One of the things I love about living in Europe is the travel opportunities.
Living in Australia, international travel requires a flight (or a ship). Actually, when talking about travel plans in Australian English, you usually talk either about interstate or overseas. A one hour flight from any of the five major cities is not enough to leave Australian airspace, let alone reach an airport, or indeed land. From Sydney, Melbourne, Canberra, Adelaide or Hobart, the closest international travel destination is New Zealand. While NZ is an independent nation and has been since 1852, the similarities between Australian and New Zealand culture and language are akin to those between U.S. American and Canadian. They're different, but as a visitor, you feel more like you're in a different Australian state than a different country.
As I'm sure you're aware, other continents offer completely different travel situations. Even from the USA, two different countries are accessible by land. European geography takes land travel to a new level, and Germany's location in central Europe means it is the ideal location for a travelophile like me. Germany has nine neighbouring countries: Denmark, Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Switzerland, Austria, Czech Republic, and Poland. I've been to five of them on short trips, my favourite of which is one memorable weekend in Luxembourg in 2005. In Schengen, the place where the Schengen Agreement that removed most border control between signatory countries was signed, I walked across a bridge from Luxembourg to France, then back to Luxembourg, then down the road to Germany and back into Luxembourg. I even have a photo of my feet in the dirt on the side of the road: one in Germany, one in Luxembourg. I realise this may sound like something a five-year-old would do, but for someone who grew up in an island nation like Australia, this was a novelty, and will probably always be something rather cool.
This past weekend, I took another short international trip - this time, a day trip to Poland with students and colleagues from my language school. The goal was to spend an entire day speaking English, and I am proud to say that our mission was accomplished. We left Berlin at 8am and were in Poland by 9.30am. We went on a city tour in English, cruised around the port with a Polish/English soundtrack, went bowling and billiarding when the weather turned horrible, tried the local cuisine at a food court and a delicious restaurant, and strolled, power walked and jogged from the restaurant toward the station, Polish dumplings and beer churning in our stomachs, culminating in a frantic run down the train platform to our waiting train. The door lights were flashing, the warning bells were sounding, but somehow all 22 of us managed to make it onto the train, and for a few minutes, all of us collapsed into the closest available seats, trying to catch our breath and laughing hysterically. Two hours later, we arrived back in German-speaking Berlin. I woke up in Berlin, spent the day in Poland, and returned to my bed in Berlin that night.
The point of this post? International day trips - love 'em.
Go go gadget culture!
Berlin is famous for many things, one of which is its collection of museums. According to the Berlin tourism website, there are over 170 of them. This includes Museumsinsel, a UNESCO World Heritage listed collection of five immense museums on an island in the middle of the Spree River in central Berlin - the Pergamon, the Bode Museum, the Old and New Museums, and the National Gallery (my personal favourite). The others around Berlin include the Stasi Museum, the Haus am Checkpoint Charlie (more on that in a minute), the Sugar Museum, the Clock Museum, the Musical Instrument Museum, various suburban museums, the Museum of Things, and the Museum of Outrageous Things.
[Here's the "more on that in a minute" about Haus am Checkpoint Charlie: avoid it. At all costs. I've been there twice with different visitors and also worked there for an entire five hour trial shift after which I promptly handed in my name tag and quit on the spot, mostly because of the draconian customer service and employee relations policies. From a visitor's perspective though: aside from the ridiculous entrance fees (€9.50 - more expensive than any other museum in Berlin), there's no rhyme or reason to the layout within individual rooms or in general, the audio guides only cover half the exhibits, and the website is rubbish. As I said, skip it. Or better, go to Checkpoint Charlie and instead of going inside the museum, take photos of the replica checkpoint house with the actors in German, Russian and American military garb, and check out the free displays outside. Then go to the free and much better Gedenkstätte Berliner Mauer near Nordbahnhof.]
Anyway, of the remaining museums, I've been to a few, but there are many more that I have contemplated visiting for, well, to be honest, years, and recently it's dawned on me that I won't be in Berlin forever, hence my window of opportunity to see all of these wonderful museums is limited. Don't get me wrong: Melbourne has some brilliant museums, and the National Gallery of Victoria and Scienceworks are two of my favourites. But on the museum front, Melbourne can't compete with Berlin. On top of that, a friend of mine recently got himself a year pass to Berlin's state museums, and since I still have my student ID, which reduces the price by 50%, I've made the same cultural investment. (Bonus: it includes all of the temporary exhibitions and an audio guide in English for the lot!)
Which leads me to the point of this post. I have all of these cultural institutions at my doorstep, all of which will provide me with various cultural experiences, which in turn may or may not provide creative inspiration. We'll see how that turns out. But over the course of the next year, I will visit each and every one of Berlin's 18 state-run museums, and several of the others (yes, I will go to the Sugar Museum, the Museum of Clocks, and the Museum of Outrageous Things), and I will write about each and every one. The goal is one a week for a year.
Go go gadget culture! :)
[Here's the "more on that in a minute" about Haus am Checkpoint Charlie: avoid it. At all costs. I've been there twice with different visitors and also worked there for an entire five hour trial shift after which I promptly handed in my name tag and quit on the spot, mostly because of the draconian customer service and employee relations policies. From a visitor's perspective though: aside from the ridiculous entrance fees (€9.50 - more expensive than any other museum in Berlin), there's no rhyme or reason to the layout within individual rooms or in general, the audio guides only cover half the exhibits, and the website is rubbish. As I said, skip it. Or better, go to Checkpoint Charlie and instead of going inside the museum, take photos of the replica checkpoint house with the actors in German, Russian and American military garb, and check out the free displays outside. Then go to the free and much better Gedenkstätte Berliner Mauer near Nordbahnhof.]
Anyway, of the remaining museums, I've been to a few, but there are many more that I have contemplated visiting for, well, to be honest, years, and recently it's dawned on me that I won't be in Berlin forever, hence my window of opportunity to see all of these wonderful museums is limited. Don't get me wrong: Melbourne has some brilliant museums, and the National Gallery of Victoria and Scienceworks are two of my favourites. But on the museum front, Melbourne can't compete with Berlin. On top of that, a friend of mine recently got himself a year pass to Berlin's state museums, and since I still have my student ID, which reduces the price by 50%, I've made the same cultural investment. (Bonus: it includes all of the temporary exhibitions and an audio guide in English for the lot!)
Which leads me to the point of this post. I have all of these cultural institutions at my doorstep, all of which will provide me with various cultural experiences, which in turn may or may not provide creative inspiration. We'll see how that turns out. But over the course of the next year, I will visit each and every one of Berlin's 18 state-run museums, and several of the others (yes, I will go to the Sugar Museum, the Museum of Clocks, and the Museum of Outrageous Things), and I will write about each and every one. The goal is one a week for a year.
Go go gadget culture! :)
I am hereby annoyed at myself.
So, this whole "regular post" thing keeps getting derailed, and it's starting to really annoy me. There are various reasons, only some of which could reasonably be referred to as excuses, but as previously mentioned, it annoys me. The ideas are there, the time is there; it's just that somehow the twain never seem to meet. Therefore, I hereby renew my resolve to write. Can't guarantee the quality, or for that matter, the quantity or regularity, but the intention is there.
We'll see how this goes. :)
We'll see how this goes. :)
"Yes, I'm Australian. Yes, I speak German."
"Where are you from?"
"Australia."
"But you speak German?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I am very aware that it is unusual for both to be true simultaneously, especially for someone who doesn’t have a German Opa or Austrian Oma. I was one of only two such students in the advanced German program at my university, and this classmate and I bonded so well over our shared lack of German-speaking ancestry in the department that we’ve now been good friends for the better part of a decade.
The point where she and I met is already ten years into my German experience, so let me go back to the start of the story, of how I came to be fluent in German. This is after all an answer to the question I am asked the most by strangers when they first discover my linguistic abilities, so I feel I should tell the story properly, and start at the very beginning… a very good place to start.
1992. I was nine, and in my own personal hell, otherwise known as grade five at a Melbourne primary school. I loved learning, but my female classmates made my life a misery. Halfway through the year, my mum and dad sat me down at the family room table one afternoon, for a conversation that changed my life. I knew I would be able to escape primary school at the end of the following year and start high school – a P-12 school, the same school my grandmother had attended, and most importantly, a school that none of my vindictive classmates would be going to. That afternoon however, my parents offered me the option of starting there a year early - at the start of grade 6 - and I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.
At this school, language instruction began at early primary level; each year learned either German or French, which not only enabled but encouraged continuity into the senior levels – a rare example of excellent language teaching policy.
In early February 1993, I had my first German lesson. Everyone else in my class had between one and six years up on me, but I managed to pick up on everything they’d covered previously in a few months, and by the end of the year, I was winning maths races, singing songs, describing pictures, and introducing myself, all in German. This gave me a significant advantage over all of the newcomers at the start of year 7, and by the end of the year I was really enjoying it – not just German, but learning a language. At the start of year eight, we had the chance to choose electives: to keep German alone, to add either Japanese or French to the mix, to trade German for one of the other two, or to drop languages completely. I tried to convince my teachers to let me keep German and add French and Japanese, to no avail, and had to settle for German and French.
I continued with both throughout high school, and did well, both in class and in various regional and state level competitions. When the topic of VCE (A Levels) subjects came up, German and French were always a part of the discussion. At the end of year 11, I travelled to Germany for the first time, and spent six weeks in Kiel over Christmas in 1998. That trip warrants its own post, but by the time I returned to Melbourne (despite begging my mum to let me do my senior year in Germany), I took on year 12 German with a vengeance, well enough to get me into my number one university course at Monash University. I transferred into the languages program and traded French for Italian after the first year, and graduated with a double major in German and Linguistics in 2004.
From September 2004, I spent a year as a foreign language assistant at a high school in rural south-west Germany, which again warrants its own posts, and this is where I learned to truly love German. Living in the community and speaking it every day – with colleagues, with my landlord and his wife and with everyone else in the town enabled me to transition from German skills learned from a book to fluent German, and I’ve never looked back. A little over two years after I returned from that trip, and with a teaching degree in German and ESL under my belt, I bought myself a one-way ticket to Berlin, and have been living here ever since, with no immediate plans to return to Australia.
And that is how I am both Australian and fluent in German with no germanophone heritage to speak of.
Questions, comments?
"Australia."
"But you speak German?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I am very aware that it is unusual for both to be true simultaneously, especially for someone who doesn’t have a German Opa or Austrian Oma. I was one of only two such students in the advanced German program at my university, and this classmate and I bonded so well over our shared lack of German-speaking ancestry in the department that we’ve now been good friends for the better part of a decade.
The point where she and I met is already ten years into my German experience, so let me go back to the start of the story, of how I came to be fluent in German. This is after all an answer to the question I am asked the most by strangers when they first discover my linguistic abilities, so I feel I should tell the story properly, and start at the very beginning… a very good place to start.
1992. I was nine, and in my own personal hell, otherwise known as grade five at a Melbourne primary school. I loved learning, but my female classmates made my life a misery. Halfway through the year, my mum and dad sat me down at the family room table one afternoon, for a conversation that changed my life. I knew I would be able to escape primary school at the end of the following year and start high school – a P-12 school, the same school my grandmother had attended, and most importantly, a school that none of my vindictive classmates would be going to. That afternoon however, my parents offered me the option of starting there a year early - at the start of grade 6 - and I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.
At this school, language instruction began at early primary level; each year learned either German or French, which not only enabled but encouraged continuity into the senior levels – a rare example of excellent language teaching policy.
In early February 1993, I had my first German lesson. Everyone else in my class had between one and six years up on me, but I managed to pick up on everything they’d covered previously in a few months, and by the end of the year, I was winning maths races, singing songs, describing pictures, and introducing myself, all in German. This gave me a significant advantage over all of the newcomers at the start of year 7, and by the end of the year I was really enjoying it – not just German, but learning a language. At the start of year eight, we had the chance to choose electives: to keep German alone, to add either Japanese or French to the mix, to trade German for one of the other two, or to drop languages completely. I tried to convince my teachers to let me keep German and add French and Japanese, to no avail, and had to settle for German and French.
I continued with both throughout high school, and did well, both in class and in various regional and state level competitions. When the topic of VCE (A Levels) subjects came up, German and French were always a part of the discussion. At the end of year 11, I travelled to Germany for the first time, and spent six weeks in Kiel over Christmas in 1998. That trip warrants its own post, but by the time I returned to Melbourne (despite begging my mum to let me do my senior year in Germany), I took on year 12 German with a vengeance, well enough to get me into my number one university course at Monash University. I transferred into the languages program and traded French for Italian after the first year, and graduated with a double major in German and Linguistics in 2004.
From September 2004, I spent a year as a foreign language assistant at a high school in rural south-west Germany, which again warrants its own posts, and this is where I learned to truly love German. Living in the community and speaking it every day – with colleagues, with my landlord and his wife and with everyone else in the town enabled me to transition from German skills learned from a book to fluent German, and I’ve never looked back. A little over two years after I returned from that trip, and with a teaching degree in German and ESL under my belt, I bought myself a one-way ticket to Berlin, and have been living here ever since, with no immediate plans to return to Australia.
And that is how I am both Australian and fluent in German with no germanophone heritage to speak of.
Questions, comments?
Ghosts
Last Sunday, I met a few friends for brunch in Friedrichshain, an area of Berlin I don't usually go to - specifically the area bordered by the S-Bahn and Ringbahn lines and thoroughfares Warschauer Straße and Frankfurter Allee. From where I live, it takes longer and more changes to get to Friedrichshain than almost anywhere else in the city, and I always get lost trying to find addresses. Usually I'm a navigational doyenne, but Friedrichshain's a rabbit warren to me.
There is another reason I don't usually go there. Someone I used to know. We'll leave it at that for the moment. Someone I used to know, and don't particularly want to see again. I know they live and spend a lot of time in this area of Friedrichshain. It's not just that I don't want to go back there because I don't want to see them again, but also that I don't enjoy going back to places which remind me of negative experiences.
After brunch, I walked home from Friedrichshain through Kreuzberg and passed another place I used to visit all the time - an apartment, where I used to spend many a Tuesday evening devouring movies and caramel popcorn with a diverse group of friends. My memories of this place aren't negative - they're positive... but being there makes me a little sad. Several key people within that group have left Berlin, either temporarily or permanently, including the host, and while I enjoy going to that area, my reason for going to that apartment is gone.
There are other areas. An apartment near Sonnenallee - a place I used to spend a lot of time, since a good friend used to live there - someone I used to know. Gropiusstadt and Rudow, suburbs in far south Berlin where I used to teach and live for the first year I lived here. In this case, I don't have to avoid the area - Rudow is so far south that I'm seldom there more than once a year, but even if it were closer, I wouldn't go there.
In the twenty-odd years I lived in Melbourne, it seems I've only acquired a handful of ghosts - mostly around my old high school. But here in Berlin, I have a lot more. More than anything this is a reflection of the difference between life in Melbourne, in my home city, and life in Berlin, as an expat. People come and go here - you develop a good group of friends, then suddenly, two or three move on to other countries or back to their home country, and you have to start over. It can be difficult, but it's something you get used to. It's part of being an expat.
It has its perks though - you have accommodation offers in cities all over the world! :)
There is another reason I don't usually go there. Someone I used to know. We'll leave it at that for the moment. Someone I used to know, and don't particularly want to see again. I know they live and spend a lot of time in this area of Friedrichshain. It's not just that I don't want to go back there because I don't want to see them again, but also that I don't enjoy going back to places which remind me of negative experiences.
After brunch, I walked home from Friedrichshain through Kreuzberg and passed another place I used to visit all the time - an apartment, where I used to spend many a Tuesday evening devouring movies and caramel popcorn with a diverse group of friends. My memories of this place aren't negative - they're positive... but being there makes me a little sad. Several key people within that group have left Berlin, either temporarily or permanently, including the host, and while I enjoy going to that area, my reason for going to that apartment is gone.
There are other areas. An apartment near Sonnenallee - a place I used to spend a lot of time, since a good friend used to live there - someone I used to know. Gropiusstadt and Rudow, suburbs in far south Berlin where I used to teach and live for the first year I lived here. In this case, I don't have to avoid the area - Rudow is so far south that I'm seldom there more than once a year, but even if it were closer, I wouldn't go there.
In the twenty-odd years I lived in Melbourne, it seems I've only acquired a handful of ghosts - mostly around my old high school. But here in Berlin, I have a lot more. More than anything this is a reflection of the difference between life in Melbourne, in my home city, and life in Berlin, as an expat. People come and go here - you develop a good group of friends, then suddenly, two or three move on to other countries or back to their home country, and you have to start over. It can be difficult, but it's something you get used to. It's part of being an expat.
It has its perks though - you have accommodation offers in cities all over the world! :)
Lazy Sunday Afternoon
This weekend is the second of two long weekends in a row in Germany, and as is tradition for Pentecost weekend, the Karneval der Kulturen parade took over western Kreuzberg, from Hermannplatz to Mehringdamm and the surrounding streets. For the last three years, I've watched this parade with various friends, taking photos of the outlandish floats and the dancers in feathered and glittered costumes, drinking capihirinas and strawberry punch all afternoon in the sunshine. This year though, especially since almost all of the friends I had previously visited the festival with had left Berlin, I decided to forgo the crowds of teenagers in skinny jeans and Ray Bans and families trying to push strollers through the hordes of people, and went up to Mauerpark for a spot of karaoke instead.
I've been working on a post on Bearpit Karaoke for a while, but the short version is that between April and November, Dubliner Joe Hatchiban loads his laptop and amplifiers onto his cargo bike and cycles over to the stone amphitheatre in Prenzlauer Berg's Mauerpark for several hours every Sunday afternoon, where Berlin's residents and visitors alike take to the stage and belt out all manner of karaoke classics. From tongue-in-cheek 80s number to Idol wannabes showing off what they can (or can't) do with Whitney and Mariah tracks, and rockers who don't care if they can't sing getting everyone singing along to Queen, AC/DC, Aerosmith and the Stones, there's something for everyone.
In the last few weeks, the fun police known as Berlin's city council has decided that karaoke should be restricted to a mere twelve Sundays per year, rather than every weekend. (There are plenty of German-language articles on it - this is one of the few English-language ones). Either way, watching and paticipating are completely free of charge, and it is one of my favourite ways to while away a Sunday in the sun. Considering this Sunday was one of the rare pre-announced karaoke dates, I had to go.
And that is how I spent my afternoon - in the sunshine at Mauerpark, with a Tyskie in one hand and a pen in the other, listening to Australians, Dutch, Germans and a surprising number of French singing all manner of songs. No one cared if they were in tune - as long as the crowd knew the song and the performer put in some effort, they were unanimously well received.
Toward the end, as people began to leave, I noticed that my favourite seat in the house had become vacant. A hill runs along one side of the park, and along with this being the location of the amphitheatre and a great place to toboggan in winter, there are also several large stand-alone swings along the path, one of which is directly behind the amphitheatre.
These were my favourite moments of yesterday, and possibly of the weekend: swinging high above Mauerpark, the golden sun sinking slowly into the northwest horizon, the sweet smell of heather and shisha on the breeze and the sound of someone belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the stage below.
Bliss.
I've been working on a post on Bearpit Karaoke for a while, but the short version is that between April and November, Dubliner Joe Hatchiban loads his laptop and amplifiers onto his cargo bike and cycles over to the stone amphitheatre in Prenzlauer Berg's Mauerpark for several hours every Sunday afternoon, where Berlin's residents and visitors alike take to the stage and belt out all manner of karaoke classics. From tongue-in-cheek 80s number to Idol wannabes showing off what they can (or can't) do with Whitney and Mariah tracks, and rockers who don't care if they can't sing getting everyone singing along to Queen, AC/DC, Aerosmith and the Stones, there's something for everyone.
In the last few weeks, the fun police known as Berlin's city council has decided that karaoke should be restricted to a mere twelve Sundays per year, rather than every weekend. (There are plenty of German-language articles on it - this is one of the few English-language ones). Either way, watching and paticipating are completely free of charge, and it is one of my favourite ways to while away a Sunday in the sun. Considering this Sunday was one of the rare pre-announced karaoke dates, I had to go.
And that is how I spent my afternoon - in the sunshine at Mauerpark, with a Tyskie in one hand and a pen in the other, listening to Australians, Dutch, Germans and a surprising number of French singing all manner of songs. No one cared if they were in tune - as long as the crowd knew the song and the performer put in some effort, they were unanimously well received.
Toward the end, as people began to leave, I noticed that my favourite seat in the house had become vacant. A hill runs along one side of the park, and along with this being the location of the amphitheatre and a great place to toboggan in winter, there are also several large stand-alone swings along the path, one of which is directly behind the amphitheatre.
These were my favourite moments of yesterday, and possibly of the weekend: swinging high above Mauerpark, the golden sun sinking slowly into the northwest horizon, the sweet smell of heather and shisha on the breeze and the sound of someone belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the stage below.
Bliss.
Bruno Mars and I are now friends
This has never happened to me before. Well, ok, it has, but never in such a short time period.
About a month ago, I posted the following on a social networking site: first, a link to the Bruno Mars track "Marry You" (check it out here), then several comments expressing my disdain and extreme dislike of the song - the idiotic lyrics, the irritating catchiness, my disappointment in the artist for releasing a track like this considering most of his others were tolerable, if not enjoyable. I made it very clear that there was nothing I liked about it. At all.
It was played repeatedly on radio stations in Berlin, which annoyed me no end, and even when I travelled to Australia for my sister's wedding, I could not escape it. Bruno Mars had the local radio stations in the palm of his hand, and this song seemed to be by far the most popular. It drove me up the wall.
Gradually I reached the point where resistance was futile. This has happened before, especially with songs that suit multiple radio stations' playlists. Examples include Nickelback, U2, Snow Patrol, and others. Their music suits the cheesiness of Mix1011, can be played on Fox or Nova (only within the first week of release), are also rock enough to suit TripleM's blokey playlist, and in the case of U2, they have been around long enough to be classified as a "golden oldie".
[Disclaimer: I am in no way admitting to being a Nickelback fan.] Bruno Mars wasn't getting airtime on Triple M or Gold, but Nova, Mix and Fox were playing not only this track but also umpteen others often enough to more than make up for it.
Anyway, as I mentioned, I'd reached a place where I could listen to the entire song without diving for the tuner dial or preset button on the radio, or even lowering the volume. We were civil with each other.
Then came my sister's wedding. The meal was over, the cake had been cut, everyone had had a few drinks and the cheesy dance tracks were coming thick and fast from my sister's iPod playlist. Footloose, various Kylie tracks, stuff I didn't know... then it happened. Bruno Mars. Suddenly it seemed to fit. Everyone was up there: my sister grooving away in her stunning gown, my mum, my cousin carrying her little boy, my other three cousins in their heels and short dresses, and even my aunts and uncles. It had to be done. I knew the melody. I definitely knew the words (from all those forced listenings). I found myself striding in the direction of the dancefloor and before I knew it, I was grooving away and singing along to Bruno Mars "Marry You" like it was my favourite song, having the time of my life, and having conveniently forgotten my previous comments.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I found myself listening to his album for hours on end on the plane ride back, while competing in an in-flight tetris tournament with someone in 13A. Somehow, within the space of a month, I have become a Bruno Mars fan. Ugh... :)
*By the way, I'm back. :)
About a month ago, I posted the following on a social networking site: first, a link to the Bruno Mars track "Marry You" (check it out here), then several comments expressing my disdain and extreme dislike of the song - the idiotic lyrics, the irritating catchiness, my disappointment in the artist for releasing a track like this considering most of his others were tolerable, if not enjoyable. I made it very clear that there was nothing I liked about it. At all.
It was played repeatedly on radio stations in Berlin, which annoyed me no end, and even when I travelled to Australia for my sister's wedding, I could not escape it. Bruno Mars had the local radio stations in the palm of his hand, and this song seemed to be by far the most popular. It drove me up the wall.
Gradually I reached the point where resistance was futile. This has happened before, especially with songs that suit multiple radio stations' playlists. Examples include Nickelback, U2, Snow Patrol, and others. Their music suits the cheesiness of Mix1011, can be played on Fox or Nova (only within the first week of release), are also rock enough to suit TripleM's blokey playlist, and in the case of U2, they have been around long enough to be classified as a "golden oldie".
[Disclaimer: I am in no way admitting to being a Nickelback fan.] Bruno Mars wasn't getting airtime on Triple M or Gold, but Nova, Mix and Fox were playing not only this track but also umpteen others often enough to more than make up for it.
Anyway, as I mentioned, I'd reached a place where I could listen to the entire song without diving for the tuner dial or preset button on the radio, or even lowering the volume. We were civil with each other.
Then came my sister's wedding. The meal was over, the cake had been cut, everyone had had a few drinks and the cheesy dance tracks were coming thick and fast from my sister's iPod playlist. Footloose, various Kylie tracks, stuff I didn't know... then it happened. Bruno Mars. Suddenly it seemed to fit. Everyone was up there: my sister grooving away in her stunning gown, my mum, my cousin carrying her little boy, my other three cousins in their heels and short dresses, and even my aunts and uncles. It had to be done. I knew the melody. I definitely knew the words (from all those forced listenings). I found myself striding in the direction of the dancefloor and before I knew it, I was grooving away and singing along to Bruno Mars "Marry You" like it was my favourite song, having the time of my life, and having conveniently forgotten my previous comments.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I found myself listening to his album for hours on end on the plane ride back, while competing in an in-flight tetris tournament with someone in 13A. Somehow, within the space of a month, I have become a Bruno Mars fan. Ugh... :)
*By the way, I'm back. :)
To be continued...
The time has come.
Kangaroos in Deutschland is going on temporary hiatus.
My decision has nothing to do with creative inspiration or motivation to write: I have at least five or six half-written posts and ideas for a further eight or nine - four of those from the last week alone - and the temptation to curl up on my bed with a mug of tea and a biscuit is very strong. But one thing is preventing me from doing that.
That issue is time. Until about a month ago, I had a lot of it. I worked part-time, and could fill in the rest of the week tutoring, translating, teaching myself Turkish, being a tourist when I wanted to, and writing until my heart was content.
In August however, I applied for a place in a Master's course in linguistics at Humboldt University in Berlin. I was accepted, passed a German language test, and two weeks ago, I started classes. The number of contact hours is relatively low, but the preparation required for each class is enormous. On top of that, it's in German, and my linguistics terminology is not only in English, but also pretty rusty, since I finished my studies in 2004. This means more preparation and revision time.
Considering that I'm still working twenty hours a week at the English language school, I don't have a lot of time left over. I've had to stop the weekly voluntary tutoring I was doing at a local library, helping school kids (primarily with Turkish and Lebanese background) with their English and German homework. I've also had to stop tutoring a friend's son on Saturdays: I miss the cash, and the tutoring itself, but I just don't have the time for the travel or the tutoring.
The ideas will keep coming, and I'll keep writing them down, storing them up for the Christmas holidays and the semester break in March, but until then, they're going to have to remain ideas, and I'll do my very best to resist the urge to flesh them out until I can justify spending the time on something other than university work.
I just hope it's possible to snap-freeze creative motivation... and that it doesn't have a defrost-by-date. Guess we'll find out.
Until then...
Kangaroos in Deutschland is going on temporary hiatus.
My decision has nothing to do with creative inspiration or motivation to write: I have at least five or six half-written posts and ideas for a further eight or nine - four of those from the last week alone - and the temptation to curl up on my bed with a mug of tea and a biscuit is very strong. But one thing is preventing me from doing that.
That issue is time. Until about a month ago, I had a lot of it. I worked part-time, and could fill in the rest of the week tutoring, translating, teaching myself Turkish, being a tourist when I wanted to, and writing until my heart was content.
In August however, I applied for a place in a Master's course in linguistics at Humboldt University in Berlin. I was accepted, passed a German language test, and two weeks ago, I started classes. The number of contact hours is relatively low, but the preparation required for each class is enormous. On top of that, it's in German, and my linguistics terminology is not only in English, but also pretty rusty, since I finished my studies in 2004. This means more preparation and revision time.
Considering that I'm still working twenty hours a week at the English language school, I don't have a lot of time left over. I've had to stop the weekly voluntary tutoring I was doing at a local library, helping school kids (primarily with Turkish and Lebanese background) with their English and German homework. I've also had to stop tutoring a friend's son on Saturdays: I miss the cash, and the tutoring itself, but I just don't have the time for the travel or the tutoring.
The ideas will keep coming, and I'll keep writing them down, storing them up for the Christmas holidays and the semester break in March, but until then, they're going to have to remain ideas, and I'll do my very best to resist the urge to flesh them out until I can justify spending the time on something other than university work.
I just hope it's possible to snap-freeze creative motivation... and that it doesn't have a defrost-by-date. Guess we'll find out.
Until then...
The Paradox of the Holy Grail
Hello, my name's Australis, and I'm a science geek. Well, kinda.
At high school, I was an A or B student in almost everything. English, maths, geography, history, German, French, IT. Everything except science. I liked it - I just wasn't all that good at it... Ok, I was terrible at it. Despite my father being a chemical engineer and both of his parents scientists or science teachers, I just couldn't get my head around the theory of it. I liked learning about the origins of the chemical symbols (I guess that's the linguist in me - I still remember that the chemical symbol for lead is Pb because the Latin term is "plumbum"). I found genetics and the human body fascinating in biology. I enjoyed learning about the practical effects and application of the laws of physics. I just never got the grades for it, and eventually dropped science at the end of year 9 after getting horrible grades two years running, despite my best efforts.
As a child though, many weekends and school holidays were spent in the company of my paternal grandmother at various museums in Melbourne. The Museum of Victoria was my favourite. I still remember walking around in the darkened minerals exhibit as a seven- and eight-year-old, awestruck by the black-lit glow of various precious and semi-precious stones, and looking at all kinds of skeletons and geological exhibits. That is, until the mid 90s when Scienceworks opened.
Scienceworks was my absolute favourite place to go in Melbourne as a kid. I think even my grandmother got sick of taking me there at one point. Every school holidays for as long as I could remember, we'd drive across the Westgate Bridge in their blue Honda to Spotswood, and spend the afternoon playing with the pulley exhibits, figuring out spinning pictures, learning about aerodynamics, space exploration, our galaxy and a whole host of other activities. Occasionally we'd go into the Planetarium in the city; sitting there underneath the dome, watching the constellations zoom across the screen above us, then being taken on a guided tour of the solar system and beyond into the rest of our galaxy entranced me. To this day, I remain in love with astronomy. I therefore amend my previous statement: I'm a science geek, with a major in astronomy.
Going to those museums as a child though, I remember seeing that some of the exhibits had plaques next to them, acknowledging their temporary status due to them being on loan from somewhere called Smithsonian. Over the years, this name, "Smithsonian", kept coming up - not just at museums in Melbourne or even Australia, but in the natural history museums I visited overseas, and in all kinds of books: this or that was on loan from the Smithsonian, or on display in the Smithsonian. This "Smithsonian" place attained a status with me as the holy grail of museums, and it was never a question of whether or not I would go there, but when.
So when I ventured to the States for the first time to meet up with my sister and her boyfriend in New York for a few days in July 2010, it was a given that I would go to Washington D.C., with the goal of finally visiting the hallowed halls of the Smithsonian Museum - where apparently everything of any value in natural history was stored. The Apollo shuttle. The Hope Diamond. And much more.
I was like a kid on her first day of school. The alarm went off at 5.30am; by 7am, I was on a train pulling slowly out of Penn station. Four hours later, I arrived in DC. First stop was a tourist information stand, where I found out to my surprise that the Smithsonian wasn't a museum. It was a complex of museums, known as the Smithsonian Institute, comprising natural history, art, scuplture, Native American and African American museums, to name just a few. And the holy grail of holy grails for me - the National Air and Space Museum (NASM). First was a brief bus tour of the city, then I hightailed it for the NASM.
I remember exactly how I felt when I first walked through those hallowed (to me, anyway) doors. Absolute amazement. No, that's not expressive enough. I was dumbstruck. Literally speechless. And completely overwhelmed. I could not stop smiling in awe and disbelief at what I saw before me. The silver-haired man behind the information desk was watching me with a small smile - I had stopped in my tracks about ten metres into the lobby, and was simply staring up at the rockets, shuttles and planes hanging from the ceiling high above me and at the photographs of planets and constellations adorning the walls, oblivious to the hordes of people swarming around me.
Eventually I broke out of my trance and approached the man at the information desk to find out exactly what was on display here. He told me about some of the best exhibits, some of the most popular displays, and his personal favourite, the Ole Miss. Then he pointed out the Apollo 11 lunar module and the landing capsule about 100m away. I grinned, giddy with disbelief and excitement, and he smiled back at me, enjoying my first-timer's reaction to the museum. Like I said, I'm an astronomy geek. And I was in astronomy geek heaven.
Suffice to say the two hour time bracket I'd allocated was never going to be sufficient. I think I had known that even before I got to DC. Sure, I could see everything I wanted to see, but in a whirlwind, not stopping at one display for more than a few minutes before moving onto the next, the time ticking away in the back of my mind. It was very different to how I had imagined my Smithsonian experience - spending an entire day there, or a few hours one day, then a few more the next, absorbing the history, the trivia, the scientific discoveries of the past, present and future. But I would much rather have had two hours there than nothing at all. And those two hours - wow.
The temptation to stay longer was enormous, but while I was enraptured with the NASM and everything in it, I was also in DC, which had a lot more to offer than just the NASM. So after two hours, I reluctantly made my way back to the lobby, bought a souvenir patch, thanked my good friend at the information stand for his tips, and ventured back out into the 37°C heat of the DC summer. The same day, I managed to cram in the Natural History Museum and a few others - not half as much as I wanted to, but an incredible lot, considering I was only in DC for a total of nine hours.
Three months later, on a Saturday afternoon in Berlin, I heard that the German Natural History Museum was commemorating its 200th anniversary with free entrance for a weekend. I'd wanted to go for ages, but a combination of time availability and wanting to explore Berlin's free museums first had put it far down on my priorities. But since it was free, how could I refuse?
After about twenty minutes though, my initial curiosity and wonder customary to a first-time visit to a museum was replaced with a strange feeling. While interesting, all of the displays and artefacts seemed somewhat lacklustre, as if somehow the entire museum had been painted in a matte finish. Everything was interesting, but that's where it ended. Not mesmerising, not fascinating, not enthralling. Just...interesting. And mildly disappointing. The astronomy display was where I noticed it the most. It seemed so small, as if half the exhibits had been removed for cleaning or restoration. And the exhibits that were there appeared to have lost their glow - as if a thin veil had been lowered over everything.
Then I noticed a small sign on one of the displays of moon rocks. "On loan from the NASM, Smithsonian Institute. Washington DC."
The penny dropped. That's why everything was different. This was the first museum I'd visited since I'd experienced the Smithsonian Institute. And the effect was phenomenal. The visit to my holy grail of museums had apparently forever changed the way I would experience museums as a visitor. The aura was gone. The almost childlike curiosity I used to get when I walked into the foyer of a museum, the excitement at being on the brink of learning unknown facts about long extinct animals, geographical phenomena and stars and planets that no living human will ever reach had been extinguished. The standard of exhibits, especially in the space exhibits, had been set so high that it was completely out of reach for any other museum.
This revelation made me sad. Fulfilling my childhood mission of visiting the hallowed Smithsonian, land of all that is sacred and most important in the area of Natural History and Astronomy (in my eyes, at least) had simultaneously apparently forever destroyed my future museum experiences.
I'm not sure if this is something that can be worked around; if now that I know that I'll never get that Smithsonian feeling anywhere except DC will enable me to lower my standards and enjoy other cities' natural history museums for what they are. I'm not sure. I guess only time will tell. In the meantime, I can be forever happy knowing that I have made the pilgrimage to the Smithsonian; that I have seen the landing module that Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins landed on the moon in, and the landing capsule that brought them safely back to Earth again, both first hand, and that the two hours spent there were worth every single second of the eight hour return train trip from DC to NYC.
At high school, I was an A or B student in almost everything. English, maths, geography, history, German, French, IT. Everything except science. I liked it - I just wasn't all that good at it... Ok, I was terrible at it. Despite my father being a chemical engineer and both of his parents scientists or science teachers, I just couldn't get my head around the theory of it. I liked learning about the origins of the chemical symbols (I guess that's the linguist in me - I still remember that the chemical symbol for lead is Pb because the Latin term is "plumbum"). I found genetics and the human body fascinating in biology. I enjoyed learning about the practical effects and application of the laws of physics. I just never got the grades for it, and eventually dropped science at the end of year 9 after getting horrible grades two years running, despite my best efforts.
As a child though, many weekends and school holidays were spent in the company of my paternal grandmother at various museums in Melbourne. The Museum of Victoria was my favourite. I still remember walking around in the darkened minerals exhibit as a seven- and eight-year-old, awestruck by the black-lit glow of various precious and semi-precious stones, and looking at all kinds of skeletons and geological exhibits. That is, until the mid 90s when Scienceworks opened.
Scienceworks was my absolute favourite place to go in Melbourne as a kid. I think even my grandmother got sick of taking me there at one point. Every school holidays for as long as I could remember, we'd drive across the Westgate Bridge in their blue Honda to Spotswood, and spend the afternoon playing with the pulley exhibits, figuring out spinning pictures, learning about aerodynamics, space exploration, our galaxy and a whole host of other activities. Occasionally we'd go into the Planetarium in the city; sitting there underneath the dome, watching the constellations zoom across the screen above us, then being taken on a guided tour of the solar system and beyond into the rest of our galaxy entranced me. To this day, I remain in love with astronomy. I therefore amend my previous statement: I'm a science geek, with a major in astronomy.
Going to those museums as a child though, I remember seeing that some of the exhibits had plaques next to them, acknowledging their temporary status due to them being on loan from somewhere called Smithsonian. Over the years, this name, "Smithsonian", kept coming up - not just at museums in Melbourne or even Australia, but in the natural history museums I visited overseas, and in all kinds of books: this or that was on loan from the Smithsonian, or on display in the Smithsonian. This "Smithsonian" place attained a status with me as the holy grail of museums, and it was never a question of whether or not I would go there, but when.
So when I ventured to the States for the first time to meet up with my sister and her boyfriend in New York for a few days in July 2010, it was a given that I would go to Washington D.C., with the goal of finally visiting the hallowed halls of the Smithsonian Museum - where apparently everything of any value in natural history was stored. The Apollo shuttle. The Hope Diamond. And much more.
I was like a kid on her first day of school. The alarm went off at 5.30am; by 7am, I was on a train pulling slowly out of Penn station. Four hours later, I arrived in DC. First stop was a tourist information stand, where I found out to my surprise that the Smithsonian wasn't a museum. It was a complex of museums, known as the Smithsonian Institute, comprising natural history, art, scuplture, Native American and African American museums, to name just a few. And the holy grail of holy grails for me - the National Air and Space Museum (NASM). First was a brief bus tour of the city, then I hightailed it for the NASM.
I remember exactly how I felt when I first walked through those hallowed (to me, anyway) doors. Absolute amazement. No, that's not expressive enough. I was dumbstruck. Literally speechless. And completely overwhelmed. I could not stop smiling in awe and disbelief at what I saw before me. The silver-haired man behind the information desk was watching me with a small smile - I had stopped in my tracks about ten metres into the lobby, and was simply staring up at the rockets, shuttles and planes hanging from the ceiling high above me and at the photographs of planets and constellations adorning the walls, oblivious to the hordes of people swarming around me.
Eventually I broke out of my trance and approached the man at the information desk to find out exactly what was on display here. He told me about some of the best exhibits, some of the most popular displays, and his personal favourite, the Ole Miss. Then he pointed out the Apollo 11 lunar module and the landing capsule about 100m away. I grinned, giddy with disbelief and excitement, and he smiled back at me, enjoying my first-timer's reaction to the museum. Like I said, I'm an astronomy geek. And I was in astronomy geek heaven.
Suffice to say the two hour time bracket I'd allocated was never going to be sufficient. I think I had known that even before I got to DC. Sure, I could see everything I wanted to see, but in a whirlwind, not stopping at one display for more than a few minutes before moving onto the next, the time ticking away in the back of my mind. It was very different to how I had imagined my Smithsonian experience - spending an entire day there, or a few hours one day, then a few more the next, absorbing the history, the trivia, the scientific discoveries of the past, present and future. But I would much rather have had two hours there than nothing at all. And those two hours - wow.
The temptation to stay longer was enormous, but while I was enraptured with the NASM and everything in it, I was also in DC, which had a lot more to offer than just the NASM. So after two hours, I reluctantly made my way back to the lobby, bought a souvenir patch, thanked my good friend at the information stand for his tips, and ventured back out into the 37°C heat of the DC summer. The same day, I managed to cram in the Natural History Museum and a few others - not half as much as I wanted to, but an incredible lot, considering I was only in DC for a total of nine hours.
Three months later, on a Saturday afternoon in Berlin, I heard that the German Natural History Museum was commemorating its 200th anniversary with free entrance for a weekend. I'd wanted to go for ages, but a combination of time availability and wanting to explore Berlin's free museums first had put it far down on my priorities. But since it was free, how could I refuse?
After about twenty minutes though, my initial curiosity and wonder customary to a first-time visit to a museum was replaced with a strange feeling. While interesting, all of the displays and artefacts seemed somewhat lacklustre, as if somehow the entire museum had been painted in a matte finish. Everything was interesting, but that's where it ended. Not mesmerising, not fascinating, not enthralling. Just...interesting. And mildly disappointing. The astronomy display was where I noticed it the most. It seemed so small, as if half the exhibits had been removed for cleaning or restoration. And the exhibits that were there appeared to have lost their glow - as if a thin veil had been lowered over everything.
Then I noticed a small sign on one of the displays of moon rocks. "On loan from the NASM, Smithsonian Institute. Washington DC."
The penny dropped. That's why everything was different. This was the first museum I'd visited since I'd experienced the Smithsonian Institute. And the effect was phenomenal. The visit to my holy grail of museums had apparently forever changed the way I would experience museums as a visitor. The aura was gone. The almost childlike curiosity I used to get when I walked into the foyer of a museum, the excitement at being on the brink of learning unknown facts about long extinct animals, geographical phenomena and stars and planets that no living human will ever reach had been extinguished. The standard of exhibits, especially in the space exhibits, had been set so high that it was completely out of reach for any other museum.
This revelation made me sad. Fulfilling my childhood mission of visiting the hallowed Smithsonian, land of all that is sacred and most important in the area of Natural History and Astronomy (in my eyes, at least) had simultaneously apparently forever destroyed my future museum experiences.
I'm not sure if this is something that can be worked around; if now that I know that I'll never get that Smithsonian feeling anywhere except DC will enable me to lower my standards and enjoy other cities' natural history museums for what they are. I'm not sure. I guess only time will tell. In the meantime, I can be forever happy knowing that I have made the pilgrimage to the Smithsonian; that I have seen the landing module that Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins landed on the moon in, and the landing capsule that brought them safely back to Earth again, both first hand, and that the two hours spent there were worth every single second of the eight hour return train trip from DC to NYC.
A is for Apple
This was in the Australian news a month or so ago.
"Buy buy mummy: iPad toddler's spending spree" - The Age, 15th September, 2010.
The story of three-year-old Sienna Leigh of Sydney, who ran up a AUD$50 bill on her mother's credit card in the online Apple store buying iPad applications. Her mother didn't notice until she saw the emailed receipts for Sienna's shopping spree after the little one had gone to sleep.
The kid has skills with technology - I'll give her that. I'm 28, and I'm not sure I could do much with an iPad beyond turn it on without being shown how, let alone find the Apple store and purchase applications. This little girl is only three - she can't yet read or write her own name, but she can go shopping online on her mum's tab.
But while the article seemed to almost jovially research how Sienna managed her feat, and detailed how to disable iPad access to the Apple store for other parents, I found myself asking a more fundamental question.
Why the hell does a three-year-old have an iPad of her own? Following on from that, why does she spend a few hours a day obviously unsupervised with an incredibly expensive and sophisticated piece of technology, which also happens to have access to the internet?
For those of you less in the know, or who like me don't champ at the bit every time Steve Jobs releases another "must have" Apple product, the iPad is just like an iPhone - only bigger. Six times bigger, to be exact. Touch screen display, huge internal memory, internet, access to all kinds of applications ranging in levels of usefulness, practicality, entertainment and idiocy. Oh, and you can also make phone calls with it. iPads retail at AUD$629 in Australia for the most basic model, and over AUD$1,000 for the top of the range version. (€499 - €799 on the German Apple website for those not familiar with the Aussie dollar.)
With those prices in mind, it seems like a good time to repeat my previous question. Why the hell does a three-year-old have an iPad of her own, regardless of whether or not she shares it with her siblings (as is mentioned in the article)?
There are so many issues I have with this. I'm going to stick with just three though. The first is the price of the thing. AUD$629. It's a lot of money. I've only spent anywhere near that amount of money on two purchases (flights aside). A car, and my current digital camera. I could possibly understand an adult spending that much money on a piece of technology for themselves, especially if he or she is an Apple fanatic.
I cannot understand spending that much money on one non-essential item for a child, regardless of what it is, how old they are, or whether or not they are going to share it. Aside from still not understanding why exactly a three-year-old needs an iPad (or for that matter, a computer of any kind), giving a toddler something, half of which happens to be made of glass, is asking for trouble. iPads are easily broken by adult users as it is - just google "broken iPad" if you don't believe me. The screen is glass, the back casing is smooth metal, and there's nowhere for hands, large or small, to get a good grip. In short, it's pretty easy for it to just slip out of your hands and crash onto the floor. The LCD is also prone to distortion, and could easily be put out of action by an energetic poke from enthusiastic little fingers. Game over. At least until it's fixed or replaced.
My major beef though wasn't so much what it was spent on, but what it wasn't spent on.
Take that wad of fifty dollar notes. Here are some alternatives to lining Steve Jobs' pocket with it.
1. Save it. Put it in a trust fund - a savings account, term deposit - whatever. If you want to get a little something on the way back from the bank, grab a stack of colouring books and a pack of crayons. There'd still be over AUD$600 left. $200 per kid in a savings account. Not bad.
2. If the urge to spend is that strong, round up the kids and let them loose in the local toy store with the cash. Think of the number of books, Lego sets, bats and balls, dolls, crayons, board games, and action figures you could get for the same amount of money!! Instead of taking turns with an iPad (or anything else for that matter) which invariably leads to bickering and fighting (and let's face it, who needs more of that?!), all of the kids could use these toys simultaneously and further their development in the process. Get them to hone their fine motor skills and thinking processes, broaden their imagination, learn hand-eye coordination, learn their ABCs while turning real pages of real books, and best of all, run around outside in the fresh air, playing with each other and getting some exercise (considering the rising obesity rates around the world, who can argue with that?), rather plonking them alone on the couch with a touch-screen computer as a high-tech babysitter.
Sure, Apple might have games and applications suitable or even designed for children, but at the end of the day, it's still a computer.
(NB: I originally wrote this on the 16th of September, but never got around to posting it. That is, until I noticed this in the New York Times.
"Toddlers’ Favorite Toy: The iPhone" - New York Times, 15th October, 2010.
It's nice to know I'm not the only one alarmed by the increasing role of technology in childhood, and its ramifications. -A)
"Buy buy mummy: iPad toddler's spending spree" - The Age, 15th September, 2010.
The story of three-year-old Sienna Leigh of Sydney, who ran up a AUD$50 bill on her mother's credit card in the online Apple store buying iPad applications. Her mother didn't notice until she saw the emailed receipts for Sienna's shopping spree after the little one had gone to sleep.
The kid has skills with technology - I'll give her that. I'm 28, and I'm not sure I could do much with an iPad beyond turn it on without being shown how, let alone find the Apple store and purchase applications. This little girl is only three - she can't yet read or write her own name, but she can go shopping online on her mum's tab.
But while the article seemed to almost jovially research how Sienna managed her feat, and detailed how to disable iPad access to the Apple store for other parents, I found myself asking a more fundamental question.
Why the hell does a three-year-old have an iPad of her own? Following on from that, why does she spend a few hours a day obviously unsupervised with an incredibly expensive and sophisticated piece of technology, which also happens to have access to the internet?
For those of you less in the know, or who like me don't champ at the bit every time Steve Jobs releases another "must have" Apple product, the iPad is just like an iPhone - only bigger. Six times bigger, to be exact. Touch screen display, huge internal memory, internet, access to all kinds of applications ranging in levels of usefulness, practicality, entertainment and idiocy. Oh, and you can also make phone calls with it. iPads retail at AUD$629 in Australia for the most basic model, and over AUD$1,000 for the top of the range version. (€499 - €799 on the German Apple website for those not familiar with the Aussie dollar.)
With those prices in mind, it seems like a good time to repeat my previous question. Why the hell does a three-year-old have an iPad of her own, regardless of whether or not she shares it with her siblings (as is mentioned in the article)?
There are so many issues I have with this. I'm going to stick with just three though. The first is the price of the thing. AUD$629. It's a lot of money. I've only spent anywhere near that amount of money on two purchases (flights aside). A car, and my current digital camera. I could possibly understand an adult spending that much money on a piece of technology for themselves, especially if he or she is an Apple fanatic.
I cannot understand spending that much money on one non-essential item for a child, regardless of what it is, how old they are, or whether or not they are going to share it. Aside from still not understanding why exactly a three-year-old needs an iPad (or for that matter, a computer of any kind), giving a toddler something, half of which happens to be made of glass, is asking for trouble. iPads are easily broken by adult users as it is - just google "broken iPad" if you don't believe me. The screen is glass, the back casing is smooth metal, and there's nowhere for hands, large or small, to get a good grip. In short, it's pretty easy for it to just slip out of your hands and crash onto the floor. The LCD is also prone to distortion, and could easily be put out of action by an energetic poke from enthusiastic little fingers. Game over. At least until it's fixed or replaced.
My major beef though wasn't so much what it was spent on, but what it wasn't spent on.
Take that wad of fifty dollar notes. Here are some alternatives to lining Steve Jobs' pocket with it.
1. Save it. Put it in a trust fund - a savings account, term deposit - whatever. If you want to get a little something on the way back from the bank, grab a stack of colouring books and a pack of crayons. There'd still be over AUD$600 left. $200 per kid in a savings account. Not bad.
2. If the urge to spend is that strong, round up the kids and let them loose in the local toy store with the cash. Think of the number of books, Lego sets, bats and balls, dolls, crayons, board games, and action figures you could get for the same amount of money!! Instead of taking turns with an iPad (or anything else for that matter) which invariably leads to bickering and fighting (and let's face it, who needs more of that?!), all of the kids could use these toys simultaneously and further their development in the process. Get them to hone their fine motor skills and thinking processes, broaden their imagination, learn hand-eye coordination, learn their ABCs while turning real pages of real books, and best of all, run around outside in the fresh air, playing with each other and getting some exercise (considering the rising obesity rates around the world, who can argue with that?), rather plonking them alone on the couch with a touch-screen computer as a high-tech babysitter.
Sure, Apple might have games and applications suitable or even designed for children, but at the end of the day, it's still a computer.
(NB: I originally wrote this on the 16th of September, but never got around to posting it. That is, until I noticed this in the New York Times.
"Toddlers’ Favorite Toy: The iPhone" - New York Times, 15th October, 2010.
It's nice to know I'm not the only one alarmed by the increasing role of technology in childhood, and its ramifications. -A)
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