofread before he posted that diarrhea of nonsense?)
Maybe I’m elitist, but I just could not possibly contemplate building a relationship with someone who grew up speaking English but who demonstrates such a poor grasp of the language. It’s not that I expect grammatical perfection from everyone — everyone makes the occasional mistake, self included, and if English isn’t your first language then I’m usually impressed at how many typos you didn’t make, particularly compared to how many I would’ve made trying to type in any language I semi-know. (For some non-native English speakers, I have even been known to find their their typos and grammatical idiosyncracies endearing, but that’s another story entirely, and we shall not go into that at this time.)
On a social site, though, you should at least make some vague effort to appear to have a basic grasp of the grammar, spelling, and freakin’ basic usage of your native language.
Call me an elitist bitch if you will. That’s okay. Out of the site’s initial five suggested matches for me, I rejected four of them out-of-hand for egregious typos (including one for typos and a fondness for hunting; I often forget that Southern men, particularly those outside the cities, sometimes engage in things that would make me be violently ill). If being an elitist snob about spelling means I’ll be alone with my dog for the rest of my life, then so be it. ‘Tis far, far better than the alternative: if I were with someone who cared so little for clarity of expression, then how could they possibly value the fact that I’ve chosen to devote my professional life to clarifying authors’ words to make sure that they convey technical information as clearly and succinctly as possible? That’s such a huge part of my identity, and if they don’t see that as important, at least on some level, how could they see me as a valuable person?
The only non-rejected guy among the five suggestions from this site made no typos and is interested in European travel, but lives in Kentucky, and I’d have to pay at least $25 a month for six months to be able to contact him directly.
Hmm. This may not be the site for me. What I really need is CuteEuropeanGuysSeekingfGrammarGeekGothsfromtheUS.com, but somehow I doubt that’s a valid URL.
Le sigh. Or das Seufzen. Or, in rather delightful Swedish, suck. (Seriously. Look it up here; I can’t link directly to the dictionary page, it seems.)
Yesterday was a great outing, with a slightly odd “universe” theme: my very first visit to Cosmo’s Vegan Shoppe (okay, technically it’s a possessive, not “cosmos,” but it’s close enough for government work; give me a break), and going to see “Stardust.” Well, also my first visit to our local Trader Joe’s, but I found their layout to be confusing and I couldn’t find the tofu, so aside from the cheap plonk, I wasn’t hugely excited by it. Maybe it suffered in comparison, though, because I was giddy over the other two events.
Firstly, I spent way too much at Cosmo’s without even buying any food to speak of — just some delish peanut-butter-and-chocolate popcorn to sneak into the movie. That isn’t a critique of their prices, which were entirely reasonable and basically about what I expected; it’s more that, as I’d suspected would happen, I got carried away and bought an armload of cookbooks and indie cookzines, as well as a delightful soy wax candle that smells like brownies, a set of Perk lip balm (jippie! [which apparently is Swedish for, well, "yippee"]), and vitamin powder for Nigel. If I had been going back home afterward instead of going to the movie, I would’ve definitely loaded up on refrigerated items, many of which (e.g., a bunch of Sheese flavors, vegan gyro filling, more Temptations flavors than I’ve ever seen in my life) I have completely failed to find anywhere else in town. There was also a reclaimed rubber bag I coveted; if I can’t talk myself out of spending the money, I’ll probably try to get the large one next time I’m there.
It was an amazing feeling to walk through a store and know that I could grab absolutely anything off the shelf and not have to read the ingredients list several times. Additionally, the person behind the counter (one of the owners, I think?) was great: friendly, approachable, and possessed of that rare talent — being available for questions without being intrusive when customers are wandering around the store and talking to each other. (Seriously, it drives me nuts when I’m standing there scanning a shelf for the item I want, or to see whether there are any new products, and someone comes up and asks me if I need help. If I need help, I’ll ask, okay? In the meantime, leave me alone.)
Basically, I loved it. Everyone should go there and spend lots of money on the good vegan treats; maybe, if they do really well, they’ll expand their offerings even more: I’m seeing a local produce section, a lunch counter, maybe even a shelf of vegan-friendly wines. . . .
On to the movie: “Stardust” may be getting mixed reviews (currently 73% on Rotten Tomatoes, for what that’s worth), but I loved it, even though I completely failed to recognize David Walliams (!!!) in his small supporting role. Funny, sweet without being cloying, with just enough of a ribbon of darkness running throughout to keep you on your toes: I’m definitely buying the DVD when it’s released.
I don’t think there are any spoilers here — I’ve tried to keep my summary general, albeit wordy, and you’d probably be more spoiled by reading any actual, proper review — but if you prefer to go into movies as pure as the driven, then you may wish to stop reading here.
Really. Stop reading now. I’m not going to go into the plot, but I will refer in a general fashion to bits that I particularly liked or that made an impression on me.
They did skip over bits from the book (the one I missed most was right after Yvaine had fallen from the sky, as you see the crater and the devastation, and then there’s this quiet voice that says, in very small font, “Fuck”), added some new bits (the quarterstaff play, for instance), modified a character here and there (notably, Captain Alberic is now Captain Shakespeare, and rather more colorful), and rearranged a few things (e.g., the May Day fair was turned into a market town that just happened to be near Wall). However, I didn’t really feel that the changes altered the texture, or made it harder to understand if you hadn’t read the book. Even the slight changes to the ending didn’t bother me; the original ending was more realistic and thus more satisfying, I thought, but it’s a fairy tale — I can deal with a minor alteration that still follows the story’s internal rules.
I usually hate it when people muck around with stories by my favorite authors, but these alterations felt fairly natural, as if it were the same story, just being retold by someone with a slightly different emphasis, glossing over some bits, noticing a few details that the original narrator ignored. (It always helps when the original authors are involved in the screen adaptations, I think, especially when their voices are allowed to shine through.) I still sat there thinking things like, “But Yvaine’s leg was supposed to be broken; she’s not supposed to have just a slight limp,” or, “They left out this bit, and that bit was supposed to have happened before the story even started,” but that was only in one particularly persnickety corner of my brain. The rest of my brain was caught up in what was happening on the screen.
Largely, the casting was great; the only one who didn’t at least vaguely match my mental casting was Una, but that’s okay. That’s actually a pretty good record. Sets, scenery, and costuming were also gorgeous, and reasonably close to what I’d expected, though I couldn’t help thinking that Yvaine’s post-pirates dress was not exactly comfortable attire for walking cross-country.
The humor of the book came through nicely, and the bits that actors or director or someone added felt entirely like they could’ve happened in the original story, but just hadn’t been mentioned; the “What, me? No, I’m just admiring the stars, mate, not going to push you out the window at all” bit, for instance, was a particular favorite, though they did have to temporally rearrange the book’s events a little to fit it in. Still, except for the aforementioned few neurons that get all bent out of shape whenever an adaptation so much as changes a line of dialog (it’s sacrilege!), I generally felt that the new or reshaped things humor didn’t really feel tacked-on to me, but meshed rather well.
Finally, I will admit to tearing up a fair bit during Yvaine’s monologue to the dormouse; this was probably helped along by the fact that the dormouse was extremely cute, and the expression on his buck-toothed little face was amazingly appropriate. (Anyone who thought I was a heartless anti-romantic after my post-Deathly Hallows mini-rant should note that it’s just unrealistic, unhealthy, Hollywood-style manipulative pseudo-romance that gets on my nerves. The mixture of vulnerability, happiness, awe, and a little tremulous fear in this scene rang true emotionally for me, and was entirely believable. Well, except maybe for the transfiguration bit, I suppose. That’s probably an exceedingly rare occurrence in the real world, so not all that realistic, but whatever.)
Firstly, thanks to everyone who voted on the photographs; the votes were pretty evenly distributed, actually, but “snarky sidelong” seems to have won out as of 7:00 last evening, with four votes total. I appreciate everyone’s help, and their general niceness about everything. Meeting people and getting to know them in real life is hard enough for me, and trying it a new way is a bit scary; thanks for not mocking!
In other news, I arrived home last evening to find two packages awaiting me: dog food, and shoes. Yes, I finally gave in and ordered the purple combat boots from Vegetarian-Shoes.co.uk:
They’re definitely the most expensive shoes I’ve ever owned — about 85 pounds, which converts to roughly $170, I’d say — but they’re worth it. I’ve always wanted combat boots but have been shy of spending that much money; no regrets with these, though. They’re absolutely gorgeous, and the Vegetan Microfiber uppers are so resilient but soft that I couldn’t stop stroking them, or hugging them and dancing around the flat chanting, “I’ve got my purple boots!” They seem really well made, too, and VS got them out the door really quickly: their Web site says to allow 7 days before shipping, and then 28 days for receipt in the U.K., so I didn’t expect to get mine until the end of August, at least, but these got here in about a week!
As for the dog food, it also arrived really quickly: two days, instead of slightly less than a week, like it usually takes. The only peculiarity was that the box was quite big, and seemed rather heavier than normal when I dragged it into my flat. The mystery was quickly solved, though: rather than the one 33-lb (approx. 15 kg) bag I’d ordered, I got two:
It seems that there was a bit of a mix-up; I called the nice V-Dog people (who’ve been incredibly helpful and dedicated in the past, even being available on weekends to help sort things out when FedEx has its head up its posterior), and the upshot is that I’ll get a discount on the second bag, and will be set for dog food for the foreseeable future. Yay! The only slight problem is figuring out a safe place to store the surplus in my tiny, crowded flat — though as I clear out in anticipation of next week’s receipt of some new-to-me furniture (secondhand from my parents’ redecoration), I hope to find a good spot that Nigel won’t be able to reach, so he won’t gorge himself on unlawful kibble while I’m away during the day.
A few other packages are in the works: the purple sari sneakers at Alternative Outfitters went on sale, and I found a source for whole-bean, fair-trade, shade-grown, organic coffee that charges about $2 less a pound than what I’ve been paying, so I’m giving them a try. Both of those packages are en route. I’m somewhat less thrilled with my order from DeepDiscount.com: my Little Britain DVDs shipped on August 26 with an estimated delivery time of 5 to 10 business days, and they still haven’t arrived. If they’re not here by Wednesday, I’m going to write them and inquire. Hmph.
