university – The Bittesuite

3 Instances of Correct Grammar Making the Day

Life is full of smile-inducing moments. Right? Someone holds the door open for you with an inviting grin. Another person moves out of your way when you’re in a hurry. Yet another gives their seat on a train to someone who has a hard time standing.

Just recently, I’ve caught myself grinning like an idiot over something I had never considered before. Some people (and don’t ask me how) remember English grammar lessons they received in High School. These super humans are capable of truly amazing feats. Avoiding dangling prepositions. Treating collective nouns like plural nouns. Using direct and indirect objects correctly. Truly mindblowing stuff.

I witness the three above often enough that I can simply describe the experience as “pleasant.” There are three others, however, that actually get me excited. These are bits of grammar that I hear used correctly approximately 0% of the time. Listen in your daily life, and chances are you’ll notice the same. When they are used correctly, I’m so surprised and delighted that I’ll probably smile about it again the following day.

And here’s the thing: I’m a member of the school of thought that considers language (especially English) fluid and malleable. It’s beyond cool that “classical” English phases out over time as its speakers break the rules more reliably and in larger numbers. What this implies about the influence of second-language speakers on English is freaking awesome. Nonetheless, hearing classical grammar in everyday speech makes me smile like an idiot.

Let’s do this.

Data

“Data” is a plural noun. Just about every time you hear the word, however, it’s treated like a singular noun. “The data doesn’t support your conclusion,” is what you normally hear. “The data don’t support your conclusion” is what you should hear.

“Datum” is the singular version of the noun. Who says “datum,” though? On the other hand, when is that word ever even necessary? I can’t think of a single reason to speak about a single datum at a time outside of some esoteric database diagnostic scenario. So, we don’t reasonably have to worry about looking weird in front of our friends and colleagues.

I have a lecturer in my Master program who uses “data” as a plural noun. It feels so good in my nerdy nerd of a soul every time I hear it.

Number/Amount

To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone use these correctly. “Number” describes a quantity you can measure. “Amount” describes a quantity you can’t measure. I have an amount of water. I have a number of liters of water. I can only have water. I can’t have 1 water or 2 waters. I can, however, have 1 liter or 2 liters of water.

In the real world, what you always hear is the word “amount.” Your friend will tell you about the astounding “amount” of people in the subway this morning. That implies that an indeterminable number of humans were melted, and the subway was full of their goo.

Oh, no. Maybe that is what he saw this morning.

I’ll wait. One day, I’ll hear “number” when I would otherwise hear “amount.” Unless I manage to contain my glee, I’ll probably be committed for mental illness soon after.

Among/Between

Every now and then, I hear these used in the classical way. Academics know the difference. Business people do not. That’s the general rule I’ve observed over the courses of my studies and career.

“Between” relates two objects to one another. We have two apples between the two of us.

“Among” relates three or more objects to one another. There are three martians among our group of ten people.

Nobody ever says “among” when they mean between. They do, however, routinely say “between” when they mean “among.” Between the three of us, we have one college degree. That makes me cringe in a way similar to the way “amount” in the wrong circumstance makes me cringe.

When I do hear the word “among,” though, it’s sunshine and cervezas for the rest of the day.

What Makes for Great Education?

I just finished the third of my master program’s four semesters. Even more specifically, I just finished the final exams of my third of four semesters. More excitingly, I only have three more courses and a thesis to write before I graduate from the program. Ecstatic, I tell you.

Anyway.

At this point, a whole lot of education has happened to me, and I’ve been thinking about what’s made certain classes particularly useful. In a word, it’s challenge. But that word is incredibly lame and vague.

More precisely, what makes an amazing class amazing is a combo of two things:

According to the instructor, their role is making students better at things and making students understand things. Their role is not making students know things.
Courses are fora in which we practice skills and ponder ideas. This means we take some responsibility for the getting better at things and the understanding things.

An example from each of my universities has run through my head repeatedly over the past few weeks, so I’m putting them on the Internet so that they live forever. To posterity!

The University of Texas at Austin

Digital Media was a class that hurt brains and egos.

In my undergraduate advertising program, the purest example of this optimal teacher/course combination was Digital Media as taught by Gene Kincaid. In addition to being our lecturer, he also ran his own web consultancy in Austin (my TUM example shares this trait, so I think there’s really something to it). At the beginning of each week, we would find articles in the class’s cloud–new media profiles, buzzword salads written by industry bloggers, ad tech developments, ad standards developments, legal developments, on and on.

Each class was a discussion of the articles initiated by Mr. Kincaid and then dominated by the students. He would ask the class for an opinion on an issue (are reach and frequency still valid ad metrics?). We would vomit our gut reactions at him. He would ask why. We’d break to listen to the cricket symphony while our gears spun into action.

Classes were headaches, and Mr. Kincaid was an intellectual task master. One of my favorite memories was a class day, at the beginning of which he wanted to start a discussion on augmented reality’s use cases (this was 2007-08). Nobody had an answer. He asked “who here read through the suggested articles before class?” Nobody raised their hand. “Okay, everyone out. Class is over.” Nothing feels more like failure than feeling directly responsible for a missed learning opportunity.

Technische Universität München

"The Power of Free" is a magical cognitive bias. — “The Power of Free” is a magical cognitive bias.

The ideal combo in my master program, so far, is definitely Behavioral Pricing as taught by Dr. Florian Bauer. Like Mr. Kincaid, he also runs his own consultancy, but in the Munich area. I really think this has something to do with the effectiveness of his teaching style.

Anyway, Dr. Bauer’s course was a seminar that took place all day on four days during the semester. On the first day, he told us to pair up and draw numbers from a box. The number told us which topic in behavioral pricing we would be teaching the class two months later. Half of the class were assigned topics in behavioral pricing theory (behavioral economics, cognitive bias…), while the other half were assigned pricing research tools (Van Westendorp PSM, BPTO, pricing experiments…).

He then gave us goals. Of course, one was understanding our topic (my partner and I had Gabor-Granger and the Van Westendorp PSM). What was our tool designed to accomplish? How does it work? How well does it do what it says it can do? Could it do anything else?

We on the tools side also had to link our tools to the other tools and the theories discussed by the other half of the class. Finally, we had to consider the tool from the “behavioral pricing” perspective, which meant understanding how the research tool itself might bias its own results.

That’s a lot of critical thinking.

The following three days of class (two months after the first) were days full of student-led lectures interspersed with Dr. Bauer’s commentary, corrections and anecdotes from his work as a pricing consultant. When other students presented, we were reminded of our own research that linked our topic to theirs. When we presented, we knew when to call out prior presentations and foreshadow future presentations. In between presentations, we had Dr. Bauer there to elaborate and make our presentations more real by relating his own experiences. If repeated exposure guarantees learning, then this is one of the most risk-free courses I’ve ever taken.

How Education is Different in a Master’s Program Taught by Scientists

My Bachelor was a dual-study in Business Administration and Advertising. Along with Engineering and Journalism, they’re probably two of the most practical academic programs on the planet. That is, they teach you things like these:

1. A fast 80% is often better than a slow 100%

2. Data analysis only needs to inform a decision, not yield The Truth

3. The best idea is the one you can get people behind

Arguably, those insights are really good fuel for success in business. Those programs were exactly what I’d hoped they would be.

After Bachelor, I went to work in Marketing for a large tech company. Those three insights above and a host of others resurfaced again and again on the job. My teachers seem to have known what they were talking about.

My Master’s program is more scientific (put your torches down, natural scientists–I just said “more scientific”). This time around, we’re learning how to beat a dead data horse into the ground in order to conclude exactly how right we can claim we are at the end of a sociological study. You’re only 80% sure that your study didn’t yield a false-positive result? Get back to your political polling, noob. It’s exactly what I’d hoped it would be.

I can stop there, for now. The point of this post is obvious–a Master’s program taught by scientists is a lot different than a Bachelor’s program taught by industry veterans. Here’s how:

1. “How right?” vs. “Not obviously wrong”

In the sciences, your audiences will usually be wondering how right you are–how comfortably they can consider your results an insightful description of something real. The quantitative side of this is obvious–which test did you run, and how significant are its results? There’s a number there. That’s pretty much the end of the story.

There’s a qualitative side, too. “Which model did you assume?” is one qualitative question. If you assume a linear relationship between a set of explanatory variables and an outcome variable, but the scientific community really thinks the relationship should be exponential, then your study’s a bust. It won’t get published, and your results will never enter conventional wisdom. Theoretically, the correct answer to “how right?” is “100%.” However, I don’t think any scientist will expect that any results are 100% correct, even if the data suggest that they are. Instead, you want to be 90-100% correct. Unless you’re into theory generation, in which case you’re a salesperson.

In school, this means that a successful project results in your thorough understanding of what’s already known. For instance, I’m taking a class called “Value Chain Economics.” It’s microeconomic theory applied to optimizing an industrial chain from start to finish–from raw materials gathering to finished good shipping. Our capstone project is exactly what you’d expect–analyze a value chain, identify its problems, and recommend a solution to one of them. In a business or ad program, we would be expected to gather as much insight as possible and then craft an original solution. Inductive logic usually feeds original solutions, so we’d be applauded for reasonable leaps in logic. In this program, however, one of the questions our graders are going to have is “how can you be sure this will work?” (contrast with a business professor’s “Why do you think this will work?”). This makes looking for case studies that document a solution to the problem a viable strategy.

“How right” rarely seems to matter in business, though. “Not obviously wrong” is what matters. You come up with a theory, get your colleagues behind it, run a program, and then determine and document how well the program performed. That’s where good business knowledge comes from. Plan, execute, evaluate, optimize–that’s the stuff, and it involves a lot of celebrated failure. It works, because it’s fast and, online at least, cheap. If your aim is making people aware that your product can fly, and your marketing plan involves a bunch of networking events and keynote presentations, then your plan might fail the “not obviously wrong” test.

2. A Master’s Student is Not a Student–They’re an Intern

I don’t know if it’s just because we’re not learning the basics anymore, or if it’s because scientist/professors are selfish, but I’m extremely suspicious that most of our projects are meant to help our professors do their jobs as researchers. If they teach us something as well, then hooray for two birds.

In “Conflict Resolution,” we’re supposed to identify a natural resource conflict, analyze it and propose a strategy for alleviating it. Sounds great, right? I still think it does. However, our professor is paying WAY more attention to those of us who chose mining-related conflicts than those who didn’t. And wouldn’t you know it, that’s the subject of her research. What a coincidence! Those poor “whaling conflict” groups.

This may be because the scientist/professor’s career is still active and tied to the university. In my business and ad programs, the professors had to be enticed away from industry jobs to finish out their working days teaching the next batch of young thems. In their case, teaching was their core function, and presumably that’s why our projects back then were extremely educational, but likely had very little use outside of our final classroom presentations (unless the subject companies were looking for ideas).

3. 80%? Are You Kidding Me?

Remember the “Fast 80” insight with which I opened this post? My worldview is informed by that insight to a large degree after Bachelor and those three years at the tech company. It makes an awful lot of sense–you’d be surprised how often you’ve done what you need to do by the time you hit the 80%-of-perfection point. In any case, I think its real value is in reminding us that it’s usually time to wrap up a project before we consider it truly perfect.

This difference is funny, because it affects the way we classmates interact with one another.

Our program probably contains equal numbers of what we’ll call “academics” and “industrials.” Industrials like me plan to continue in the business world after graduating. Academics want to keep doing research and get published. 80% is simply not enough for an academic, and trying to pitch them on the idea will drive them crazy.

An example of an industrial-academic conflict is this: some research says that plastic takes an average of 450 years to degrade naturally when thrown away. Other research says it takes 1,000 years. The industrial thinks “it takes a long time,” and just includes 450 years in their presentation to err on the conservative side. “It takes a long time” is really what the audience needs to know. The academic, on the other hand, needs to know which one is correct, or how it’s possible that both are correct. In a team’s context, as soon as the industrial settles on 450, the academic has a panic attack as visions of a declining final grade flash before their eyes, even if the decline envisioned is a 96% to a 93%.

I’m finding that this dynamic fosters extremely effective teamwork, however. In business school, everyone’s obviously an industrial. On the worst of teams, that leads to a lot of fudging–“eh, it’s close enough” adds up enough times to drive the final result so far away from insightful that the project ends up being a lazy, useless buzzword salad (startup company elevator pitches?).

Presumably, then, the worst of teams full of academics will have the opposite problem. They will have real, specific knowledge to share. They’ll have tons of it, in fact–so much that they have a hard time justifying cutting any of it out of their presentation. Collecting that knowledge took a lot of time and hard work, man! On presentation day, they give 250% of a presentation to a sleeping audience who already heard the industrials’ presentation a month ago.

You see where I’m going with this: the mixed industrial/academic team is really beneficial to both types.

So, there’s a taste of the differences I’ve experienced transitioning from a practical study program to a theoretical one, from business to science, from Bachelor to Master. Do you have similar or different experiences? Light up that comment section.

Accepted

TUM Munich About a year ago, I arrived in Munich, noticed a really interesting-looking Master’s program at a local university, applied for the program (incidentally, the only program whose deadline hadn’t yet passed), and was rejected for reasons unknown. A Master in Logic and The Philosophy of Science would have been extremely interesting, but as it seems, there are other types of people who are better fits in such a program. Afterward, I laid out the state of my drawing board and resolved to finish learning German before applying to a new Master’s program “next year.”

I began looking at other universities in the area. One is the Munich Business School (MBS)–a place where you go to get an International MBA for approximately one trillion euros per semester. The MBA is a degree that doesn’t quite grant what I need from an education, though. Most public among their benefits are that they offer title recognition (“MBA” is a powerful acronym on a CV), really good networking opportunities, and an environment conducive to learning through discussion of professional experience. The last one, admittedly, is really cool. However, the other two are benefits that I believe I can get elsewhere if I’m a little creative about it.

The Munich University of Applied Sciences and the Ludwig Maximillian University of Munich are two others with English-taught Masters programs. They both emphasize two types of programs (in their English catalogue):

1) Technical Programs: Programs in which you learn how to do something very concrete. Examples are software engineering and bioinformatics.

2) Niche business/strategy/management programs: Programs in which you learn to apply business strategy concepts in esoteric contexts. Examples are social care management and management in the hospitality industry.

Software development is definitely in my future, so a technical program is appealing on some level. But, I feel I don’t need a university education to reap the benefits of a technical program. It seems to me that the core offering of a university education in a technical field is a structured learning environment–guided practice, homework, a teacher telling you what you should learn and when. If structured learning environment is not at the core of what you’re seeking, however, then one can develop a technical skill through YouTube, Lynda, Missing Manuals and SaaS platforms like the Unreal Engine, albeit maybe more slowly. What really matters in the technical fields that interest me is the portfolio which the education services.

The other type of program–niche business/strategy/management programs–seem to be pigeon holes that require a lot of certainty in one’s destiny. If I were to go into social care management, for example, I would learn how what I learned in undergrad is relevant to a comparatively narrow professional field. That means that what the program primarily offers is information related to that comparatively narrow professional field–problems the field has to solve, or the structure of a business in the field, for examples. If I were certain that “social care management” is where I want to make my difference, then a program as narrowly tailored as that one might give me a boost.

LMU and MUAS were just a little outside of my consideration set, then (outside LMU’s Logic and the Philosophy of Science program).

TUM Freising What I was looking for was a program that develops skill applicable to a broad set of disciplines (analysis, synthesis, human behavioral research, logical argument, engaging speaking…) at a much deeper, more intense level than my undergraduate programs did. I was looking for philosophical challenge, intellectual challenge and a chance to rethink and develop my values. I was looking for marketing leadership in 5 years, entrepreneurial leadership in 15, and the intellectual versatility to make deciding where I apply myself an option.

What I found a little less than a year ago is the Master in Consumer Affairs program (MCA) at the Technischen Universität München (TUM).

At the most basic level, MCA teaches marketing skills, using European Union public policy to give the skills context in which to be practiced. In fact, the program was created at the request of the European Commission, and they remain its official supporter. The program offers what I’m after in the following ways:

1) The marketing skill it emphasizes above all others is behavioral research–figuring out why consumers do what they do. The entire Marketing discipline is two words: discover and satisfy. As half of the definition of marketing, behavioral research is an extremely important skill for me in my quest to business leadership.

2) Honing skill in behavioral research necessarily means honing skill in analysis and synthesis, the two most advanced intellectual skills people currently develop (the other two being memorization and application). Conducting market research always culminates in breaking down findings (analysis), reaching conclusions and generating a marketing course of action (synthesis). Analysis and synthesis are at the center of my drive to self improvement, so their involvement in the MCA education make me very excited.

3) The EU Public Policy context of the program is the source of the philosophical challenge and value development I’m after. As I wrote my entrance essay, one conclusion I reached about the EU is that the EU Commission seem to be of minds that favor experimentation in social change. They pass directives (strong legal suggestions to member nations) and regulations (legal mandates to member nations) rather frequently in the realm of consumer affairs. These measures and their relatively frequent revisions represent pondering that I really admire: What does it mean to enjoy free speech? How free should speech be? How responsible are consumers for their own well-being? Should companies be able to push social agendas with their marketing? Should companies have to push social agendas with their marketing? The EU Commission is overseeing the cultural, political and economic merging of a large and extremely diverse region of the world. This puts it in a position to (read: forces it to?) question many of the values longer-established world regions take for granted. Tasty ideological challenges await.

I’m going to stop here, for now. Long story short, though, TUM accepted me into the MCA program last Thursday, and I’m really excited about it. My next few posts will cover what the application process was like, what preparing for school is like, and maybe a few of the more dramatic moments in the past few months. If you’re thinking about getting a Master’s degree in Munich, or are just curious, then I look forward to seeing you again, soon.

How I Got My Visa Extended

It’s 7:20 in the morning. As I leave the U-Bahn station at Poccistrasse, I see a crowd of other sleepy-eyed foreigners standing outside the Kreisverwaltungsreferat (the KVR). Presumably, everyone on line is here to obtain or extend a visa, but the KVR may offer other services, so I’m not sure. An old man in front of me with hedges for eyebrows stares at a newspaper with his mouth open for who knows how many minutes. He likely won’t be joining me in the student line. A girl about my age is further up, at the very front of the line. She’s leaning inward toward the door slightly, and she’s tracing the items on her checklist with her finger, head positioned nearly below her shoulders. I imagine she’s a runner and that she’ll be my competition for a place in line.

Ten minutes go by. I can hear anxious murmuring ahead of me as the crowd ball starts to shift. Someone somewhere is unlocking a door.

It’s the handicapped door, at the far end of the entrance. An anxious young guy edges past me in order to weave through the crowd toward it. Waiting for the door in front of us to open is for noobs, I guess. A second later, a KVR employee is unlocking our door. The murmuring starts in our section of the crowd, and I feel pressure on my back. The KVR employee slides out of the way of the door, and I learn that everyone is a runner. It’s November 19, 2006 in the US, and the Nintendo Wii just went on sale.

I walk in, dodging runners as they fly by me on their way to whichever line offers the visa they need. I’m on my way to the 2nd floor, but luckily it’s pretty close to the stairwell. Everyone seems to be avoiding that route, so I’m feeling pretty good about the likely length of my line. Nursing the pending nervous breakdown I’d given shelter in my stomach over the weekend, I push open the stairwell doors. I hear sharp breathing as a girl of maybe 26 hurries past me as I inadvertently hold the door open for her. You’re welcome. I enjoy a laugh at the ridiculousness of everyone’s anxiety and continue upward.

About a minute later, I’m in line behind 6 people. This isn’t bad at all–the line ends before the doorway out of the room. I have 4.5 hours to get through this, and maybe 3 waiting areas. Awesome. A crowd of maybe 7 runners sighs its way into line behind me. That’s funny.

Four people make it through the front desk in about as many seconds, after simply handing Desk Lady their application checklist. How on Earth did they do that? There’s no time to ask, though–I’m almost next.

The next guy approaches Desk Lady. His native language is Spanish, but he stutters through some German. Maybe it’s because he’s still learning, or maybe it’s because he’s nervous. I don’t know which it is, but I absolutely relate to both.

“I need to get a Visa, please.”

“Do you have your application?” Desk Lady tells her computer screen.

“Um, no I don’t.”

“Why not?” She still hasn’t looked up from her screen.

“Um. Well, can I go fill it out and bring it back to you?”

“Go fill it out. Next.”

He’s a tough act to follow. “Hi, I would like an extension for my Visa, please.”

“I need to see your documents.”

“Naturally.” I’m trying to be as humble as possible. In my experience, working with Desk Lady and Desk Man is working with an emotionally sensitive computer. Every text string that leaves my mouth or appears on any of my papers must match the string stored in their memory. Unless I annoy them. In that case, they add new text strings to their memory and penalize me for an invalid command.

I produce my Visa application and my checklist.

“Financial support?” She wants evidence that I won’t be a burden on the German welfare system.

“Yep.” I hand her a pay stub of Roxana’s and a note signed by Roxana naming her my source of financial support.

“This is all you have?”

That is the question of nightmares. Every bit of that nervous breakdown I mentioned before was rooted in the possibility of hearing that exact question. Oh, dear God.

“Well, yes. It indicates that my time here is sustainable, no?”

“Who is Roxana?”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“She needs to come here with you. Notes like this only work when support comes from your parents.”

My argument: “Oh. Really?”

She looks back at her computer screen and types for ten seconds. She looks back to me. After five more seconds, she slides her chair back, hits a button and hands me a waiting room ticket.

Valid command!

I’m number 108, so I find a seat in the waiting room and melt into it. This is as far as I’ve made it since I received my first Visa a year ago. Run free, pending nervous breakdown.

It’s going to be awhile until they call me. One new number appears on the board every 7-10 minutes. I pull out A Feast for Crows and start reading. George R.R. Martin is your best friend in a government waiting room. Cersei’s angry.

1.5 hours go by, and my number finally appears on the board. I’m ecstatic. It’s the moment of truth. Time to meet with Office Lady.

I open her door, and I’m greeted by a smile sitting in front of a view of the courtyard. Office Lady is always nicer than Desk Lady.

“Good morning!” I say, as humbly as ever.

“Good morning!” she replies. “How can I help you?”

“Well, I’m wondering if it would be okay if we speak in English? I can speak German, but my vocabulary on the subject of Visas and the law is really small.”

She smiles, looking a bit unsure. “Yes, I can try.”

“Thank you so much. I’m applying to graduate school, here, and in order to finish the process I need to extend my Visa. Specifically, I’m looking for one called Section 16, paragraph 1-”

“Slow down, slow down. I need to see your documents, first.”

That’s interesting. Desk Lady would have wanted me to spell out the exact nature of my request. Office Lady is ready to decide on her own what they can offer me. I always liked Office Lady. I hand her all of my documents.

“And do you have proof of eligibility for University?”

I’m glad you asked! Is what I want to say. Instead, I say “Yes, I do. I have 4 types, in case you prefer any one of them.”

I show her my grad school application, my original diplomas from UT Austin, my official sealed transcript from UT Austin, and my grad school acceptance letter from last year (the University accepted me, but the specific program to which I applied rejected me). One of them is bound to convince her that I’m eligible for a Master’s degree here.

“I think the diplomas are sufficient,” Office Lady laughs. “Please wait outside for a few minutes while I process these. I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

I wait in the hallway for 40 minutes. I still feel good about Office Lady, though.

Finally, her door opens and she pokes her head through the doorway. “You can come back, now.”

“I was able to extend your visa. Before this extension expires, though, you have to bring proof that you were accepted into your Master’s program back here. Then, we will give you a normal student visa.”

It’s okay, Office Lady. I am more than familiar with the drill. “That’s perfect,” I say as she asks me to sign the document that confirms the details of the extension. It’s in German legalese, but I can make out an effective period of six months, and a line that says failure means leaving Germany.

“Just to make sure: this says that I have six months to bring back proof of enrollment. Right? So, by October?”

“Well, yes. Actually you have until September 30.”

Fantastic. “Thanks so much for your help!”

“It’s no problem. Have a good day.”

Office Lady is great.

The rest is easy. All I have to do is make my way downstairs and pay for this thing. 20 euros and 2.5 hours, and I’m done.

********

It’s noon, and I decide I want to examine my new Visa up close. It’s different than what I received last time–a sticker stuck to a rectangular stub rather than inside my passport. It’s also called a “Reisepass” this time, instead of an “Aufenthaltserlaubnis.” That’s strange.

And then: “Valid until: June 30, 2014.” Holy nuts. Cashier Lady did not just do that.

So, I’m going back to the KVR tomorrow morning to correct this mistake. I love the KVR.