SPEAKING IN TONGUES

Everyone is talking, and no one is listening. Yet even if they were paying attention, they probably wouldn't understand each other. One woman slowly chants, "Huit, neuf, dix." Another explains, "Yo soy Michelle." A third says something that sounds like "Nee How."

There are a dozen people scattered throughout cubicles in the basement of Olson. All wear headphones.

Some hunch over workbooks; others stare at the walls, the ceiling or points in between as they mouth sounds to themselves. We gather together in isolation to learn new ways to communicate. It's just one of the ironies of the language laboratory.

I began coming here to watch the French news. Throughout the day, a screen at the front of the room runs programs from various countries. There is a half hour of French, a half hour of Japanese, of Korean, etc.

Soon, I began staying longer.

At first I was simply listening to the next language, playing a game to see what I could decipher. I thought I understood some words, but except for the GOOOOAL! of the sports segment, I couldn't be sure. After a while, I realized that the room was strangely relaxing.

On every wall, posters show the tourist highlights of faraway places, making the room a perfect place to daydream. It's like sitting at a travel agency without the awkwardness of being asked what you can afford.

The lab also is an excellent place to study. No one bothers me, and no one thinks to look for me here. The polyphonic cacophony simultaneously stimulates and soothes. Languages you don't understand are easy to tune out. With everyone talking at once, the sound becomes a type of white noise, driving bad jingles out of my head and allowing me to put something more valuable there. Perhaps I even appreciate Tolstoy more with someone speaking Russian nearby.

I find it ironic that the lab has become a favorite place. When I was an undergraduate required to take a foreign language, I did the minimum amount of work. I would often spend my obligatory language lab hours writing letters and listening to music. I passed the courses, but I learned little.

Now as an adult studying a language for no particular reason, I find I'm diligent and disciplined. It gives me pleasure to listen and learn strange words. And while it gives me pleasure, I also believe it could make me a better person. To learn new words is to learn new worlds. Thus, these periodic descents into the basement of Olson represent a cycle of possible beginnings. Temporary burials and resurrections.

I can emerge as someone new. Even as the person I've always wanted to be.

— Joseph Mills, Ph.D.'98

What did you learn in school today?"—it's a parent's favorite question, but seldom asked of students by the time they hit college age. We thought we'd ask a few students to see if we could elicit something more than the traditional "Nothing."

• "I learned about the Lamia. She's a serpent woman from a medieval myth who seduces men, has their children and then eats the babies or sucks their blood. There are many variations, though."
  — Rebecca Osa, senior, English
  
  
• "I learned that you have to go to bed earlier so that you can stay awake in class so that you can learn something!"
  — Rowena Roduta, freshman, psychology
  
  
• "Today I learned what steak and fries have to do with French culture. (In case you're wondering, they're symbolic and evoke a sense of nostalgia.)"
  — Erin Brown, senior, English and French
  
  
• "I learned that Thomas Jefferson had a bone room in the White House and that there were bones of a mastodon in it."
  — Kristina Koford, sophomore, history
  
  
• "I learned that UCD is really committed to education and that they're changing the Division of Education to the School of Education because they're starting to understand that not everyone has access to a top-notch education and that a lot of students arrive here not being able to read, write or spell, and UC is trying to help make sure that there are competent teachers out there."
  — Cameron Jahn, senior, Spanish and comparative literature
  
  
• "I learned that my philosophy of language teacher went to school with H.P. Grice—a famous philosopher of language—and that Grice was an old English guy who smoked like a stack. I didn't even know he was English."
  — Siobhain Heenan, senior, philosophy and medieval studies
  
  
• "I learned that women in fairy tales are heroes through sacrifice."
  — Jill Yanabu, senior, biological sciences
  
  
• "I learned why famines happen in some Third World countries and how to prevent them."
  — Judy Ho, senior, managerial economics
  
  
• "I learned the basic theories of Freud today, such as dream interpretation."
  — Proshot Kalami, graduate student, comparative literature
  
  
• "I learned that, in some Australian cultures, when members of a tribe die, their names can no longer be spoken, so the tribe has to come up with new words to take the place of their names."
  — Kristine Wickson, senior, English

AGING BY DEGREES

I remember the exact moment I became old. In the second year of my Ph.D. studies, I was eating pizza at Woodstock's. A teenager passed by the window. His unbelted pants sagged so low they revealed a wide swath of underwear and seemed about to fall off at each step. I thought, "That looks so stupid! Why would anyone want to dress like that?" I realized with horror that I sounded like my father.

Trudging home, I reviewed the evidence. What did I do each quarter after finals? Did I party? No, I cleaned my apartment and did my laundry. I stopped to examine the fliers pasted on a telephone pole. They advertised bands that I had never heard of, playing at places I had never been. When I had free time, I no longer went clubbing; I "relaxed," an activity only old people engage in. In fact, I had relaxed myself into a paunch sizeable enough to rest my book on while I read.

Yes, I was old. Soon I would be shaking my fist at skateboarders and writing letters to the editor about how things used to be.

I went through a period of depression. I walked around campus muttering. I became transfixed by advertisements for hair-growth products. For the first time I understood the appeal of the little red sports car or, at Davis, the souped-up, red racing bike.

I decided it was time for an image makeover. While clothes-shopping, I tried on a pair of long surfer shorts. Since I have short legs, they almost touched my ankles. When I came out of the changing room, my wife laughed so hard she began to cry, causing a concerned store manager to rush over.

Thinking the shorts might look better if they weren't under the shadow of my belly, I began going to the gym. At first, I said that I just wanted to be more toned. I wasn't trying to become "buff." Then I realized that was "mature" thinking. What was wrong with wanting to look good? What was wrong with a little ego? I began holding my arms out from my sides in that classic weightlifter's triangle.

I felt better. My step became more spry. To deal with my receding hairline, I wore a baseball cap. Backwards. I even eyed the Rec Hall's rock wall. And then it happened. Something went wrong below my stomach. I had strained or pulled or twisted something. In youthful fashion, I ignored it for a while, but eventually I couldn't help acting responsibly. I went to the Davis Medical Center to have it checked out.

I had a hernia.

Although anyone can get a hernia, there is no denying its stigma. It is a classic old guy problem with a name so ugly it's rarely spoken. I scheduled surgery for the day after I turned in my dissertation.

I'm healthy now, but changed. At 18, after wrecking my mother's car, I became a more careful driver because I had learned how quickly accidents could occur. Similarly, when your body breaks after a certain age, you begin to use it more cautiously.

For many people, UC Davis is where they received a classroom education; for me, it is where I learned that becoming old means listening to your body, respecting its amazing strength and fragility, and never wearing long baggy shorts.

— Joseph Mills, Ph.D. '98