November 2013 – The Bittesuite

Life Lessons from Living Abroad: Facebook Debates

You definitely don’t have to read my blog in order to get the idea that living in another country does wonders for your self awareness–the entire internet of expatriats will tell you that. Each time an aspect of a person’s life changes, there’s the chance that that person will need to bounce new information off of their beliefs, attitudes and values in order to continue making sense of the world. Maybe, for example, I believe that English is the world’s language, even though the world is full of other languages that are thriving. I take that belief with me to Germany, where I know everyone learns English to a level of very high competence. Enculturation should be absolutely no problem for me, right? I can just speak English to everyone!

Then, I get to Germany, and English it up with everyone I see. Everything feels smooth–the people I meet are friendly and can, in fact, speak English very well. But, then I learn a little German, and begin practicing it with people I don’t know in random situations.

What a difference.

While people are friendly when approached in English, the friendliness of unknown people (you can never test theories about humanity on your friends, unless you’re into sample bias) reaches noticeably new heights. Where I used to receive short responses and polite smiles, I now receive jokes, laughter and friendly smiles. Even when I speak bad German. But enculturation is smooth if English is so widespread, right?

So, I reexamine my original belief in light of this new information. Do I change my original belief to accommodate it (enculturation is way easier if you learn the local language)? Do I consider this experience an unimportant fluke and disregard it? Or, do I add information to my discovery so that I can still believe both things (enculturation is still easy with English, except in Munich, where people seem to prefer the local language)?

I can’t exactly say that the above experience is mine, since I enrolled in my first German course before I even arrived. But it’s totally relatable and I also can’t exactly say it’s not mine, either. So there it is.

What actually is happening to me involves my love of debate, my (physical) separation from most of my closest friends, and my daily reliance on the Internet. After almost 10 years of using it, I’m beginning to consider Facebook a legitimate outlet for opinion. And because I’ve always seen the Facebook mini feed as the domain of cat owners, amateur chefs and nosy employers, I’m not sure whether or not I should feel good about that.

I’ve always argued with people on niche websites–underneath TED Talks, on YouTube channels, in subreddits, and on and on. But I’ve also always had outlets for discussion in the real world: my friends. I absolutely love talking about different sides of a controversial issue with friends. Many times I even adopt a point of view that I don’t believe, so that I can see how other people would defend the opposite. For example, I told some friends at work back in the US that Christmas is our first opportunity to teach our kids disappointment and skepticism. Eventually, we tell them that everything they thought was magic about the holiday doesn’t really exist, and that their parents made it up so that it would make them feel good. My friends were outraged, and they argued back, asking me questions that forced me to think about the positive aspects of Christmas (“And what would your early years have been like without Christmas?”).

We were close, so eventually it got to the point where, on the weekends, my friends would toast and take a drink every time I put an off-the-wall opinion or question on the table. And then they would argue back. I could get away with questions and comments that would make acquaintances uncomfortable, because my friends were comfortable enough with our relationship to…adequately voice their bafflement.

Now, in Munich, all of my friendships (except for one important one) are brand new. This means that I hold back during discussions that arise without my help, and refrain altogether from starting controversial discussions. For now.

In the meantime, I still need that outlet. That means I need a reason to argue, and I need people who will argue back. Also, in the meantime, my Facebook mini feed has become more interesting (or maybe I’m just noticing the interesting parts, now). Some of my friends have been putting their own ideas in their feed or extolling the value of someone else’s idea. For instance, a link to this article coupled with an opinion on the state of US Medicaid appeared in my feed earlier this evening:

Texas’ Other Death Penalty

An old friend Isaac posted that to Facebook, encouraging us to think about the benefits of an expanded Medicaid system. The thing is, I’m completely confused by that article, emotionally. The article itself is extremely inspiring. But, if someone doesn’t treat the comment section growing out of the bottom of it soon, it may metastasize and kill its host. The short version of the experience is this:

Author/Doctor: “We should save people. I can explain why.”

People: “FAGGOTIDIOTRETARDWARDEATHMACHINEBIGOTRACISMGODISDEAD”

I wanted to say those things on Facebook, in the comments beneath his post. The point of doing so would be to say that, while the notion of doing everything we can to save people is uplifting and inspiring, my impression is that that kind of altruism exists nowhere except for in the minds of people who explicitly build their lives around it (i.e. begin a career that functions on altruism). If I did post that comment, I would wonder what the other people reading that article through my friend’s post were thinking. Can they find comfort in that comment section? Can they find discomfort in that article? Socialized medicine is a big deal, after all. But each time my fingers touched the keyboard, something in my mind begged me not to go through with it. It was mumbling most of the time, and it may have had Kool-Aid on its breath, but what it said sounded something like “Don’t do that, man. You’re supposed to watch what you say on Facebook. This place represents the diversity of your personal relationships more than any other. When you blast opinions all over it, then you’re bound to alienate someone.”

But, isn’t the point of discussing opinions “alienating” someone else? Isn’t someone else supposed to read or hear your opinion, and then think “WHAT!?” and then ask you why it’s your opinion? Then you tell them and ask why they asked? Isn’t that how the original poster and the alienated reader both learn?

So, why is it that I’m so reserved about posting opinions on Facebook? What could go wrong?

As of now, I’m not sure what could go wrong, or how I feel about using Facebook as a debate outlet, myself. Practically speaking, Facebook is so rife with nitpickery over the value of posts (I’m sure you’ve read the best practice lists about cat posts and food posts) that many attempts at conversation would go unnoticed and therefore unanswered. Honestly speaking, though, there’s always the chance I could take my love of controversy too far one day and, lacking the anonymity I enjoy on the rest of the web, pariah my way out of my friends’ feeds. After all, trolling random people is a lot safer than trolling your friends. So, for the time being, I’ll stay away from Facebook as a forum for debate.

Fortunately for me, though, I do have a blog.

Beware: A Marketer Approacheth

The life of a marketer begins in high school, probably during the future soul stealer’s junior year, when they’re approached by a bearded man in a derby and a trench coat. It’s always that guy. “Psst,” he whispers from shadows, the looks of which suggest that he himself created them. “Listen. You want to make money, right? Major in Business when you go to college.”

Many of us are confused at first, since the leap from “making money” to “majoring in business” seems pretty far to a lowly high school student.

“Seriously, though. Want to be a Doctor? Med schools like Business students. Then, you have the know-how to run your own practice! Want to be a Lawyer? Same thing! And then, of course, there’s doing something that they teach you directly, like accounting or investment banking. Endless opportunities!”

At this point, most of us are sold. The rest will change their major to Business when they realize they hate writing Literary Analysis papers as Liberal Arts Majors.

Fresh off the graduation stage, we move on to Business School, where we assume we’ll major in one of the more popular and altruistic disciplines like Accounting or Finance (Lehmann and Enron, you guys were diamonds in the rough). After all, we want to make money, right? What better way to do that than to spend our career swimming in someone else’s?

But those of us destined for true greatness receive the call at the beginning of our Sophomore year, once we’ve gotten our meaningless courses like Economics and Biology and Calculus out of the way. There’s no point in studying the way the world works if I’m going to be deciding how it works, anyway. Right?

As I was saying: The invitation emanates through our laptop speakers one night, during a routine binge on Malcom Gladwell TED Talks. A disembodied voice, neither completely male nor completely female, beckons right as our “perfect Pepsis” chills set in. “If you want to realize your true potential, report to the Marketing Office tomorrow morning at 6:66.” That’s all the voice says before the Folger’s jingle begins playing through our speakers.

I remember the following day more vividly than any other in my life, and not just because the sun rose an hour later than usual. It was the morning I met the Marketing Program Director–the owner of the disembodied voice. I stepped into their office at precisely 7:06, from the smooth, reflective tile floor of the University hallway to the uneven mortar-bound stone within. My heart tried to pound its way from my chest in my mixture of excitement and anxiety. What did the voice mean by “realize your true potential?” I had to know, but part of me was terrified by the prospect of an answer.

The echoing sound of water dripping into distant pools on the stone floor kept me company as I waited on a steel bench for the Marketing Program Director to see me. I remember bowing my head and closing my eyes to focus on the sound of the water, until I felt a sudden change. My skin chilled, as if to tell me that the office had suddenly become a walk-in freezer. My insides, however, floated in warm bath water. My instincts raised my head and opened my eyes so that I could see the new figure in front of me. The Director wore an ashen cloak, tightened at the waist by a deep red sash. A hood covered the Director’s head, obscuring their entire face in shadow, but for two glowing red eyes.

The Director spoke, bellowing distinctly sulfuric breath from under the hood they wore. “You probably plan on majoring in Finance or Accounting, don’t you?”

My own disposition surprised me. I felt completely at home with the Director, like I were talking about my eating habits with the world’s most accomplished dietitian. “Well, yeah, I think so. They seem to be the routes that open the most doors for a graduate.”

The Director’s subsequent laugh instilled in me a shame I didn’t fully understand. “Really?” The Director asked in disbelief. “You’re looking for a degree with security attached to it?” The cloaked figure spat the word “security” like a seed one finds in a watermelon.

“Everyone who matters is a marketer,” continued the Director. “CEOs are Marketers. Consultants are Marketers. Parents are Marketers. And yes, even Teachers are Marketers. What do these people have in common, Ryan?”

I hesitated.

“They control other people. Yes, Ryan. These people make their living on control–on literal self-empowerment. Don’t you want that?”

I hesitated again, but for a shorter time. “Actually, yes. I think I would really like that.”

“Good.” The warmhearted hiss of the director gripped my very soul that instant. I knew I wanted to be a Marketer. But what next?

The Director, having absorbed the thoughts directly from my head, continued: “Before you begin your Marketing training, you must pass one test.”

“Good,” I eagerly replied. “I’m ready for anything. What do I have to do?”

The challenge slithered out from under the hood: “Leave this building.” Then the Director vanished in a ball of fire, the building burst into flames, and a folder full of three peoples’ private personal data manifested itself in my hands.

To leave the building, I had to examine the personal data in my folder and make use of the resulting insight. Specifically, I used fear to convince a member of the Football team to ram his way through a burning door so that I could pass through unscathed (“Your father wouldn’t be happy to learn that he won the war so that his son could cower in front of burning doors, would he?”). Then, I assumed an air of authority in order to recruit two beautiful yet insecure cheerleaders to my cause (“fire’s actually quite predictable when you come from a family of Fire Marshals”). My third and final task involved the maintenance manager. He had a hose attached to a water fixture, but the system’s pressure had plummeted when a pipe ruptured in the inferno. It would just barely stall the flame’s spread, nothing more. Working with the cheerleaders, I appealed to the maintenance manager’s sense of sexuality ([details omitted]), after which he happily stayed behind with the faulty hose to stall the blaze and allow for my narrow escape.

Having survived the test, I would begin my training in the morning.

Our first Marketing course was MKT 302: Principles of Contemporary Manipulation. I remember staring awestruck at its nameless textbook, bound in Furby skin and treated with the blood of Apple Fanboys. I can feel that book in my hands every time I catch the scent of sulfur.

At the end of my first year came my first sales presentation, wherein I had to convince a group of girl scouts to pay me to take their cookies from them. The topic in class at the time was “product positioning,” so my task was to convince the scouts that my possession of the cookies was a valuable source of word-of-mouth promotion to the rest of their market. Therefore, they should pay me for the service. After some quick reach/frequency estimates, we agreed on a CPM that, well, let’s just say that student debt is not a problem, now.

My second year brought with it another fond memory: our first corporate guest speaker. He was YoYo’s Product Manager, and he showed up in my “Fads: The Science of Commercial Compulsion” class. He explained, quite simply, that creating a fad only requires that a marketer understand how gullible humanity is, and that they have access to a data warehouse full of their market’s personal information. Then, you just make it look like cool people are already using your product. I reminisce now on his final words to us. Pulling the side of his cape in to cover his mouth, he whispered “Consumption is as stupid does.” And then he vanished in a puff of smoke.

And the rest is history. Upon graduation, world control would finally be within my grasp. More than anything else in life, I thank my Marketing education for the opportunity.

Everybody’s Hilarious in a Foreign Language Course

All of us, from everywhere, sound hilarious when we try to learn a foreign language. It would seem that we from the US, at our worst, are the most hilarious*, but I promise you can find something funny about the way everyone speaks.

What’s interesting, though, is how each of us sounds hilarious. Over the course of my 4 German courses to date, our teachers have corrected the way we speak about 1 million times each. Especially Valentin, though because he’s a boss. I really wish I could get a picture of Valentin looking especially teacherly (a bit hunched in his seat, hands clasped in front of his face, looking at a student sideways through squinted eyes, on the edge of his seat, waiting to see if the student’s answer is correct). But, I can’t take don’t-worry-about-me-bro-I’m-just-texting-someone photos with my dedicated digital camera.

Anyway, I’m noticing patterns among Valentin’s and other teachers’ corrections, specifically when it comes to pronunciation. Since Monday’s the greatest day of the week, here are some smile-worthy observations.

Different Nationalities and their Problems with German Pronunciation

American: Yeah, I’ll do us, first. Our major problem (this one actually comes straight from Valentin) is how we pronounce “u” and “ü.” He rags on me for this maybe 100 million times per class, assuring me that “yes, you all [Americans] have problems with that.” “U” sounds like “oo” in America-speak, while we don’t have a “ü” sound. You have to move your bottom jaw forward, pull your tongue back and purse your lips when you say it. If mouths had professions, Germany’s would be a circus acrobat.
Spanish/Latin American: They add syllables to the beginnings of words–especially the ones that begin with “S.” They also add a syllable before an “s,” when the “s” follows another hard consonant. “Strasse” becomes “eh-strasse,” for example.
Italian: They add syllables to the ends of words that end in consonant sounds. “Mein,” becomes “Mein-eh,” for example. This one gets funny, because many German feminine words end in the “-eh” sound, so the teacher often corrects their grammar instead of their pronunciation. Then, the student corrects the teacher’s correction.
Japanese: They just add syllables. A Japanese girl in my last class told me that it may be because Japanese words usually have the speaker bouncing from consonant to vowel very smoothly, while German tends to connect many syllables with back-to-back consonant sounds. Think of the name “Hideki.” Every vowel sound touches a consonant sound, and vice versa. Now, think of “Krankenwagen.” Going from “n” to “k,” and from “n” to “w,” might be uncomfortable for a Japanese native at first. They would say something close to “Kran-o-ken-o-wagen.” Of all the wrong ways to pronounce a language’s words, they definitely have the coolest.
Slavic/Uralic Languages: So far, I’ve been classmates with Bulgarians, Russians, Ukrainians, Lithuanians, Croatians, Belorussians, and Hungarians, so they’re the groups from whom I’m getting this pattern. Especially in two-syllable nouns, they accent the second syllable, while Germans often accent the first one. Germans say “BAHN-hof,” while a member of this group really wants to say “bahn-HOF.” Valentin rags on these of my classmates for this almost as often as he rags on me for “ü.”

And there you have it–those are the patterns that have come to light so far. I find this kind of thing is hilariously interesting (a single activity from the points of view of different nationalities), so I had to write about it. I hope you find this either hilarious or interesting, too.

If not: ohgodforgivemeryan@gmail.com.

* I’ve had this “people speak funny” conversation in real life with people from other countries. In each one, they bring up how funny Americans usually sound when they try to speak another language. When they explain what they mean, they always imitate us with “r”-heavy sentences. Come to think of it, we do have an unusual “r.” Everyone else seems to have either silent Rs, or super-mouth-backflip-roll Rs. So maybe that’s why we sound so funny.