Just as I was getting ready to go out on Saturday night, my phone rang. It was the 4 year old niece and 6 year old nephew ringing. They were calling to let me know they had finally decided what to buy with a gift card I had given them for Christmas. (I had run out of time and inspiration, especially when added to the need to post everything.)
When I answered the phone, a boy's voice said, "It's your nephew speaking."
The formality was endearing.
A second after I said hello, Mr Nephew launched into a detailed description of Ninjas. They were in book form, they were in Lego form. He had read the book. He had built the Lego. However, it was noted very specifically that the Ninjas in video form had flaming swords. Mr Nephew was very firm on the point that the Lego Ninja's sword was only yellow in colour and that there was no fire involved.
I said I was very pleased to hear he had been able to choose something he liked with the money I had given.
"Yes," he said. "It cost around $100, but not quite."
I choked on my drink. I had given him $25. I heard my sister in the background say that it hadn't cost that much at all.
Mr Nephew corrected himself and said it cost less than $100. I predict a big future as a used car salesman or negotiator.
Suddenly I was speaking to my niece. (The same one I wrote about here.) She rattled something off about what she had bought. I thought Peppa Pig was mentioned, but it was impossible to tell. She was in a very chatty mood and her consonants had fallen by the wayside. (While checking how to spell Peppa Pig, I discovered that Peppa Pig has her (?) own website!)
When I could get a word in, I asked how she had been spending her day.
There was a big sigh.
"Working." The voice was world weary.
"Working? Where have you been working?"
Again, the world-weary tone: "Around the house."
I pictured child slavery along the lines of Oliver Twist. What had she been doing? Cleaning the oven?
"What about tomorrow then? What are you doing tomorrow?" I asked.
"I'm going to a party." This statement was again accompanied by a very put-upon-sigh and sounded like the word "party" had changed meaning to refer to hard labour building a railway in the desert.
Upon enquiring about who was hosting this joyous occasion, my niece advised it was Emily. I could hear her eyes rolling as she told me.
"Do you like Emily?" I asked.
"She hides and then after she's been hiding she treads on my toes. She's always hiding. I'm giving her a packet of jewellery and I'm getting a packet as well," she declared.
Ah the days of innocence - when jewellery came in packets!
Upon further enquiry I discovered that Emily and my niece are in fact best friends!
After this encounter, I was talking to a friend and her youngest son started to talk in the background. My friend explained to whom she was speaking and asked her son if he would like to say hello. Soon I heard "hello". I responded with "hello" and then there was deathly silence. After a little while, I said, "Bye bye!". He echoed me happily and handed the phone back to his mother.
I do love these conversations. Sometimes the hardest thing is not to burst out laughing. These children have the best element of the comic "straight man" - they're naive about the fact that they're hilarious.
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Monday, 2 February 2015
Wednesday, 7 January 2015
Afternoon chats with my niece
I took a very important phone call today. It was my four year old niece calling. She needed to fill me in on her day. She was watching her older brother (aged 6) paint a pirate ship. Clearly, there was a limit to her powers of concentration and she decided to call her Aunty instead.
"Did you have a nice Christmas?"she asked me and followed up with an open question for me: "What did you get for Christmas?" I told her about a few things and she latched onto the perfume set which had come from her whole family.
The last time we spoke on the phone, I noticed that my facilitator's habit of asking good open questions led nowhere when it came to engaging in conversation with a four year old. My engaging, excellent questions were met with discombobulated silence. In a few short weeks, I can hear how her language skills and comprehension have advanced. Or maybe she was just in a chatty mood.
"Did you have a nice Christmas?"she asked me and followed up with an open question for me: "What did you get for Christmas?" I told her about a few things and she latched onto the perfume set which had come from her whole family.
"I got some perfume too!" she exclaimed.
"Wow! That's great. You must smell very nice. What sort of perfume did you get?" I enquired.
"It's special kids' perfume. It's stuff I can put on myself!"
I was struggling to imagine what this might be and saw fleeting iamges of her dousing herself and the house with some sickening aroma.
"What does it smell like?" I asked?
"It smells like mashed potato and carrots! It's lovely!"
I held my laughter wondering what this perfume could possibly be. Then I pictured the advertising campaign. There'd be a handsome man, sniffing the ear of a woman. He'd be in raptures as he inhaled the smells of mashed vegetables. The woman would morph into his mother...It was time to change the subject, but she beat me to it by telling me that she and her brother had collected all the cards they needed to complete a special book of animals and now they could hear all the sounds the animals make. The cards that Grandma had sent had helped them complete their collection. It was a significant achievement.
"Do you know what I saw in the garden today?" I asked.
"No." That's where a closed question will get you.
"It was a hare."
Silence.
"Do you know what a hare is?"
"A kind of a rabbit?"
"Yes. Sort of. It's a big rabbit and its ears stand straight up."
"What was he doing?"
"Just sitting in the garden eating some grass and looking at me."
"Did you pick him up?"
"No! He was too big. I thought he was a small wallaby when I first saw him."
"Was he a wallaby-rabbit?"
"No! He was a hare, but he looked like a wallaby - that's how big he was."
"How big?"
"As big as a small wallaby."
Silence.
Then came this gorgeous question: "Was he bigger than something small?"
I thought about the answer for a while.
"Yes. He was bigger than something small."
"Okay. Bye!"
She's off to find out what sound a hare makes. I'll look forward to our next conversation.
Thursday, 3 July 2014
Art triumphs over science
I had a satisfying moment yesterday when I was co-facilitating an education session for a group of second year nursing students. My co-facilitator was a very experienced nurse herself and able to cover all the clinical information that I don't know. (I cover the communication and empathy components). I love these sessions because I always learn things too.I
We had just watched a mental health simulation with a female patient who had come to hospital believing she was having a heart attack. She wasn't - she was having a panic attack and it was revealed she had a long history of severe anxiety and agoraphobia. There was plenty to talk about.
My colleague led a discussion about the appropriate drug choices and how they work. We also discussed the side effects and other physical impacts of the drugs. Then we talked about "S.L.U.D.": Salivation, Lacrimation, Urination and Digestion. One of the students asked was Lacrimation was. None of the group knew, but I did.
"It's tears," I offered.
They all looked at me completely surprised. (I'd shared that I had no clinical background.)
"The "Lacrymosa" in the Mozart Requiem, is the movement about crying. I just figured the Latin was probably related."
They looked at me completely surprised again.
This little moment reminded me how handy a broad arts education is. Language is the basis of our communication, understanding and knowledge and I can usually work out most things. It helped me on a game show once when I had to name the South American city who name meant "mountain view". "Monte Video", I answered. I didn't "know" the answer, but I'd worked it out based on the language.
Yesterday's insight wasn't even gained from a language class, but from long exposure to Latin and other languages when singing in choirs!
More and I more I realise how important and useful my broad arts education is. It helps me navigate the world.
We had just watched a mental health simulation with a female patient who had come to hospital believing she was having a heart attack. She wasn't - she was having a panic attack and it was revealed she had a long history of severe anxiety and agoraphobia. There was plenty to talk about.
My colleague led a discussion about the appropriate drug choices and how they work. We also discussed the side effects and other physical impacts of the drugs. Then we talked about "S.L.U.D.": Salivation, Lacrimation, Urination and Digestion. One of the students asked was Lacrimation was. None of the group knew, but I did.
"It's tears," I offered.They all looked at me completely surprised. (I'd shared that I had no clinical background.)
"The "Lacrymosa" in the Mozart Requiem, is the movement about crying. I just figured the Latin was probably related."
They looked at me completely surprised again.
This little moment reminded me how handy a broad arts education is. Language is the basis of our communication, understanding and knowledge and I can usually work out most things. It helped me on a game show once when I had to name the South American city who name meant "mountain view". "Monte Video", I answered. I didn't "know" the answer, but I'd worked it out based on the language.
Yesterday's insight wasn't even gained from a language class, but from long exposure to Latin and other languages when singing in choirs!
More and I more I realise how important and useful my broad arts education is. It helps me navigate the world.
Monday, 3 February 2014
I'm profounded - I mean confounded - words matter.
I received a lesson in the importance of precision in language today.
Back in May, during a period of very wet weather I told my real estate agent that I could hear dripping in the ceiling. There was no reaction. Three days later I had water running down one of the walls in my bedroom. The light fitting was sparking as the electricity met the water that was running through there.
A (very handsome) electrician came and dealt with the electricity - in the ceiling - and left a gaping hole in myheart ceiling. Since then I've had no light in the bedroom and a gaping hole in the ceiling. I have taken to wearing a miner's lamp when I'm selecting my wardrobe for the day.
This happened seven months ago.
People sprang into action last December and decided that the week before Christmas was a convenient time to pack and remove the contents of the apartment, remove the ceiling, replace the ceiling, paint the bedroom and restore the contents. I had other plans thinking that my recent five week absence would provide the perfect opportunity.
Things don't always turn out the way we hope. I won't bore you with the details, but I arrived home to be confronted with packed boxes stacked in the lounge room, bedroom and the entry to the bathroom. And I brought suitcases which also needed to be unpacked. It was 42 degrees Celsius and I had to start work the following morning.
You can imagine the conversations I've been having. I'm writing everything down so they can feature in the absurdist script I'll produce one day. One of them involved the agent advising me to "just follow your normal routine". What am I? A rat in a box maze? She clearly thinks I'm insane. Or some kind of contemporary artist making a statement about some aspect of society as I turn my place into a piece of performance art. Shame I can't sell tickets. There's nowhere for the patrons to stand. I've rigged up a periscope so I can watch television. That's the only activity I can reasonably accomplish - unless I consider moving boxes around to be a leisure activity.
Anyway, the precision of language...imagine my initial surprise when the agent shared an email telling me that she had advised the insurance person and the owner that the flat is "inhabitable". After some thought, I decided she was right, but there was something off about the tone of the email.
Today I received another email telling me again that she'd told the insurance guy that the place is "inhabitable" but also that he shouldn't take her word for it and would need to see for himself. Again, I had a nagging worry that she actually was using the wrong word.
I had to find out, but was unsure how to ask without causing offence. I settled on asking if she meant "inhabitable" as in I can live there or "uninhabitable" as in I can't live there.
Her single-word response came: uninhabitable.
I imagined the insurance agent being moved to even higher levels of frantic inaction with the vehement statements that the place is inhabitable! Any wonder nothing much has happened in seven months.
Considered with the correct understanding, the email from the agent became even more ridiculous as it finished by stating "the place is [un]inhabitable and the insurance agent is aware of that so just wait and see what happens"!
Lucky the roof wasn't blown off! Imagine what "urgently waiting" feels like when you've got bigger problems than not being able to coordinate your outfit or needing to use a torch when you make your way to the bed. Add some boxes into the pathway and you've got added excitement at bed time.
My response in this situation is to initially get angry, then I go floppy and then I start looking for comedy to exploit. I can't even drink as an activity because I've given up alcohol for February as part of Feb Fast.*
Oh and I'm also taking legal advice.
* See how hard it is! I'd love you to sponsor me and support programs for young people who suffer from addictions
Back in May, during a period of very wet weather I told my real estate agent that I could hear dripping in the ceiling. There was no reaction. Three days later I had water running down one of the walls in my bedroom. The light fitting was sparking as the electricity met the water that was running through there.
A (very handsome) electrician came and dealt with the electricity - in the ceiling - and left a gaping hole in my
This happened seven months ago.
People sprang into action last December and decided that the week before Christmas was a convenient time to pack and remove the contents of the apartment, remove the ceiling, replace the ceiling, paint the bedroom and restore the contents. I had other plans thinking that my recent five week absence would provide the perfect opportunity.
Things don't always turn out the way we hope. I won't bore you with the details, but I arrived home to be confronted with packed boxes stacked in the lounge room, bedroom and the entry to the bathroom. And I brought suitcases which also needed to be unpacked. It was 42 degrees Celsius and I had to start work the following morning.
You can imagine the conversations I've been having. I'm writing everything down so they can feature in the absurdist script I'll produce one day. One of them involved the agent advising me to "just follow your normal routine". What am I? A rat in a box maze? She clearly thinks I'm insane. Or some kind of contemporary artist making a statement about some aspect of society as I turn my place into a piece of performance art. Shame I can't sell tickets. There's nowhere for the patrons to stand. I've rigged up a periscope so I can watch television. That's the only activity I can reasonably accomplish - unless I consider moving boxes around to be a leisure activity.
Anyway, the precision of language...imagine my initial surprise when the agent shared an email telling me that she had advised the insurance person and the owner that the flat is "inhabitable". After some thought, I decided she was right, but there was something off about the tone of the email.
Today I received another email telling me again that she'd told the insurance guy that the place is "inhabitable" but also that he shouldn't take her word for it and would need to see for himself. Again, I had a nagging worry that she actually was using the wrong word.
I had to find out, but was unsure how to ask without causing offence. I settled on asking if she meant "inhabitable" as in I can live there or "uninhabitable" as in I can't live there.
Her single-word response came: uninhabitable.
I imagined the insurance agent being moved to even higher levels of frantic inaction with the vehement statements that the place is inhabitable! Any wonder nothing much has happened in seven months.
Considered with the correct understanding, the email from the agent became even more ridiculous as it finished by stating "the place is [un]inhabitable and the insurance agent is aware of that so just wait and see what happens"!
Lucky the roof wasn't blown off! Imagine what "urgently waiting" feels like when you've got bigger problems than not being able to coordinate your outfit or needing to use a torch when you make your way to the bed. Add some boxes into the pathway and you've got added excitement at bed time.
My response in this situation is to initially get angry, then I go floppy and then I start looking for comedy to exploit. I can't even drink as an activity because I've given up alcohol for February as part of Feb Fast.*
Oh and I'm also taking legal advice.
* See how hard it is! I'd love you to sponsor me and support programs for young people who suffer from addictions
Sunday, 22 December 2013
Christmas wishes - with a twist
I'm switching off for Christmas holidays. I'll be spending time with family, heading off to music camp to write my annual song and generally lying around with a book (well, my e-reader actually).
Thank you to you, my readers; you add a very special dimension to divacultura. Knowing you're out there means a lot.
I wish you peace, joy and love - whatever your beliefs.
Or in "Spanish":
NB I did not deface this sign, just noticed it in the street and laughed out loud. Now try getting the song out of your head!
Thank you to you, my readers; you add a very special dimension to divacultura. Knowing you're out there means a lot.
I wish you peace, joy and love - whatever your beliefs.
Or in "Spanish":
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| For lease navidad! © divacultura 2013 |
Friday, 6 December 2013
Lawyers & politicians - taking calls on the train to Footscray.
Travelling home last night I was reminded why my heart sank with the recent news that aviation authorities are considering lifting the ban on the use of mobile phones on aircraft.
Just in front of me a bored looking young woman, dressed in a chain store suit, pale blue shirt and adorned with fake pearls, made a call. She was like, oh-my-god, like, describing how awful her job is? But also how, like, busy she is and she just realised - oh-my-god - they'd be stuffed without her. To add to the charm of this inane public conversation, her voice had a particular quality; it struck right at the heart of my brain - loud, piercing and monotonous. She stared into space and her lips barely moved as she spoke.
She's working at a law firm. Two of the clients are witnesses in the royal commission looking at churches who abused kids and stuff, you know, whatever that things is. Oh my god. She rolled her eyes and looked at her phone. Thankfully she had fallen victim to the mobile phone black spots on the train line to Footscray and the call had been terminated. We had all been spared. Not for long. Her phone soon rang and the conversation continued.
A whole bunch of documents had been delivered to the law firm and they had just sent them over to the barrister, thinking all the documents were in the order on the index, but then they weren't!
The call cut out again. Another brief reprieve for the rest of us.
This happened 10 more times. I wouldn't have the patience for that. I'd send a text and tell the other person that I would call when I arrived home and could talk in privacy.
Just before Footscray, a phone rang behind me and a woman answered.
-
"What? Oh crap! Is that man, whose name I can't mention because I'm on a train, being obstructive? I thought we had the support of the Minister and the Secretary on this! .... Is Lucy there? Well, she's such a B - I - T - C - H!'
I felt like turning around and telling her that we could all spell.
This was the atmosphere in the train carriage for about 15 minutes and it was unbearable. Can you imagine being on a long haul flight for twenty or so hours and being subjected to other people's endless phone conversations?
I'm sure that if you were sitting next to me on a train or a plane and I was engaged in a conversation on my mobile phone, I would come across just as awfully as these two women.
I remember once sitting on a tram and a woman opposite me was issuing directives to someone on the other end of her phone. It was like sitting in a meeting at work and at the end of a long day at work, the last thing I wanted was to feel like I was still there. I didn't say anything verbally, but my body language must have been telling her to shut up! She interrupted her call and asked me if I had a problem. I told her that I did actually and that I probably wasn't the only one. People around me started to nod, so I continued, telling her that we had all finished work for the day and didn't care to sit in her meeting.
She looked stunned and was about to push back when other people nearby gave me a round of applause! She hung up and then gave me some body language to let me know she was not happy. The rest of the tram was though!
I've noticed since I updated the software on my iphone, I can send a text with the push of a button if I don't want to or can't answer the phone. Why can't people wait until they have some privacy and can also be considerate of others? Or why can't they be witty, erudite and speak in melodious tones? Perhaps we really do live in a post-privacy world.
What do you think about allowing mobile phones on planes? Do you answer your phone in public and talk at length? Are any subjects off limits?
Just in front of me a bored looking young woman, dressed in a chain store suit, pale blue shirt and adorned with fake pearls, made a call. She was like, oh-my-god, like, describing how awful her job is? But also how, like, busy she is and she just realised - oh-my-god - they'd be stuffed without her. To add to the charm of this inane public conversation, her voice had a particular quality; it struck right at the heart of my brain - loud, piercing and monotonous. She stared into space and her lips barely moved as she spoke.
She's working at a law firm. Two of the clients are witnesses in the royal commission looking at churches who abused kids and stuff, you know, whatever that things is. Oh my god. She rolled her eyes and looked at her phone. Thankfully she had fallen victim to the mobile phone black spots on the train line to Footscray and the call had been terminated. We had all been spared. Not for long. Her phone soon rang and the conversation continued.
A whole bunch of documents had been delivered to the law firm and they had just sent them over to the barrister, thinking all the documents were in the order on the index, but then they weren't!
The call cut out again. Another brief reprieve for the rest of us.
This happened 10 more times. I wouldn't have the patience for that. I'd send a text and tell the other person that I would call when I arrived home and could talk in privacy.
Just before Footscray, a phone rang behind me and a woman answered.
-
"What? Oh crap! Is that man, whose name I can't mention because I'm on a train, being obstructive? I thought we had the support of the Minister and the Secretary on this! .... Is Lucy there? Well, she's such a B - I - T - C - H!'
I felt like turning around and telling her that we could all spell.
This was the atmosphere in the train carriage for about 15 minutes and it was unbearable. Can you imagine being on a long haul flight for twenty or so hours and being subjected to other people's endless phone conversations?
I'm sure that if you were sitting next to me on a train or a plane and I was engaged in a conversation on my mobile phone, I would come across just as awfully as these two women.
I remember once sitting on a tram and a woman opposite me was issuing directives to someone on the other end of her phone. It was like sitting in a meeting at work and at the end of a long day at work, the last thing I wanted was to feel like I was still there. I didn't say anything verbally, but my body language must have been telling her to shut up! She interrupted her call and asked me if I had a problem. I told her that I did actually and that I probably wasn't the only one. People around me started to nod, so I continued, telling her that we had all finished work for the day and didn't care to sit in her meeting.
She looked stunned and was about to push back when other people nearby gave me a round of applause! She hung up and then gave me some body language to let me know she was not happy. The rest of the tram was though!
I've noticed since I updated the software on my iphone, I can send a text with the push of a button if I don't want to or can't answer the phone. Why can't people wait until they have some privacy and can also be considerate of others? Or why can't they be witty, erudite and speak in melodious tones? Perhaps we really do live in a post-privacy world.
What do you think about allowing mobile phones on planes? Do you answer your phone in public and talk at length? Are any subjects off limits?
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
On my mind - from language to skinny jeans and Ricky Martin
Language is one of my favourite things in the world. I love the sound of words. I love the feel of words - mellifluous - how good does "mellifluous" feel in your mouth as you say it? I pay close attention to the words people choose and how they express themselves. I pay close attention when I choose words and focus on clarity whether I'm speaking or writing.
"Mellifluous" is one of those words that feels and sounds like what it is. It means "sweetly or smoothly flowing". Yes! I really love the way the word itself embodies its own meaning.
This is what I notice about language.
I'm thinking about this because I recently experienced examples of incongruence. I'm noticing it more and more when I'm facilitating and coaching others to achieve their goals. Consider: "Um, I think I want to try and be more passionate?" (The question mark is deliberate.) This sentence was delivered with an apologetic facial expression and a shrug of the shoulders.
I hear the words and am struck by the lack of conviction, the lack of passion in that statement of intent.
I know that it's unclear whether thought follows action or action follows thought, but I'm a firm believer in starting today. If your intention is to be passionate and convey that passion to other people, why not start right now?
Imagine the difference if the statement was "I want to share my passion for Icelandic needlecraft with the world!"; or "I'm passionate about introducing others to the delights of 14th century church music!"
(The exclamation mark at the end of these sentences is deliberate.) I may not have the slightest interest in Icelandic needlecraft or 14th century church music but if you sound like it's exciting when you tell me about it it's likely your energy and enthusiasm will spark a curiosity in me.
These moments of linguistic incongruence leave me wondering; puzzled more than curious.
*****
I discovered today that one of the ingredients listed on my favourite cheese is "cheese flavour".
It's a recent addition.
I am in search of a new favourite cheese.
*****
"The Voice" is back on TV.
I love that show. I am repeating last year's performance, spending most of the blind auditions in tears. I'm not even on the show.
And I look at Ricky Martin and can't believe how handsome he is. Really. He is linguistically congruent. I'm sure. And mellifluous.
*****
It's really hard to top up your myki when the lights are out at the station and it's after sunset.
I hope I topped up my myki and it's not a repeat episode of the time I tried to get into Flinders Street station by touching on with my Boost Juice loyalty card. (They're a similar colour. I was confused.)
*****
Every time I have a shower, there is water on the floor at the other end of the bathroom that wasn't there before I had a shower. I can not find its source. I may be going crazy.
I ponder the conversation with the real estate agent as I explain the problem.
*****
Skinny jeans must be so hard to wear if you need to do anything other than stand in the one spot. Once you're in them how do you bend your legs even to walk? More importantly, what colour are your legs when you take them off?
*****
I've reached my monthly data allowance on my mobile phone. Anxiety accompanies this knowledge. I don't know what to do or how it happened. Will my life ever be the same again?
"Mellifluous" is one of those words that feels and sounds like what it is. It means "sweetly or smoothly flowing". Yes! I really love the way the word itself embodies its own meaning.
This is what I notice about language.
I'm thinking about this because I recently experienced examples of incongruence. I'm noticing it more and more when I'm facilitating and coaching others to achieve their goals. Consider: "Um, I think I want to try and be more passionate?" (The question mark is deliberate.) This sentence was delivered with an apologetic facial expression and a shrug of the shoulders.
I hear the words and am struck by the lack of conviction, the lack of passion in that statement of intent.
I know that it's unclear whether thought follows action or action follows thought, but I'm a firm believer in starting today. If your intention is to be passionate and convey that passion to other people, why not start right now?
Imagine the difference if the statement was "I want to share my passion for Icelandic needlecraft with the world!"; or "I'm passionate about introducing others to the delights of 14th century church music!"
(The exclamation mark at the end of these sentences is deliberate.) I may not have the slightest interest in Icelandic needlecraft or 14th century church music but if you sound like it's exciting when you tell me about it it's likely your energy and enthusiasm will spark a curiosity in me.
These moments of linguistic incongruence leave me wondering; puzzled more than curious.
*****
I discovered today that one of the ingredients listed on my favourite cheese is "cheese flavour".
It's a recent addition.
I am in search of a new favourite cheese.
*****
"The Voice" is back on TV.
I love that show. I am repeating last year's performance, spending most of the blind auditions in tears. I'm not even on the show.
And I look at Ricky Martin and can't believe how handsome he is. Really. He is linguistically congruent. I'm sure. And mellifluous.
*****
It's really hard to top up your myki when the lights are out at the station and it's after sunset.
I hope I topped up my myki and it's not a repeat episode of the time I tried to get into Flinders Street station by touching on with my Boost Juice loyalty card. (They're a similar colour. I was confused.)
*****
Every time I have a shower, there is water on the floor at the other end of the bathroom that wasn't there before I had a shower. I can not find its source. I may be going crazy.
I ponder the conversation with the real estate agent as I explain the problem.
*****
Skinny jeans must be so hard to wear if you need to do anything other than stand in the one spot. Once you're in them how do you bend your legs even to walk? More importantly, what colour are your legs when you take them off?
*****
I've reached my monthly data allowance on my mobile phone. Anxiety accompanies this knowledge. I don't know what to do or how it happened. Will my life ever be the same again?
Saturday, 9 February 2013
Friday moments
It happened because I thought I knew what was written in my diary without actually checking my diary. Those assumptions will kill you!
Luckily the client was very understanding and we've rescheduled.
*****
One of the phrases I noticed people saying this week: "Too easy."
It was uttered by a man helping another person. I pondered this phrase and wondered what it means.
Is it a complaint? Is the person really saying "give me something harder to do because that really was too easy"? Or is it an assessment of their own competence: "that's too easy for me".
Then I stopped thinking about it because it was making my head hurt.
*****
I went to buy a new pair of black shoes at my favourite shoe store yesterday. I knew exactly the ones that I would buy.
They didn't have them in my size. And they never will now. Once they're gone, they're gone.
Here's what came home with me instead....
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| ©divacultura 2013 |
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| ©divacultura 2013 |
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| ©divacultura 2013 |
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| ©divacultura 2013 |
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| ©divacultura 2013 |
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| ©divacultura 2013 |
Aren't they lovely? The black ones were the same as these, except, well, black.
So that was my week's end. Now it's the weekend.
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
To pair or not to pare pears.
| A pair of pears, ready for paring. |
They're gathering their pears.
When they have enough pears they'll pair them.
There will be pairs of pears ready to be pared.
It's hard to know if any can be spared.
The paring of paired pears requires skill and patience.
Pears can only be pared in pairs; that is, only paired pairs can be pared.
Paired pears will be pared.
I don't think there will be spare pears - unless there are seven.
If there are seven pears, they will have three pairs and a spare pear.
If they find one more pear, they will have eight pears which makes four pairs.
That is four pairs of pears which have been paired for paring.
So there.
How does anyone learn English?
Saturday, 28 April 2012
Complexification is a killer
A message flashed up on my laptop yesterday when I unplugged it to take it with me for the day. The message was about the "USB human interface device".
I was puzzled. I had no idea what that could be. I looked at all the things I have plugged into my USB ports and realised that they were talking about the mouse. Human interface device seems like overkill - so many more words and letters and space taken up when a single, five-letter word would do and be immediately understood.
How did this happen, this complexification?
One aspect of the work I do is to assist people with government departments, tribunals and some simple legal matters. The area people need most help with is understanding what they're being asked to do. Even simple information is transformed into something terrifying through ambiguous and complicated language. I've had many conversations where I listen to the ten minute explanation of what happens next and then I say something in summary. Usually the summary sounds like "so you're saying they would have to pay?" The answer is usually yes.
The law and bureaucracy touch all of our lives everyday and information should be accessible, meaning available and able to be understood.
I noticed this quote on the end of one of my client's emails the other day: Beware of complexifiers and complicators. Truly "smart people" simplify things (Tom Peters).
I'm running the simplification checker over what I do, say and write from now on.
The people who came up with the idea of a device to assist human beings to interface with a computer were probably pretty smart. The people who looked at it and called it a mouse were probably smarter.
I was puzzled. I had no idea what that could be. I looked at all the things I have plugged into my USB ports and realised that they were talking about the mouse. Human interface device seems like overkill - so many more words and letters and space taken up when a single, five-letter word would do and be immediately understood.
How did this happen, this complexification?
One aspect of the work I do is to assist people with government departments, tribunals and some simple legal matters. The area people need most help with is understanding what they're being asked to do. Even simple information is transformed into something terrifying through ambiguous and complicated language. I've had many conversations where I listen to the ten minute explanation of what happens next and then I say something in summary. Usually the summary sounds like "so you're saying they would have to pay?" The answer is usually yes.
The law and bureaucracy touch all of our lives everyday and information should be accessible, meaning available and able to be understood.
I noticed this quote on the end of one of my client's emails the other day: Beware of complexifiers and complicators. Truly "smart people" simplify things (Tom Peters).
I'm running the simplification checker over what I do, say and write from now on.
The people who came up with the idea of a device to assist human beings to interface with a computer were probably pretty smart. The people who looked at it and called it a mouse were probably smarter.
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