For several weeks there has been a big spike in usage of this blog. It was almost like clockwork every two days. It was at the same time as a large number of visits "from" Italy. And then it stopped.
Hurray, maybe the Italian/Russian reverse spammers had gone away.
Then today there was another spike.
You, my legitimate readers, can help make them go away by telling your friends and relatives about this blog. If the ranking of visits to this blog goes way up, then the hopes of reverse spammers will go do away. The reverse spammers hope I'll click on their links and ...
But I don't hold much hope about word about this blog spreading. My comments to the New York Times and Washington Post don't get many "likes" either.
Showing posts with label Italian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Italian. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
Heritage is culture, ancestry is lineage
I am always bothered by the loose use of heritage in place of ancestry.
Some of my ancestors were from England and some were from Germany. When I went to England, I was called a Yank. When I went to Germany, I was called an Ausländer (foreigner).
It always amazes me when people call themselves Swedish or Italian or ... but can't speak a word of Swedish or Italian. Having lived in both Sweden and Italy I facetiously call my self more Swedish or Italian than many in the U.S. I not only learned the languages, but I read the local newspapers and many books.
My nationality: American. My heritage: lower middle class Clevelander.
Published at
http://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/28/science/dna-tests-ancestry.html?comments#permid=23901670.
Amazing! As of this posting, my comment received 30 recommends. Generally, my comments receive 0 to 3 recommends.
Some of my ancestors were from England and some were from Germany. When I went to England, I was called a Yank. When I went to Germany, I was called an Ausländer (foreigner).
It always amazes me when people call themselves Swedish or Italian or ... but can't speak a word of Swedish or Italian. Having lived in both Sweden and Italy I facetiously call my self more Swedish or Italian than many in the U.S. I not only learned the languages, but I read the local newspapers and many books.
My nationality: American. My heritage: lower middle class Clevelander.
Published at
http://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/28/science/dna-tests-ancestry.html?comments#permid=23901670.
Amazing! As of this posting, my comment received 30 recommends. Generally, my comments receive 0 to 3 recommends.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
I am American, not Irish!
“On St. Patrick’s Day, everyone is Irish!” Really? Just what is Irish? Is it the ruffian who flung his elbow in my face as he passed me in Killkenny? Or is it the people named McGree who invited me to their home for dinner? Is it the parish priest who let me look through church records? Or is it the woman who smoked in the no-smoking car on the train back to Dublin. Just like any other group, ethnic, religious, or skin hue, there are many different behaviors from the generous to the hateful.
One St. Patrick’s Day, my mother proclaimed that we were “Orange-Irish”. I don’t think she had a clue. If she knew the ancestry of my paternal grandfather, she certainly didn’t pass it on to me. Neither did my German-born paternal grandmother.
From all the genealogical research I’ve done, it seems that the surname Magree, McGree, or MacGree comes from Ireland. However, from all the genealogical research I’ve done, I have found no ancestor in my male line that was definitively born in Ireland.
The closest was my great grandfather, John J.R. Magree, who variously claimed to be born in Brooklyn or England. In the last year or two I found that he was born in Liverpool of an American and a woman living in Liverpool. Her name was Margaret Pope. Her father was a customs officer, and so I assume she was not born in Ireland.
John James Richard Magree’s father was John Cornelius Magree, who generally went by John C. Magree. I did find a record of his getting his seaman’s certificate in 1833 at the age of 15. In the 1850 census he was listed first in a crew of a ship in New York or Brooklyn. In 1851 he was the master of the ship Ivanhoe bringing about 400 immigrants from Liverpool to New York. Most of the passengers were Irish. I did not find a Margaret Pope or Margaret Magree in the passenger list.
I did link John C. Magree to his father twice. John C.’s marriage document named his father as Vincent Magree. The 1830 Census did list Vincent Magree’s household as containing a male about 12 years old.
With Ancestor,com, I can find no record other than these two of Vincent Magree. I wonder if he (or others) anglicized his name from Vincenzo Magri to Vincent Magree. I have found records where a Magri has also been named Magree. It’s possible that my paternal line comes from Italy; one relative told me that one of uncles looked “Spanish”. I do know that I was one of the few “curly-haired” males in my family.
Just who are these “Irish” that the English of another time called a “race”? We do know they were Celts who drove out another group. Was this displaced group the “fairies”? But then the Vikings came raping and pillaging. After that another wave of Vikings came, but they were called Normans (Norse men). But the Normans had settled in France, so are the Irish French? Partly! Names like Fitzpatrick come from the French Fils-Patrick, meaning son of Patrick. Then the English came a-pillaging and taking land. This invasion was so devastating that many Irish left for the Americas and Australia.
When the descendants of the Irish immigrants to Australia come to the United States, what do we call them? Australians!
I do know that many grandchildren of people who immigrated to other countries are often labelled with their ancestry, but I don’t know if these labels persist for so many generations as they do in the U.S. I enjoy springing the question “What nationality is the King of Sweden?” By American reckoning he is French. He is a descendant of one of Napoleon’s marshals: Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte! Some often respond that Queen Elizabeth II is German. She’s a descendant of Prince Albert of Saxony.
What are people who immigrate to the U.S. or their descendants called when they go back the “Old Country”? Americans! I read one Swedish novel where a man worked in Chicago for several years, came back to his home town, and was labelled as “American”. I read another where a second-generation woman came back, could hardly speak Swedish, and was called “American”.
I was an “Ugly American” in Europe for six years. If you read “The Ugly American” you know that he was the good guy in the local view and the “bad guy” in the expatriate community. “The Ugly American” learned the language and customs of the host country, and he didn’t spend all of his time in the “country club” American community.
I worked on learning the languages of the countries I visited and used them both in speaking and reading. A few others didn’t even make an attempt and were miserable. In fact, one European colleague called me a “Northern European” because I worked at blending in.
But I can’t resist being the other kind of “Ugly American” in this country. When someone says they are Swedish or Italian, I ask “Talar du svenska?” or “Parlai italiano?” “Do you speak Swedish?” or “Do you speak Italian?” Generally the response is either befuddlement or a negative reply.
So, this assumed descendant of some Irish immigrant won’t be drinking green beer on St. Patrick’s Day. As much as he likes Guinness or Smithwick, he will probably be drinking a couple of glasses of Italian wine. Sláinte or cin-cin!
Also printed in the Reader Weekly of Duluth, 2016-03-17 at http://duluthreader.com/articles/2016/03/17/6888_i_am_american_not_irish.
P.S. About green beer and other "Irish" fare, see http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/18/dining/corned-beef-and-cabbage-not-so-irish-historians-say.html.
One St. Patrick’s Day, my mother proclaimed that we were “Orange-Irish”. I don’t think she had a clue. If she knew the ancestry of my paternal grandfather, she certainly didn’t pass it on to me. Neither did my German-born paternal grandmother.
From all the genealogical research I’ve done, it seems that the surname Magree, McGree, or MacGree comes from Ireland. However, from all the genealogical research I’ve done, I have found no ancestor in my male line that was definitively born in Ireland.
The closest was my great grandfather, John J.R. Magree, who variously claimed to be born in Brooklyn or England. In the last year or two I found that he was born in Liverpool of an American and a woman living in Liverpool. Her name was Margaret Pope. Her father was a customs officer, and so I assume she was not born in Ireland.
John James Richard Magree’s father was John Cornelius Magree, who generally went by John C. Magree. I did find a record of his getting his seaman’s certificate in 1833 at the age of 15. In the 1850 census he was listed first in a crew of a ship in New York or Brooklyn. In 1851 he was the master of the ship Ivanhoe bringing about 400 immigrants from Liverpool to New York. Most of the passengers were Irish. I did not find a Margaret Pope or Margaret Magree in the passenger list.
I did link John C. Magree to his father twice. John C.’s marriage document named his father as Vincent Magree. The 1830 Census did list Vincent Magree’s household as containing a male about 12 years old.
With Ancestor,com, I can find no record other than these two of Vincent Magree. I wonder if he (or others) anglicized his name from Vincenzo Magri to Vincent Magree. I have found records where a Magri has also been named Magree. It’s possible that my paternal line comes from Italy; one relative told me that one of uncles looked “Spanish”. I do know that I was one of the few “curly-haired” males in my family.
Just who are these “Irish” that the English of another time called a “race”? We do know they were Celts who drove out another group. Was this displaced group the “fairies”? But then the Vikings came raping and pillaging. After that another wave of Vikings came, but they were called Normans (Norse men). But the Normans had settled in France, so are the Irish French? Partly! Names like Fitzpatrick come from the French Fils-Patrick, meaning son of Patrick. Then the English came a-pillaging and taking land. This invasion was so devastating that many Irish left for the Americas and Australia.
When the descendants of the Irish immigrants to Australia come to the United States, what do we call them? Australians!
I do know that many grandchildren of people who immigrated to other countries are often labelled with their ancestry, but I don’t know if these labels persist for so many generations as they do in the U.S. I enjoy springing the question “What nationality is the King of Sweden?” By American reckoning he is French. He is a descendant of one of Napoleon’s marshals: Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte! Some often respond that Queen Elizabeth II is German. She’s a descendant of Prince Albert of Saxony.
What are people who immigrate to the U.S. or their descendants called when they go back the “Old Country”? Americans! I read one Swedish novel where a man worked in Chicago for several years, came back to his home town, and was labelled as “American”. I read another where a second-generation woman came back, could hardly speak Swedish, and was called “American”.
I was an “Ugly American” in Europe for six years. If you read “The Ugly American” you know that he was the good guy in the local view and the “bad guy” in the expatriate community. “The Ugly American” learned the language and customs of the host country, and he didn’t spend all of his time in the “country club” American community.
I worked on learning the languages of the countries I visited and used them both in speaking and reading. A few others didn’t even make an attempt and were miserable. In fact, one European colleague called me a “Northern European” because I worked at blending in.
But I can’t resist being the other kind of “Ugly American” in this country. When someone says they are Swedish or Italian, I ask “Talar du svenska?” or “Parlai italiano?” “Do you speak Swedish?” or “Do you speak Italian?” Generally the response is either befuddlement or a negative reply.
So, this assumed descendant of some Irish immigrant won’t be drinking green beer on St. Patrick’s Day. As much as he likes Guinness or Smithwick, he will probably be drinking a couple of glasses of Italian wine. Sláinte or cin-cin!
Also printed in the Reader Weekly of Duluth, 2016-03-17 at http://duluthreader.com/articles/2016/03/17/6888_i_am_american_not_irish.
P.S. About green beer and other "Irish" fare, see http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/18/dining/corned-beef-and-cabbage-not-so-irish-historians-say.html.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Sprechen vous svenska?
Let me guess. You may be one of those who claim to never have been good at foreign languages, but I bet you know the meaning of each of the words in the title of this article. Not only that, you probably know which language each is from.
Maybe the reason you are “not good” at foreign languages is that you didn’t care for the way you were taught a particular language. Maybe you rebelled at the way it was taught and didn’t let it soak in and use it.
I myself have had mixed feelings about each of my language experiences. For example, I forgot almost everything I learned in high school Latin, but I retained enough of my two years of college French to read books, magazines, and newspapers and to have simple conversations.
The first time it was really important was when I transferred to Europe as a Univac employee. Supposedly I was to move to Italy. I got an Italian grammar book and started studying from it. “Oh, wait, before you go to Italy you will spend several weeks in Basel, Switzerland.” So, I got a German grammar book and started studying German.
I had all my travel arrangements made for me. The last leg was a train from Zurich to Basel. When I got to Basel, there was nobody to meet me. Where do I go from here on a Saturday? I knew we were to work at Sandoz, the big pharmaceutical company, and so I looked up Sandoz at a public phone. When I reached Sandoz the guard spoke only German and French. As best I could I explained my situation in French. He said he would look up the Univac people in the computer room. Within an hour or so one of the hardware guys came and got me. It was only once I was in the hotel that I met the software guys I was to work with.
I have many anecdotes about learning German (Hochdeutsch) and Schweizer Deutsch, two different languages. Ja jo! Wie goht’s!
One, I learned enough German to read some of the newspapers and to read the directions on starting the computer - drucken… (push…)
Two, I didn’t learn enough German to get in and out of East Berlin on my own. The end story is that I had ten East German marks I was not supposed to leave with. My Swiss companions were in a discussion with the guard behind the counter. I kept swiveling my head towards whoever was speaking. Finally, the guard looked at me and said, “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” I replied, “Nein!” That cracked everyone up. After I put my ten marks in the Red Cross jar, we were on our way out through Checkpoint Charlie.
When I finally arrived in Italy, I slowly learned more Italian. It didn’t help that our work language was English. I did start reading Italian newspapers and books and speaking Italian where I could. I spoke it to my barber and I think I bought my car using Italian. One difficulty was at some office where I wasn’t getting across to the clerks. One exclaimed, “Questi stranieri!” (“These foreigners”). I understood her, but I don’t remember if I made any reply.
After two years in Italy, I requested and got a transfer to Sweden. Again I bought a grammar book or two and started reading newspapers. Newspapers are wonderful for learning foreign languages because of the names and events in the news and the large number of similar words. By my second year in Sweden, I disappointed a small group I was to supervise by stating that we would speak Swedish. My rationale was they had many chances to speak English, I had few for Swedish. After a year, many of my colleagues said I spoke “flyttande Svenska” (fluent Swedish), even those who didn’t report to me. On the other hand, there were many who disagreed.
When I came back to the States, I decided to take German at a community college. I added a couple more semesters when I returned to Minnesota. Darned if I can remember much of what I learned in class.
This same phenomenon happened when I took Russian long before I left for Europe. I still had notions of getting a PhD, and one of the requirements was to have some familiarity with two foreign languages. I took a year of Russian in summer school. I did B or better work, but I didn’t enjoy it. The basis for each lesson was a short conversation we were supposed to memorize and recite with a classmate. I’ll never forget the first sentence of the first conversation: “Привет Нина! Куда ви идёте?” “Hi, Nina! Where are you going?” I didn’t go back for a second year. For awhile my Russian handwriting was better than my English handwriting. I still do recognize many Russian characters, but I have made no real effort to study Russian anymore other than look at the headlines on some online Russian newspapers.
Over the years I’ve put a little bit of effort into learning some bits and pieces of Finnish, Ukrainian, Greek, Dutch, Icelandic, Serbo-Croatian, Spanish, and Japanese. I’ll finish this with my Japanese joke: “Watashi-wa nihongo-ga wakarimasen.” I say it well enough that Japanese relatives laugh at the contradiction: “I don’t understand Japanese.”
If you’re over 50 and enjoy languages as much as Mel does, join him for “Jolly Polyglots” in the winter quarter of University for Seniors at UMD.
This was also published in the Reader Weekly, 2014-08-28 at http://duluthreader.com/articles/2014/08/28/3970_sprechen_vous_svenska
Maybe the reason you are “not good” at foreign languages is that you didn’t care for the way you were taught a particular language. Maybe you rebelled at the way it was taught and didn’t let it soak in and use it.
I myself have had mixed feelings about each of my language experiences. For example, I forgot almost everything I learned in high school Latin, but I retained enough of my two years of college French to read books, magazines, and newspapers and to have simple conversations.
The first time it was really important was when I transferred to Europe as a Univac employee. Supposedly I was to move to Italy. I got an Italian grammar book and started studying from it. “Oh, wait, before you go to Italy you will spend several weeks in Basel, Switzerland.” So, I got a German grammar book and started studying German.
I had all my travel arrangements made for me. The last leg was a train from Zurich to Basel. When I got to Basel, there was nobody to meet me. Where do I go from here on a Saturday? I knew we were to work at Sandoz, the big pharmaceutical company, and so I looked up Sandoz at a public phone. When I reached Sandoz the guard spoke only German and French. As best I could I explained my situation in French. He said he would look up the Univac people in the computer room. Within an hour or so one of the hardware guys came and got me. It was only once I was in the hotel that I met the software guys I was to work with.
I have many anecdotes about learning German (Hochdeutsch) and Schweizer Deutsch, two different languages. Ja jo! Wie goht’s!
One, I learned enough German to read some of the newspapers and to read the directions on starting the computer - drucken… (push…)
Two, I didn’t learn enough German to get in and out of East Berlin on my own. The end story is that I had ten East German marks I was not supposed to leave with. My Swiss companions were in a discussion with the guard behind the counter. I kept swiveling my head towards whoever was speaking. Finally, the guard looked at me and said, “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” I replied, “Nein!” That cracked everyone up. After I put my ten marks in the Red Cross jar, we were on our way out through Checkpoint Charlie.
When I finally arrived in Italy, I slowly learned more Italian. It didn’t help that our work language was English. I did start reading Italian newspapers and books and speaking Italian where I could. I spoke it to my barber and I think I bought my car using Italian. One difficulty was at some office where I wasn’t getting across to the clerks. One exclaimed, “Questi stranieri!” (“These foreigners”). I understood her, but I don’t remember if I made any reply.
After two years in Italy, I requested and got a transfer to Sweden. Again I bought a grammar book or two and started reading newspapers. Newspapers are wonderful for learning foreign languages because of the names and events in the news and the large number of similar words. By my second year in Sweden, I disappointed a small group I was to supervise by stating that we would speak Swedish. My rationale was they had many chances to speak English, I had few for Swedish. After a year, many of my colleagues said I spoke “flyttande Svenska” (fluent Swedish), even those who didn’t report to me. On the other hand, there were many who disagreed.
When I came back to the States, I decided to take German at a community college. I added a couple more semesters when I returned to Minnesota. Darned if I can remember much of what I learned in class.
This same phenomenon happened when I took Russian long before I left for Europe. I still had notions of getting a PhD, and one of the requirements was to have some familiarity with two foreign languages. I took a year of Russian in summer school. I did B or better work, but I didn’t enjoy it. The basis for each lesson was a short conversation we were supposed to memorize and recite with a classmate. I’ll never forget the first sentence of the first conversation: “Привет Нина! Куда ви идёте?” “Hi, Nina! Where are you going?” I didn’t go back for a second year. For awhile my Russian handwriting was better than my English handwriting. I still do recognize many Russian characters, but I have made no real effort to study Russian anymore other than look at the headlines on some online Russian newspapers.
Over the years I’ve put a little bit of effort into learning some bits and pieces of Finnish, Ukrainian, Greek, Dutch, Icelandic, Serbo-Croatian, Spanish, and Japanese. I’ll finish this with my Japanese joke: “Watashi-wa nihongo-ga wakarimasen.” I say it well enough that Japanese relatives laugh at the contradiction: “I don’t understand Japanese.”
If you’re over 50 and enjoy languages as much as Mel does, join him for “Jolly Polyglots” in the winter quarter of University for Seniors at UMD.
This was also published in the Reader Weekly, 2014-08-28 at http://duluthreader.com/articles/2014/08/28/3970_sprechen_vous_svenska
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Spotting a non-Italian playing an Italian
Tonight we watched "Inspector Morse 23: The Death of the Self". Chief Inspector Morse and Sgt. Lewis go to Italy to check on a suspicious death. They work with an Italian detective who spoke Italian now and then to other Italians. His Italian seemed to be Italian.
Then he answered a phone. The Italian custom is to say "Pronto", that is "Ready". However, he said, "Prahntoh", like we say it in the U. S. We learned it as "Prohntoh" in Italy.
It could be that they say the former in Vicenza were the movie took place, but …
Well, I checked the cast and found Georges Corraface as the detective. He is French and
"A classically trained and versatile actor, his gift for languages and his multi-cultural background has enabled him to work in eight languages and an even wider variety of accents."
Is "Prahntoh" used in Vicenza or did his extensive use of English make him lapse into the English pronunciation? Non so! (I don't know!)
Then he answered a phone. The Italian custom is to say "Pronto", that is "Ready". However, he said, "Prahntoh", like we say it in the U. S. We learned it as "Prohntoh" in Italy.
It could be that they say the former in Vicenza were the movie took place, but …
Well, I checked the cast and found Georges Corraface as the detective. He is French and
"A classically trained and versatile actor, his gift for languages and his multi-cultural background has enabled him to work in eight languages and an even wider variety of accents."
Is "Prahntoh" used in Vicenza or did his extensive use of English make him lapse into the English pronunciation? Non so! (I don't know!)
Monday, February 04, 2013
My nationality is American
A favorite conversational item of many Americans is "What nationality are you?" This happens often because we are a nation of immigrants from elsewhere or the descendants of immigrants. But how is it that the nationality of someone from Canada is Canadian and from Australia is Australian?
One of my favorite comebacks is "What nationality is the King of Sweden?" Following the male line back, he's French; he's descended from Marechal Bernadotte, one of Napoleon's marshals.
As for me, my paternal grandmother is the only immigrant among my grandparents; she was born in Silesia, at that time part of Germany. The other three were all born in the United States. As I hardly knew my grandmother, I didn't have much German influence.
Of my great-grandparents, four were born in Germany, three were born in England, and one supposedly was born in Brooklyn. More about him later. I never knew my German great-grandparents, and we never had any German traditions in our house. I only knew my mother's paternal grandmother, and the only thing English I experienced from her was tea, with Carnation milk!
As for the supposedly Brooklyn-born great-grandfather, I've found some indications that he probably was born in Liverpool, England. Most of the records for him give his name as John J.R. Magree, but Brooklyn has no birth certificate for him. I did find two Liverpool records for the child John James Robert Magree. His mother may have been Irish or English, but his father was John Cornelius Magree, probably the John C. Magree who was the master of the Ship Ivanhoe bringing immigrants from Liverpool to New York in Jan 1851. There was no John J.R. Magree in the passenger list. Interestingly, on his marriage record, John C.'s father was Vinsent Magree [sic], Vincent Magree was in Baltimore in the 1830 Census.
Other than possibly John C.s marriage in Liverpool, I have found no ancestor that I can link to Ireland.
My only Irish link to the name Magree is from Magree's I contacted in Australia. They can trace their Magree ancestors to Kilkenny, Ireland, and even to some specific pieces of land.
Interestingly, on one St. Patrick's Day, my mother said "We are Orange Irish". Other than her in-laws, she knew nothing of my father's grandparents.
Having lived in Italy for two years and in Sweden for four years, I like to kid that I am more Italian than many Americans that call themselves Italian and likewise for "Swedes".
One of my favorite comebacks is "What nationality is the King of Sweden?" Following the male line back, he's French; he's descended from Marechal Bernadotte, one of Napoleon's marshals.
As for me, my paternal grandmother is the only immigrant among my grandparents; she was born in Silesia, at that time part of Germany. The other three were all born in the United States. As I hardly knew my grandmother, I didn't have much German influence.
Of my great-grandparents, four were born in Germany, three were born in England, and one supposedly was born in Brooklyn. More about him later. I never knew my German great-grandparents, and we never had any German traditions in our house. I only knew my mother's paternal grandmother, and the only thing English I experienced from her was tea, with Carnation milk!
As for the supposedly Brooklyn-born great-grandfather, I've found some indications that he probably was born in Liverpool, England. Most of the records for him give his name as John J.R. Magree, but Brooklyn has no birth certificate for him. I did find two Liverpool records for the child John James Robert Magree. His mother may have been Irish or English, but his father was John Cornelius Magree, probably the John C. Magree who was the master of the Ship Ivanhoe bringing immigrants from Liverpool to New York in Jan 1851. There was no John J.R. Magree in the passenger list. Interestingly, on his marriage record, John C.'s father was Vinsent Magree [sic], Vincent Magree was in Baltimore in the 1830 Census.
Other than possibly John C.s marriage in Liverpool, I have found no ancestor that I can link to Ireland.
My only Irish link to the name Magree is from Magree's I contacted in Australia. They can trace their Magree ancestors to Kilkenny, Ireland, and even to some specific pieces of land.
Interestingly, on one St. Patrick's Day, my mother said "We are Orange Irish". Other than her in-laws, she knew nothing of my father's grandparents.
Having lived in Italy for two years and in Sweden for four years, I like to kid that I am more Italian than many Americans that call themselves Italian and likewise for "Swedes".
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Fun with computer translations
To make some small improvement in our Italian skills, we go to a monthly conversation group. Each month, the organizer emails a reminder, and this last time she asked us to let her know if we'll be coming.
I can read Italian books and newspapers with so-so comprehension, but I have trouble coming up with the simplest everyday phrases, especially if they are not in the present tense. So, I called on the friendly, knowledgable folks at Google Translate.
"We will be there" -> "Ci saremo"
That's OK, but do I want to make a statement of certainty?
"We plan to be there" -> "Pensiamo di esserci"
But that seems to me to mean "we're thinking of being there", implying we haven't made up our minds yet.
"We hope to be there" -> "Speriamo di esserci"
Naw! Hope is not as certain as plan. I guess I'll go with "Ci saremo" and hope that our plans work out:)
Interestingly, Google translated "Pensiamo di esserci" to "We plan to be". My goodness, we plan to be lots of places for many years to come!
Oh yeah! Since May 1 is Labor Day all over Europe, I asked Google to translate "labor day" into Italian. It gave, I kid you not, "Labor day", and pronounced it "lahbor die". However, if I put in "festa dei lavoratori" it gives "labor day".
Ciao!
I can read Italian books and newspapers with so-so comprehension, but I have trouble coming up with the simplest everyday phrases, especially if they are not in the present tense. So, I called on the friendly, knowledgable folks at Google Translate.
"We will be there" -> "Ci saremo"
That's OK, but do I want to make a statement of certainty?
"We plan to be there" -> "Pensiamo di esserci"
But that seems to me to mean "we're thinking of being there", implying we haven't made up our minds yet.
"We hope to be there" -> "Speriamo di esserci"
Naw! Hope is not as certain as plan. I guess I'll go with "Ci saremo" and hope that our plans work out:)
Interestingly, Google translated "Pensiamo di esserci" to "We plan to be". My goodness, we plan to be lots of places for many years to come!
Oh yeah! Since May 1 is Labor Day all over Europe, I asked Google to translate "labor day" into Italian. It gave, I kid you not, "Labor day", and pronounced it "lahbor die". However, if I put in "festa dei lavoratori" it gives "labor day".
Ciao!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
An open day to catch up, but I'd rather do nothing
Here I sit, in our house in Duluth during a blizzard. I had planned to go skiing today, but even before the snow started, I decided that Spirit Mt. wouldn't be open because of the wind. I thought of doing some shopping, but driving is not recommended.
I did go out for the papers this morning and that was a bit of a struggle – bare sidewalk and then shin-high drifts. There was only one car at the restaurant where the paper boxes are, and I had breakfast there to give them a bit of business. I had planned to go tomorrow. A few more people came in, but the restaurant was short-staffed because of the blizzard and it closed at nine.
When I came back home it was into the wind. To keep my hat on, I had to look at the ground in front of me. To get up the steps from the sidewalk I had to pull myself up with the handrail because of the drifts. And I had to struggle to get the front door open because of another drift.
I thought of going to the fitness center because the buses were running, but did I really want to battle my way to the corner again?
Some of the heroes today are those who put the papers in the boxes, the bus drivers, the restaurant staff, and our mail carrier. She or her sub came by far earlier than I expected, and our box let in a lot of snow. At least there were no soaking checks or blurred ink. Another hero is the person who went down the block struggling with a snowblower. Unless he has somewhere to go, I don't see the point; the continuing snow and the gusting wind will soon fill the path up again.
It was fortunate that my wife had chosen yesterday to go to Tokyo to visit our son and his family. The same flight out of Duluth today was cancelled. Even then, her flight from Minneapolis-St. Paul to Tokyo was delayed because of snow.
My lunch was rather makeshift because I was going to buy some of the stuff I had planned to eat. So I had to pick and choose stuff out of the refrigerator that I wouldn't normally eat for lunch, like yogurt and peanut butter.
So, here I sit with a pile of stuff on my left to file or throw out and a similar pile on my right. I could download Turbo Tax and get started on taxes. I could clear up my backlog of email. I could practice singing. I could read any of the five, six, or seven books I've started. I could even start a fire in the fireplace and sit all afternoon reading. But I just flit from one little thing to another. I read a bit of one newspaper or other online. I play a bit of SuDoKu.
Instead I stare at the screen or I try to look out the snow-covered window to see if the storm has abated. I really can't see if it is still snowing without going right up to a window and looking out through a "clearer" spot. I do know the wind is still blowing.
I do get in some of my physical therapy exercises for my sore shoulder, but that only takes five minutes or so.
I could drink our last bottle of wine, but I would only get woozy and sick.
Maybe I will light a fire and then finish "Il Compagno Don Camillo" and then reread "Comrade Don Camillo" to see how much of the Italian I understood. I do get the larger picture, but I know I'm missing lots of nuance. Well, maybe not lots. I do know that compagno Don Camillo doesn't miss any chance to use Communist doctrine to point up inconsistencies in Soviet practice.
That's what I need. A good chuckle! Ciao!
I did go out for the papers this morning and that was a bit of a struggle – bare sidewalk and then shin-high drifts. There was only one car at the restaurant where the paper boxes are, and I had breakfast there to give them a bit of business. I had planned to go tomorrow. A few more people came in, but the restaurant was short-staffed because of the blizzard and it closed at nine.
When I came back home it was into the wind. To keep my hat on, I had to look at the ground in front of me. To get up the steps from the sidewalk I had to pull myself up with the handrail because of the drifts. And I had to struggle to get the front door open because of another drift.
I thought of going to the fitness center because the buses were running, but did I really want to battle my way to the corner again?
Some of the heroes today are those who put the papers in the boxes, the bus drivers, the restaurant staff, and our mail carrier. She or her sub came by far earlier than I expected, and our box let in a lot of snow. At least there were no soaking checks or blurred ink. Another hero is the person who went down the block struggling with a snowblower. Unless he has somewhere to go, I don't see the point; the continuing snow and the gusting wind will soon fill the path up again.
It was fortunate that my wife had chosen yesterday to go to Tokyo to visit our son and his family. The same flight out of Duluth today was cancelled. Even then, her flight from Minneapolis-St. Paul to Tokyo was delayed because of snow.
My lunch was rather makeshift because I was going to buy some of the stuff I had planned to eat. So I had to pick and choose stuff out of the refrigerator that I wouldn't normally eat for lunch, like yogurt and peanut butter.
So, here I sit with a pile of stuff on my left to file or throw out and a similar pile on my right. I could download Turbo Tax and get started on taxes. I could clear up my backlog of email. I could practice singing. I could read any of the five, six, or seven books I've started. I could even start a fire in the fireplace and sit all afternoon reading. But I just flit from one little thing to another. I read a bit of one newspaper or other online. I play a bit of SuDoKu.
Instead I stare at the screen or I try to look out the snow-covered window to see if the storm has abated. I really can't see if it is still snowing without going right up to a window and looking out through a "clearer" spot. I do know the wind is still blowing.
I do get in some of my physical therapy exercises for my sore shoulder, but that only takes five minutes or so.
I could drink our last bottle of wine, but I would only get woozy and sick.
Maybe I will light a fire and then finish "Il Compagno Don Camillo" and then reread "Comrade Don Camillo" to see how much of the Italian I understood. I do get the larger picture, but I know I'm missing lots of nuance. Well, maybe not lots. I do know that compagno Don Camillo doesn't miss any chance to use Communist doctrine to point up inconsistencies in Soviet practice.
That's what I need. A good chuckle! Ciao!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Was my April Fool's joke too believable?
If you do a search for "Duluth" and "Billionaire", you will get in the top ten:
Billionaire Duluth Native Buys Northland Reader
Silicon Valley billionaire and Duluth native Nessuno Jarnowski Ingenvik announced today that he is buying the Northland Reader for an undisclosed price. ...
cpinternet.com/~mdmagree/april_fool_2000-04-01.htm - Cached - Similar
This particular web page gets at least one hit every day. I don't know what is so interesting about this page over some of my more profound Reader Weekly articles. Are people looking for get-rich-quick schemes? Are they looking for successful Duluthians? I don't know.
I do know that twice I got a call from somebody who wanted to reach Bob Boone, the publisher of the Reader Weekly. I could only refer him to the phone number listed on the mast head. The second time he asked me about Ingenvik, as if he really existed. Didn't he see the April Fool in the URL for the web page? Didn't he catch that three different people had different memories of him under different names?
I tried to come up with "nobody" in three different languages, but only could do so in Italian. My article has a footnote about my difficulties doing so in Polish. "Ingen" is "nobody" in Swedish, but that doesn't have the right ring for a surname. I tacked on "vik" meaning "bay, inlet, or cove", but now, nine years later, I realized I could have used "Ingensson", "nobody's son".
Oh well, as my first April Fool article for the Reader Weekly, it is doing better than all the others. See the sidebar of the billionaire article for other humor articles I wrote for the Reader Weekly.
Billionaire Duluth Native Buys Northland Reader
Silicon Valley billionaire and Duluth native Nessuno Jarnowski Ingenvik announced today that he is buying the Northland Reader for an undisclosed price. ...
cpinternet.com/~mdmagree/april_fool_2000-04-01.htm - Cached - Similar
This particular web page gets at least one hit every day. I don't know what is so interesting about this page over some of my more profound Reader Weekly articles. Are people looking for get-rich-quick schemes? Are they looking for successful Duluthians? I don't know.
I do know that twice I got a call from somebody who wanted to reach Bob Boone, the publisher of the Reader Weekly. I could only refer him to the phone number listed on the mast head. The second time he asked me about Ingenvik, as if he really existed. Didn't he see the April Fool in the URL for the web page? Didn't he catch that three different people had different memories of him under different names?
I tried to come up with "nobody" in three different languages, but only could do so in Italian. My article has a footnote about my difficulties doing so in Polish. "Ingen" is "nobody" in Swedish, but that doesn't have the right ring for a surname. I tacked on "vik" meaning "bay, inlet, or cove", but now, nine years later, I realized I could have used "Ingensson", "nobody's son".
Oh well, as my first April Fool article for the Reader Weekly, it is doing better than all the others. See the sidebar of the billionaire article for other humor articles I wrote for the Reader Weekly.
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