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Some final thoughts on xenophonetics

Josh is right. Between him and Tyler Cowen, I’m seriously rethinking my relatively low opinion of the Star Wars series. For some reason, I had never thought of Star Wars as being India- or Nigeria-like, which makes the general approach to language (i.e., simply assuming that everyone can at least comprehend at least two or three languages) better than I was giving it credit for. District 9 takes a similar approach, to mostly good effect.

But it’s still far from perfect. One of my objections to Avatar’s phonetics is the assumption that the aliens have essentially human vocal tracts and auditory systems, but not making this assumption presents difficulties for the multilingualism approach of Star Wars and District 9. If the production and perception systems are as different as they appear to be in Star Wars and District 9, it’s harder to believe that people (or various aliens) can, in fact, comprehend multiple languages.

The more I’ve thought about this, the more convinced I am that the ideal xenophonetics is not very cinematic in nature. The ideal xenophonetics being, of course, all about the difficulties encountered by alien-to-one-another races trying to figure out what the hell the other is saying. I imagine that a good book, or short story, could be written about this (and maybe already has been), but if the difficulties of human-alien communication is the focus, it’s probably better rendered in written form than put to film. Solaris (the book) vs. Solaris (the movie[s]) is a good example of this. Solaris the book is all about trying to comprehend an alien intelligence that defies comprehension. I don’t remember getting that from the (second version of the) movie.

[cross posted at Language Module]

Neurotic science

Jonah Lehrer, popularizer of neuroscience, has an editorial in the Wall Street Journal about willpower that illustrates nicely something that I find silly about (some unknown, seemingly large proportion of) neuroscience. To wit, neuroscience is largely, if not completely, irrelevant to the argument being made. The willpower piece primarily cites behavioral research, with a couple physiological-ish studies and a few brief mentions of the prefrontal cortex thrown in for good measure, to support the argument that it takes real effort to exert willpower.

While it’s undoubtedly true that all of the people in the relevant behavioral studies had brains, and that these brains played important roles in determining their behavior, this just doesn’t seem, in any important sense, to be neuroscience. It’s psychology, plain and simple (the relatively recent renaming of a prominent psychology department notwithstanding).

Other examples of irrelevant neuroscience in Lehrer’s oeuvre are readily available. Consider, for example, his recent Wired piece on ‘The neuroscience of screwing up.’ In this one, there is more neuroscience, but it’s still not clear to me what it buys us in terms of understanding. It seems to me that all the neuroscientific evidence discussed in this piece could be replaced by cheaper and easier to obtain behavioral evidence. This (old-ish) review of Lehrer’s book “How We Decide” makes it sound like more of the same.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just bitter that fMRIs, EEGs, and MEGs are trendy, expensive scientific accoutrements that are not part of my research armamentarium. And I should be clear that I’m not condemning all neuroscience.

Lehrer’s essays reminded me of Jerry Fodor’s take on the issue, wherein he writes,

It isn’t, after all, seriously in doubt that talking (or riding a bicycle, or building a bridge) depends on things that go on in the brain somewhere or other. If the mind happens in space at all, it happens somewhere north of the neck. What exactly turns on knowing how far north? It belongs to understanding how the engine in your auto works that the functioning of its carburettor is to aerate the petrol; that’s part of the story about how the engine’s parts contribute to its running right. But why (unless you’re thinking of having it taken out) does it matter where in the engine the carburettor is? What part of how your engine works have you failed to understand if you don’t know that?

Avatarskian xenophonetics

One of the most disappointing aspects of the Star Wars franchise is the laziness of the approach to language. As background noise, the pastiche of assorted noises and bits and pieces of real languages works reasonably well, but the issues of multilinguality and translation are never addressed. Somehow, Han Solo and Greedo understand one another just fine. It’s silly, and it goes beyond my ability to suspend disbelief.

Numerous other sci-fi shows and movies at least address the issue, even if this only amounts to asserting the existence of a hugely implausible universal translation technology.

In some cases, people go so far as to create a language. Klingon is probably the most famous example. I say probably because James Cameron commissioned a language for the Thundercat Smurfs to speak in Avatar. Perhaps you’ve heard of this movie, Avatar? I understand there have been some advertisements for it as of late.

Anyway, the creator of Thundersmurf has written up a short description of the language as a guest post at language log. The structure of the language is reasonably interesting, and it seems to do a good job balancing, as Ben Zimmer puts it (again with the NY Times link), the need “to be exotic enough for audiences to recognize its alienness but not so exotic that it was beyond the ability of human actors to articulate.”

The next sentence gets under my skin a bit: “Despite the much-heralded visual effects of “Avatar,” Cameron insisted that the sounds of [Thundersmurf] speech remain unmanipulated.” Now, the fact that almost every alien in Star Trek is just a person with some kind of funny forehead I can accept. I understand that it was, at least originally, a conscious choice on the part of Gene Rodenberry to ensure that actors playing the aliens could emote sucessfully, but I can easily imagine that budget constraints and special effects limitations played a role, as well. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that budget constraints and special effects limitations didn’t play much of a role in any aspect of Avatar.

With $250 million to play with, why are the Thundersmurfs so humanoid? And why, to get finally to the point, are their vocal tracts and associated control systems not just humanoid, but, apparently, completely human? It just so happens that aliens from some far away planet speak a language the same way humans do?

Ben Zimmer contends that it is in “linguistically credible interactions” such as “human characters with varying proficiency in [Thundersmurf]” and “an experienced botanist school[ing] an eager young scientist in the finer points of conversational [Thundersmurf]” that Avatar “may make its biggest contribution to science fiction.” Given that the plot seems to be a high-tech mashup of Fern Gully and Dances With Wolves (and is maybe really just about white guilt), Avatar’s fancy linguistics’ only competition is the ultra-fancy special effects, contribution-to-sci-fi-wise.

I suppose that the Thundersmurfs are so humanoid (and tall and pretty) because it would be hard for audiences to relate to Noble Savages that were truly alien. I know it’s no news flash that movies are emotionally manipulative, nor that emotional manipulation sells tickets, but it seems to me that Avatar represents a lost opportunity to do something really interesting with sci-fi in general, and with “xenophonetics” specifically.

At the very least, they could have produced some really top-notch technobabble for the scenes showing humans learning how to control their avatars’ utterly inhuman “speech” organs.

[cross posted at Language Module]

Category error on Planet Money

Better late than never, I suppose, so a quick picked-nit with regard to a category error made in an old episode of Planet Money. Right around the 14:30 mark, correspondent Chana Joffe-Walt says, discussing the strategic absence of tariffs on components used in the domestic (U.S.) assembly of high-tech products, that “we’ve decided” to make these components cheap to help domestic high-tech assemblers. The natural implication is that “we” have also decided to make other imports expensive to protect domestic industry from competition.

Well, I certainly didn’t decide either of these, and I’m willing to bet that no one I know did either. I’m going to go out on a limb and hypothesize that, in fact, politicians and/or bureaucrats made these decisions. Public choice theory and methodological individualism and all that.

The happy moral to this story is that there is a happy moral to the Planet Money podcast in question. They end with a nice, clear discussion of why tariffs are widely (and correctly) regarded as bad.

The art of the complaint

The Herald-Times has published a leter to the editor that may well be the apex of the form (with apologies to Don Boudreaux of Cafe Hayek, who regularly writes cogent, pithy missives to our nations media dinosaurs). Inexplicably, today’s masterwork is only available online if you are a paid subscriber, so I will reproduce it here (pretty much the whole glorious mess [sic]):

You know, to my opinion, this world is getting more sad by the day. Just like you’ve got these kids that wear their clothes hanging about halfway off.

Then, you have this vehicle pass you on the road, and you start vibrating because they have their stereo up so loud. Well, I hate to tell them, but they’re not hurting anyone but themselves. What are they going to think someday when they get up and they can’t hear anything at all?

And you’ve got these electric wheelchairs in these stores, and then, here come people walking, not a thing wrong with them, but what do they do? They hop on the first one they see. Well, they’re going to pay for that also someday when they come in and they actually do need one.

They’re all gone, but then, they see someone on one that doesn’t need it. I think a person should have something from the doctor stating they need one of those.

And one other thing: If you don’t have a lot of experience at this job your trying to get – or a college degree – you can forget it.

William Blackwell, Bloomington

There’s so much to love here, but they say a joke always dies in surgery, so I will resist the urge to dissect Mr. Blackwell’s work.

King Midas’ keyboard

I’ve been having problems typing with the keyboard built into my laptop (it irritates some nerves in my forearms, which causes pain in my thumbs and, to a lesser degree, my index and middle fingers), so I bought a Goldtouch adjustable ergonomic USB keyboard.

It arrived today, so I thought I’d write about my first impressions. First, though, I’d like to digress. I found out that it had arrived via the ‘track item’ function on Amazon, which told me not only that it had been delivered, but also that it had been left at my front door. I went out to the porch to get it, and I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that I used some extended, distributed portion of the technology that is the internet – amazon.com, fedex.com, etc… – to acquire the very local knowledge that my new keyboard was sitting twenty or thirty feet away from me in a box.

Anyway, it seems pretty nice so far. The keys are nicely responsive, and the adjustability of the keyboard will be very useful, I think. There is one temporary downside, though, this being that fact that the ‘b’ key is on the left-hand partition of the keyboard. Apparently, when given the option of using either hand to type ‘b’, I use my right hand. I’m already adapting, but every time there is a ‘b’ to type, I either ‘type it’ with my right hand (i.e., I push the empty spot on just to the left of the ‘n’ key on the right-hand partition) and then type it with my left, or I pause and think about where it is and then type it with my left.

There are a few other small differences between the old and new keyboards, but none that are particularly notable. Assuming this thing actually helps with my arm and hand pain, any minor inconveniences caused by different spatial arrangements of auxiliary keys will be well worth overcoming.

Bananas and Linguistics

Where was I?

Um. Oh, yes. Latex and Lyx. I’ll get back to that in a moment.

In the meantime, here’s a nice illustration of the difference between competence and performance, interpretability and grammaticality, and the stem and stern of a banana:

“My whole adult life, I never knew the right way to open a banana… and now you do, too.”

(hat tip to Pharyngula)

LyX SuX

I’ve been meaning to move away from Word, and toward LaTeX, for a while now. A few weeks ago, I was just starting a new manuscript, so I thought I might as well take the plunge. Someone (I don’t remember who) told me about LyX, a ‘front end’ for LaTeX that, in theory, should make using LaTeX easier.

Why move away from Word? Because it’s a pain in the ass to use the automatic table of contents, figure and table numbering, bibliography, general section/subsection/subsubsection, and equation formatting features in Word to produce an acceptable academic (i.e., boring, not filled with useless chartjunk) manuscript, and I’m writing my dissertation. Which is to say, I will be needing a TOC, a bunch of numbered tables and figures, and various (sub)section/cross-referencing, and bibliography formatting done, and I want it to be easy and convenient. On the down side, almost everyone uses Word, so intentionally moving away could cause some (likely minor) problems, at least when it comes time to collaborate.

Anyway, the obvious choice once you decide to move away from Word is to move toward LaTeX. It’s widespread, the documentation is excellent, and the TOC, figure and table numbering, etc…, are orders of magnitude better than those in Word. It’s the obvious choice. I guess you could use OpenOffice, but that only solves problems with Word I haven’t mentioned here.

I was a bit worried about using a ‘raw’ LaTeX distribution, though I can’t now recall exactly why. I suppose I wanted to maximize both user-friendliness (i.e., WYSIWYG-iness) and all the formatting issues simultaneously. So I downloaded LyX.

It was easy enough to download and install the basic program, but it was less than simple to get the aspell spellchecker or, more importantly, various ‘extra’ format article/citation/reference formats to work.

The spell checker didn’t end up taking too long to figure out. It just required some extra downloading and copying of various files. Easy, but it’s stupid that the spell checker doesn’t install with the main program. Installing new LaTeX classes is not so easy with LyX, though. Technically, it’s easy to get the LaTeX distribution to recognize a new class, but it’s much less easy to get LyX to do so, as it requires an additional ‘.layout’ file that tells LyX how to present the .cls/.sty in the editor and how to process the ‘.lyx’/.tex file and make a pretty pdf.

If you’re not familiar with LaTeX, of course, not much of that makes sense to you. The point is that, with a plain old LaTeX distribution, it’s quite simple to copy three or four files to the right directly and then tell the TeX program to look around for new stuff. It’s substantially less simple to do that, plus figure out, with poor help files and worse online documentation, how to tell LyX what to do with the copied files. The point distilled still more: LaTeX takes n steps to use; LyX takes n+m, where m >= n.

I meant to write this post immediately after getting so frustrated with LyX that I gave it up (forever), but it’s been a week or so now, and I no longer feel the urge to explain in more detail what’s so bad about LyX. I gave it up and have been teaching myself how to use plain old LaTeX. It’s better in pretty much every respect.

To use LyX is to add a completely unecessary middleman,though I’ll admit that it has a few nice features: the equation editor is immensely better than that in Word (faint praise, I know) and the bibliography/cross-referencing works really well. But these two features don’t even begin to make up for the fact that introducing a new document class requires as much extra work as it does, especially when simply downloading and copying four files to the proper directories gets standard LaTeX to use a new class flawlessly.

A big part of the point of using LaTeX is to avoid worrying about typesetting/formatting issues and focus on the content of your writing. Trying to get the JASA LaTeX class (and associated files) to work with LyX required many hours of worrying about formatting and typesetting, and I never got it to work right. In a sense it was worse than that makes it sound, as the formatting I was worrying about wasn’t even entirely the formatting of the final document, but also the formatting of the document in LyX itself.

As mentioned, I gave up on LyX. I exported the draft I was working on as a .tex file, edited it in TeXShop (since LyX had, conveniently, thrown in some farewell garble, as it were), and everything’s been working fine ever since. LaTeX takes a bit of time up front to learn the basics, but the basics are really quite simple, and the results are wonderful. LyX takes more time up front, and the results are frustrating and unsatisfying.

On the off chance that [search engine] crawls by here and some wayward soul thinking of using LaTeX (I’m so very tired of typing it that way, but how supercilious can I be if just type ‘latex’ and you think I’m writing about rubber trees and allergies? I mean, one of the benefits of using LaTeX is feeling superior, right?) happens by after a [search engine] search, and they are dissuaded from using LyX, then maybe, just maybe, this week’s feeble attempt to keep my blog from finally dying will have been worth it.

Poetry by Briggs

It drives me nuts when people write that the result of a statistical test is ‘highly significant’ or ‘marginally significant.’ William M. Briggs writes wryly today: “Smaller p-values are usually accompanied with the claim that the results “stronger” or “more significant”. False, of course, but since everybody says so you will be in good company.”

The whole post is, as usual, worth reading.

[M]athlete’s foot[note]

In the new issue of Harper’s, there is a footnote in the main cover story that nicely sums up what a barrier to communication innumeracy can be:

And to say there is room for academic improvement at the school [The High School for Health Careers and Sciences in Manhattan] is a vast understatement. Only 58 percent of its students graduate in four years. Of all graduates, 41 percent leave with a full “Regents diploma,” which is conferred if a student scores 65 percent or higher on five subject-proficiency exams. A mere 3 percent of Health Career’s students graduate with an “advanced” diploma, which can be earned if they take three additional Regents exams and an increased credit load. The state average is 36 percent.

First of all, the state average what is 36 percent? Graduation rate? This would put ‘Health Career’ above average, but that’s neither here nor there, as it’s plausible (likely, even) that the average is so far below ceiling that the entirety of above average schools have ample room for improvement.

Maybe it’s ‘Regents diploma’ rate, instead, though I have no idea (and the article certainly hasn’t made it clear) whether ‘Regents diplomas’ are unique to this high school or a staple of New York state secondary education. Which is to say that I have no idea if there is a state average for “Regents diplomas” at all.

Or it could be “advanced” diplomas we’re talking about.

Consider, too, how the the percentages are presented. 58 percent of students graduate. Of these, 41 percent (i.e., 23 percent of the school’s students) get the “Regents diploma.” 3 percent of the students (i.e., 5.8 percent of those who graduate) get an “advanced” diploma. For good measure, throw in a 65 percent passing grade on a test, which adds no useful information at all, and maybe makes the passage even more confusing.

Of course, the fact that the reader has no idea what the last sentence of the footnote refers to and the fact that the writer casually switches from conditional to non-conditional percentages isn’t necessarily due to innumeracy. It could just be sloppy writing. At the very least, it reflects a cavalier attitude toward marshaling numbers in support of an argument. But is that any better than being innumerate? At best, such an attitude enables continued innumeracy in the reader. At worst, it fosters it.

Exercise: Show how the referents of the subject ‘it’ and object ‘it’ are resolved, thereby showing why, in context, the meaning of the clause ‘it fosters it’ is unambiguous.