Posts
Well, I suppose I ought to get in one more post before 2012 comes to a close. It's been an eventful year, in language pursuits and otherwise. Last spring I had some health challenges causing what I hope is temporary deterioration of my short-term memory. Mandarin lessons were suspended, and it remains to be seen whether I will be able to interpret again. Right now I can't remember things long enough to render them in another language; I even have difficulty taking notes at meetings in English. I'm optimistic, though---I resumed Mandarin just a couple of weeks ago and was pleased by how much I remember and can still take in.
The other, much happier development is that I've finally landed myself in the perfect job. After being laid off from my position at an educational technology company in May, I worked at a robotics company for two months before realizing that I was going to be miserable at a place so lacking in diversity. Entering the job search again, finally everything lined up and I'm now a natural language processing research engineer at a major speech recognition software company. I get to blend my training as a scientist and an engineer with my passion for and knowledge of languages, and I couldn't be happier. My workplace is the most diverse of any I've ever been in; it's half women and naturally diverse by race and nationality because we need native speakers of so many languages. I get to play with foreign languages every day, both those I know and those I don't, and I can't believe I'm actually getting paid to have so much fun.
I hope to write more frequently in 2013. Happy New Year!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Why learning a language is like losing weight
I've studied over ten languages in my life. Some I've been serious about, others I haven't. Some I've tried to teach myself, others I've learned with the help of others. And, some have stuck really well and others haven't stuck at all. I'm pretty satisfied with my return on investment. Of course I wish I could speak more languages and were better at the ones I do speak, but given the relatively small fraction of time I spend on it, I'm confident I'll reach my goals eventually. My progress is steady and my determination is unwavering.
I wish I could say the same about my weight, or my health in general. After college, with the stress and depression induced by a demanding doctoral program, my weight started climbing for the first time in my life and has continued to rise slowly over the last fifteen years. After the birth of my first child, I joined Weight Watchers and with a lot of effort took off twenty-five pounds, returning to a healthy weight. But I gained it back and I've had it for the last seven years. Of course I'd like to be thinner and healthier, but because it's not a high enough priority, I haven't gone about it very intelligently. And that's the ultimate problem.
I've spoken to dozens of people who tell me they'd like to learn another language, but it's just so hard. Or they learned one in high school or college, but can't speak it anymore. Or they buy self-study CDs or software with grand intentions and hopes, but they don't make enough progress and eventually give up. These lamentations parallel my own struggles with weight loss. I don't have time to cook or exercise. I did lose the weight, but couldn't keep it off. I signed up for a gym membership, but I quit going.
Yes, it's true that some people have a talent for languages, just as some people naturally have a higher metabolism. But we're only kidding ourselves when we point to some genetic capability or incapability as the reason we can or can't achieve our goals. Here are the ways in which I think learning a language is like losing weight, and how everyone can do both.
You know how to do it, really. There are billions of dollars spent every year on products that claim to make weight loss and language learning fast, easy, and painless. But they're all variations on the same theme. To lose weight, diet and exercise. To learn a language, study and practice. There aren't any shortcuts.
Doing it with other people increases your chance of success. I understand why self-study is attractive. It's flexible and you don't have to make embarrassing mistakes in front of others. But just as having an exercise buddy or regular fitness class keeps you on track, having a diet support group helps you celebrate your progress, and hiring a personal trainer lets you use your time most efficiently, language learning works better in community. Even more so than weight loss, because language is so inherently relational. So hire a tutor, take a class, or join a conversation group. You'll get farther and stay interested much longer than with a CD or software program.
Cramming doesn't work. Just like crash dieting doesn't work, you can't rush language learning. It only happens with steady discipline and focus. Intensive study can speed up the process, but the learning will stick better if it's done more slowly over an extended period of time. A former violin teacher once told me that how often I practiced was more important than how long I practiced. I find this to be true; ten minutes every day is more effective than an hour and a half once a week. But an hour and a half once a week is better than three hours twice a week. I commit to seeing my Mandarin tutor weekly even though I'm not always fully prepared, because it compels me to study hard at least one day (the day before my lesson!) every week.
Surround yourself with practitioners; maintaining your accomplishment requires a lifestyle change. Over a decade ago, my husband and I joined a gym together, figuring we'd encourage each other to work out. More often, though, one of us ended up convincing the other to skip the gym in favor of a more sedentary activity. When I first moved to Boston two years ago, I lived for a few months with friends for whom a healthy lifestyle was natural; they even hired a babysitter in the early morning so they could run together. I ate mostly vegetarian meals with them, and without a car, I walked everywhere. The weight melted off effortlessly. When I moved out, my old habits returned along with the weight.
I studied German for six years and Spanish for less than two, but my Spanish is close to fluent whereas my German is just functional. It's partly because Spanish is an easier language for native English speakers, but mostly because I create as many opportunities to practice my Spanish as possible. My work in immigrant justice is doubly fulfilling because it has become an integral part of my life in which I have to use my language skills. I don't have to find "extra" time to practice my Spanish. Likewise, my work commute by public transportation requires me to do a certain amount of walking each day, but I'm hoping to raise my activity level even more by starting to bike to work when the weather warms up.
Mastering a language is hard. So is losing weight. This year, I'm hoping to use some of the techniques and self-knowledge I've applied so well to my language studies to bring myself down to a healthier weight. Which means I'm off to do some Mandarin homework--after I get myself an orange for a snack. Happy New Year!
Friday, September 23, 2011
When a little is enough
Followers of this blog--if any remain!--know that my posting frequency has been dwindling. Since moving back to Boston two years ago, I spend most of my time outside work engaged in anti-racism work and immigrant justice. I still love and use foreign languages, but they don't occupy the foreground of my thoughts very much anymore. Tonight, however, I have a story that brings it all back together.
As part of the Spiritual Care Givers program at Refugee Immigration Ministry, I provide chaplaincy services to immigrants detained at the local jail. We do not provide legal advice or facilitate contact with family; we simply listen to them, letting them know they are not forgotten. The work is important to me because it lets me maintain a connection to the people most affected by policies whose effects can easily seem impersonal and irrelevant. I hope it is also some small comfort to the detainees.
I wasn't sure how much help I'd be tonight. Still recovering from a bad cold earlier this week, exhausted and a little depressed, I made the hour-long trek to the jail to find that only one other person had showed up; our coordinator was stuck in traffic. We were escorted into the unit, the usual announcement was made, but no one came out. For twenty minutes we sat there; I wondered if we'd be talking to anyone tonight. Then, through the window to the hall containing the cells, I saw a young Latino man gesturing to a sixty-something Chinese man, who came out, looked at me, and said apprehensively, "Ni hao."
I asked, "Would you like to talk to us?" but he responded, "No English."
I was prepared to offer ministry in Spanish; I've done it before. Many of the immigrant detainees are Latino, and my Spanish is somewhere between advanced and fluent. My Mandarin, on the other hand, is abysmal. Characterizing my skills as "conversational" is generous. Nonetheless, this man needed to talk, and I was there. I explained apologetically several times that my Chinese was very bad. I had to ask him to speak slowly, and even then I only understood a fraction of what he was saying. I didn't understand the details of how he'd come to be in detention, only that he had been living in New York and that he'd been at the jail for over two months.
I can only imagine what it must be like for him in there: far from family, unable to speak to or understand a soul, herded around day after day through the routines of prison life, not knowing what the future holds. He told me that there had been a few other Chinese detainees earlier, but they were gone. I asked if he'd spoken to a lawyer, and he showed me a business card but told me it was of no use. He asked me whether there were other Chinese-speaking people at the jail; I told him I wasn't employed there. I don't know the Chinese word for volunteer, so I explained that I just came once a month, then said haltingly, "Church. Minister. But I'm not a minister. I just come so people can talk." We talked about our families; he has two sons about my age, and granddaughters the same age as my daughters. I felt his yearning for human connection, his gratitude at being able to speak to someone who could understand, even if only partially. I taught him how to say "Good morning" and "Good night" and encouraged him to practice with the people around him.
When the hour was over and we were instructed to wrap things up, I couldn't remember how to say, "I'm sorry you're in here. Good luck." I don't remember what I said instead to try and convey my feelings, but I think he understood. I clasped his hands, and he said, "Xie xie." I don't know if I'll ever see him again.
This is what it's about for me, this drive to learn and master as many languages as possible. It's about being able to be that bridge, the person who can connect to people, whether it's interpreting at the pet store or helping a tourist at the subway station or talking to an immigrant detainee. I have the motivation to keep pushing myself with my Mandarin studies now, and in time I know I'll achieve the fluency I desire. But tonight, tonight even a little was enough.
As part of the Spiritual Care Givers program at Refugee Immigration Ministry, I provide chaplaincy services to immigrants detained at the local jail. We do not provide legal advice or facilitate contact with family; we simply listen to them, letting them know they are not forgotten. The work is important to me because it lets me maintain a connection to the people most affected by policies whose effects can easily seem impersonal and irrelevant. I hope it is also some small comfort to the detainees.
I wasn't sure how much help I'd be tonight. Still recovering from a bad cold earlier this week, exhausted and a little depressed, I made the hour-long trek to the jail to find that only one other person had showed up; our coordinator was stuck in traffic. We were escorted into the unit, the usual announcement was made, but no one came out. For twenty minutes we sat there; I wondered if we'd be talking to anyone tonight. Then, through the window to the hall containing the cells, I saw a young Latino man gesturing to a sixty-something Chinese man, who came out, looked at me, and said apprehensively, "Ni hao."
I asked, "Would you like to talk to us?" but he responded, "No English."
I was prepared to offer ministry in Spanish; I've done it before. Many of the immigrant detainees are Latino, and my Spanish is somewhere between advanced and fluent. My Mandarin, on the other hand, is abysmal. Characterizing my skills as "conversational" is generous. Nonetheless, this man needed to talk, and I was there. I explained apologetically several times that my Chinese was very bad. I had to ask him to speak slowly, and even then I only understood a fraction of what he was saying. I didn't understand the details of how he'd come to be in detention, only that he had been living in New York and that he'd been at the jail for over two months.
I can only imagine what it must be like for him in there: far from family, unable to speak to or understand a soul, herded around day after day through the routines of prison life, not knowing what the future holds. He told me that there had been a few other Chinese detainees earlier, but they were gone. I asked if he'd spoken to a lawyer, and he showed me a business card but told me it was of no use. He asked me whether there were other Chinese-speaking people at the jail; I told him I wasn't employed there. I don't know the Chinese word for volunteer, so I explained that I just came once a month, then said haltingly, "Church. Minister. But I'm not a minister. I just come so people can talk." We talked about our families; he has two sons about my age, and granddaughters the same age as my daughters. I felt his yearning for human connection, his gratitude at being able to speak to someone who could understand, even if only partially. I taught him how to say "Good morning" and "Good night" and encouraged him to practice with the people around him.
When the hour was over and we were instructed to wrap things up, I couldn't remember how to say, "I'm sorry you're in here. Good luck." I don't remember what I said instead to try and convey my feelings, but I think he understood. I clasped his hands, and he said, "Xie xie." I don't know if I'll ever see him again.
This is what it's about for me, this drive to learn and master as many languages as possible. It's about being able to be that bridge, the person who can connect to people, whether it's interpreting at the pet store or helping a tourist at the subway station or talking to an immigrant detainee. I have the motivation to keep pushing myself with my Mandarin studies now, and in time I know I'll achieve the fluency I desire. But tonight, tonight even a little was enough.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The Parabolic Jesus
This past weekend, I attended a conference on the future of Unitarian Universalism in which a minister referred to Sallie McFague's Metaphorical Theology. I don't know much about theology myself, so I was paying only partial attention when I heard the phrase "the parabolic Jesus." My ears perked up.
I'm a physicist. I hear the word "parabolic" more often than the average person, and to me it means something in the shape of a parabola, which some may remember from second-year algebra. A parabola is a conic section, the locus of points equidistant from a point and a line, equivalent to an ellipse in which one of the foci is at infinity.
I thought it was far more likely that the word was supposed to refer to "parable," or a Jesus who taught by means of storytelling. But it didn't seem to me that "parabolic" could derive from the word "parable." (Where does the "o" come from?) I spoke to the presenter afterward and she confirmed that she had, indeed, said "parabolic."
It turns out that "parabolic" really is the adjectival form of "parable," and that this definition even appears first in a dictionary. From Merriam-Webster:
I'm a physicist. I hear the word "parabolic" more often than the average person, and to me it means something in the shape of a parabola, which some may remember from second-year algebra. A parabola is a conic section, the locus of points equidistant from a point and a line, equivalent to an ellipse in which one of the foci is at infinity.
I thought it was far more likely that the word was supposed to refer to "parable," or a Jesus who taught by means of storytelling. But it didn't seem to me that "parabolic" could derive from the word "parable." (Where does the "o" come from?) I spoke to the presenter afterward and she confirmed that she had, indeed, said "parabolic."
It turns out that "parabolic" really is the adjectival form of "parable," and that this definition even appears first in a dictionary. From Merriam-Webster:
Definition of PARABOLIC
1: expressed by or being a parable : allegorical
2: of, having the form of, or relating to a parabola <parabolic curve>
So I guess the mystery is solved. But while the first definition is clearly the one that applies to the concept of a "parabolic Jesus," the images that immediately entered my mind using the second definition were interesting. A parabolic mirror reflects parallel waves from infinity into a single focal point (this is why satellite dishes, for example, are paraboloids) and so I was thinking of a parabolic Jesus as somehow being able to focus diverse lifestyles and philosophies into a single common goal of justice---not too far off from Unitarian Universalism, sometimes described as the religion of Jesus rather than the religion about Jesus. Metaphor, indeed!
So I guess the mystery is solved.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
It's not just "a thing"
The word "thing" is so devoid of inherent meaning that it takes on a whole spectrum of connotations, depending on context. I have a thing for musicians (good). I have a thing about people using apostrophes incorrectly (bad). Dave Barry once pointed out that men are so scared of identifying themselves as being in a relationship that they say, "We, uh...we have this thing."
When two of my friends got into a heated argument on Facebook recently, they both expressed regret that the discussion had become A Thing (caps added by one). In this case, "thing" was used to imply that it had become larger than necessary or desired.
But "thing" can also be used to dismiss something, which is what I've been thinking about lately. In the now infamous anti-Asian rant by UCLA student Alexandra Wallace, she talks about being annoyed by all the people checking on everyone from "the tsunami thing." I think an event that has killed over ten thousand people deserves a more specific designation.
I once belonged to an organization that had some serious issues with racial and cultural inclusion. My naïve efforts to address it were met with obstacles right and left, from the conflict-fearing leader to those who wanted to maintain a white sanctuary in our diverse geographic region, to those who, like so many, didn't know how to converse effectively about an issue as charged as race. A fellow member once referred to my campaign as "the whole race thing." I felt minimized, but it was only one more disappointment among many, and I never had the courage to bring it up.
The tsunami was not a THING, it was a tragedy. My quest for racial diversity was not a THING, it became my life's work. When we fail to be specific, we show disrespect and lack of concern for that which can be highly significant to others.
When two of my friends got into a heated argument on Facebook recently, they both expressed regret that the discussion had become A Thing (caps added by one). In this case, "thing" was used to imply that it had become larger than necessary or desired.
But "thing" can also be used to dismiss something, which is what I've been thinking about lately. In the now infamous anti-Asian rant by UCLA student Alexandra Wallace, she talks about being annoyed by all the people checking on everyone from "the tsunami thing." I think an event that has killed over ten thousand people deserves a more specific designation.
I once belonged to an organization that had some serious issues with racial and cultural inclusion. My naïve efforts to address it were met with obstacles right and left, from the conflict-fearing leader to those who wanted to maintain a white sanctuary in our diverse geographic region, to those who, like so many, didn't know how to converse effectively about an issue as charged as race. A fellow member once referred to my campaign as "the whole race thing." I felt minimized, but it was only one more disappointment among many, and I never had the courage to bring it up.
The tsunami was not a THING, it was a tragedy. My quest for racial diversity was not a THING, it became my life's work. When we fail to be specific, we show disrespect and lack of concern for that which can be highly significant to others.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Un chiste bilingüe
What's a snowman's favorite color?
¿Cuál es el color favorito de un muñeco de nieve?
¡Hielo!
¿Cuál es el color favorito de un muñeco de nieve?
¡Hielo!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
City names
I don't know how city names get translated into different languages. For those that use the Roman alphabet, frequently the spelling is the same and only the pronunciation differs: Paris (PARE-is vs. Pa-REE), Berlin (Ber-LIN vs. Bare-LEEN). But why is Braunschweig (Germany) translated as Brunswick in English? Or Firenze (Italy) as Florence?
My Mandarin teacher and I had a lot of fun this morning reading a sample weather report and trying to identify the cities, most of which she knew only by their Chinese names. Most often the Chinese is just a phonetic representation of the city, e.g. 芝加哥 (Zhī jiā gē) for Chicago, or 巴塞羅那 (Bā sài luó nà) for Barcelona. Tokyo, however, is 東京 (Dōng jīng), literally "eastern capital" in both Japanese and Mandarin. I had a great time trying to guess the city from the Mandarin name; if I couldn't figure it out from pronunciation alone, she'd give me hints like "It's in Canada," and I could usually figure it out.
The only one I absolutely couldn't get was 德黑蘭 (Dé hēi lán), which my teacher said was a major city in Germany; she thought it was the capital. I suggested both Berlin and Bonn, neither of which was right; finally she asked me just to name a bunch of major cities in Germany because she'd know it if she heard it. "It's a very famous city!" I tried Hamburg, Frankfort, Stuttgart, Düsseldorf, but to no avail. I thought "Dé hēi lán" sounded a bit like Deutschland, but that didn't make any sense; that's not a city.
Finally, we admitted defeat and looked it up online. 德黑蘭 is Tehran.
"Tehran?!" I exclaimed. "That's not in Germany! That's in Iran! Iran is in the Middle East!"
"Oh, that's why I see it in the news all the time."
My Mandarin teacher and I had a lot of fun this morning reading a sample weather report and trying to identify the cities, most of which she knew only by their Chinese names. Most often the Chinese is just a phonetic representation of the city, e.g. 芝加哥 (Zhī jiā gē) for Chicago, or 巴塞羅那 (Bā sài luó nà) for Barcelona. Tokyo, however, is 東京 (Dōng jīng), literally "eastern capital" in both Japanese and Mandarin. I had a great time trying to guess the city from the Mandarin name; if I couldn't figure it out from pronunciation alone, she'd give me hints like "It's in Canada," and I could usually figure it out.
The only one I absolutely couldn't get was 德黑蘭 (Dé hēi lán), which my teacher said was a major city in Germany; she thought it was the capital. I suggested both Berlin and Bonn, neither of which was right; finally she asked me just to name a bunch of major cities in Germany because she'd know it if she heard it. "It's a very famous city!" I tried Hamburg, Frankfort, Stuttgart, Düsseldorf, but to no avail. I thought "Dé hēi lán" sounded a bit like Deutschland, but that didn't make any sense; that's not a city.
Finally, we admitted defeat and looked it up online. 德黑蘭 is Tehran.
"Tehran?!" I exclaimed. "That's not in Germany! That's in Iran! Iran is in the Middle East!"
"Oh, that's why I see it in the news all the time."
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Happy (Christmas and New Year)!
Last weekend, a Facebook friend of mine posted "Merry Christmas" on his status in several different languages. When someone inquired, "Where's the Mandarin?" he responded that he'd hit the character limit before getting to the Mandarin and Cantonese.
Mandarin and Cantonese have the same written language, so when the commenter expressed her confusion, he replied that he'd found two different phrases for the two languages: 聖誕快樂 in Mandarin and 聖誕節同 in Cantonese. The first is easy to understand: 聖誕 (shèngdàn) means "Christmas" (literally, "holy birth"), and 快樂 (kuàilè) is the word for "merry" or "happy." Happy holy birth = Merry Christmas.
However, no one seemed able to decipher the second phrase. Its third character, 節 (jié), means "holiday" and can be added to the first two without any substantial change in meaning (perhaps "Christmastime"). But the final character in the Cantonese phrase, 同 (tóng), usually means "same" or "equal." How did a phrase literally translated as "holy birth festival together" become "Merry Christmas"? Was it some sort of Cantonese idiom?
As a Mandarin student and linguaphile, this puzzle was driving me nuts. I did hours of web research, asked my Mandarin tutor, my mother, and a Hong Kong born friend, all of whom confirmed that 聖誕節同 made no sense.
Finally, late into the evening, I figured it out. My friend, who does not speak or read Chinese, had taken the translations from the Omniglot site, which reads:
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in many languages
In the "Mandarin" translation, the first four characters form the phrase "holy birth happy" while the last four form the phrase "new year happy" (新年 xīnnián = new year). In the "Cantonese" translation, my friend inferred that the first four characters again 聖誕節同 represented "Merry Christmas."
In fact, 聖誕節同新年快樂 is not two phrases but one. The character 同, in this case, means "and" and connects 聖誕節 ("Christmas") and 新年 ("new year"), so that 快樂 ("happy") actually modifies both nouns. Literally, it is "holy birth time and new year happy."
It's a good reminder that even the shortest of translations are subject to interpretation.
Mandarin and Cantonese have the same written language, so when the commenter expressed her confusion, he replied that he'd found two different phrases for the two languages: 聖誕快樂 in Mandarin and 聖誕節同 in Cantonese. The first is easy to understand: 聖誕 (shèngdàn) means "Christmas" (literally, "holy birth"), and 快樂 (kuàilè) is the word for "merry" or "happy." Happy holy birth = Merry Christmas.
However, no one seemed able to decipher the second phrase. Its third character, 節 (jié), means "holiday" and can be added to the first two without any substantial change in meaning (perhaps "Christmastime"). But the final character in the Cantonese phrase, 同 (tóng), usually means "same" or "equal." How did a phrase literally translated as "holy birth festival together" become "Merry Christmas"? Was it some sort of Cantonese idiom?
As a Mandarin student and linguaphile, this puzzle was driving me nuts. I did hours of web research, asked my Mandarin tutor, my mother, and a Hong Kong born friend, all of whom confirmed that 聖誕節同 made no sense.
Finally, late into the evening, I figured it out. My friend, who does not speak or read Chinese, had taken the translations from the Omniglot site, which reads:
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in many languages
| Chinese (Cantonese) | 聖誕節同新年快樂 (singdaanjit tùhng sànnìhn faailohk) 恭喜發財 (gùng héi faat chōi) - used at Chinese New Year |
| Chinese (Mandarin) | 聖誕快樂 新年快樂 [圣诞快乐 新年快乐] (shèngdàn kuàilè xīnnián kuàilè) |
In the "Mandarin" translation, the first four characters form the phrase "holy birth happy" while the last four form the phrase "new year happy" (新年 xīnnián = new year). In the "Cantonese" translation, my friend inferred that the first four characters again 聖誕節同 represented "Merry Christmas."
In fact, 聖誕節同新年快樂 is not two phrases but one. The character 同, in this case, means "and" and connects 聖誕節 ("Christmas") and 新年 ("new year"), so that 快樂 ("happy") actually modifies both nouns. Literally, it is "holy birth time and new year happy."
It's a good reminder that even the shortest of translations are subject to interpretation.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Typo vigilantes
This is fantastic!
Jeff Deck and Benjamin D. Herson, both 30, "took it upon themselves to correct public typos during a three-month road trip across the country...[they] drove across the country in the spring of 2008 armed with sharpies, pens and whiteout, correcting spelling, removing surplus apostrophes and untangling subject-verb disagreement on signs outside stores, gas stations, parks and public buildings."
Jeff Deck and Benjamin D. Herson, both 30, "took it upon themselves to correct public typos during a three-month road trip across the country...[they] drove across the country in the spring of 2008 armed with sharpies, pens and whiteout, correcting spelling, removing surplus apostrophes and untangling subject-verb disagreement on signs outside stores, gas stations, parks and public buildings."
Sunday, August 08, 2010
No physical abuse here
Kyla, my five-year-old daughter: "Mommy, your Mandarin teacher hits you, right?"
Me: "What???"
Kyla: "You said she hits you."
Me: "No, she doesn't! What are you talking about?"
Kyla: "Or pushes you, or something?"
Me: "Oh yeah, she pushes me!" The explanation followed.
When I was in college, I was speaking with a Bulgarian friend who had never heard the expression, "Beats me." He had a shocked reaction too, before I explained it.
I wonder if English has more metaphors of violence than other languages?
Me: "What???"
Kyla: "You said she hits you."
Me: "No, she doesn't! What are you talking about?"
Kyla: "Or pushes you, or something?"
Me: "Oh yeah, she pushes me!" The explanation followed.
When I was in college, I was speaking with a Bulgarian friend who had never heard the expression, "Beats me." He had a shocked reaction too, before I explained it.
I wonder if English has more metaphors of violence than other languages?
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