In central London, just across the bus-clogged street from
Victoria Station, there is a very modern newsroom. It's a large, open-plan space full of
desks arranged like the spokes of a wheel pivoting around the central
conference desk. Each line of desks has
two monitors at each place, and a autumnal scattering of newsprint broadsheets
all around, lending a sense of functional chaos to the orderly and
ergonomically correct work stations. There’s
a sense of new-media about the place.
Lots of stories being written around the clock, many Twitter feeds
examined, telephones everywhere and even a tiny studio just off on the side so
new media journalist can do a quick standup video or audio recording when
needed.
With the radial layout, it’s a bit of a panopticon design,
shades of Jeremy Bentham and the all-seeing eye, although in this case it’s intended
to help people on different desks work together efficiently rather than the
pervasive monitoring of inmates as Bentham proposed.
I was in the newsroom to teach journalists a few of the
finer points of search. Of course they
all use Google everyday, so everyone knew many of the basics, but once outside
of their comfort zone, I realized once again that even the best investigative
reporters know only a fraction of what’s really possible. One more time I see that while they’re often great
reporters and have a drive to get-to-the-bottom of a story, but even the young
reporters tend to follow the tropes and patterns of previous years, and that
limits them.
It’s been like that everyplace I’ve gone in the past two
weeks travelling throughout Europe lecturing, teaching and giving press
briefings. London, Dublin, Warsaw,
Prague, Hamburg, Zurich… The raw data
tells you a bit: 2 invited talks; 14 press briefings; 7 classes taught (5 for Googlers, 2 for journalists).
That’s a lot to do in 8 working days.
(And for the scariest piece of data:
40.2 hours of flight time. That
is, forty hours in the aluminum-tube-that-flies.)
I did an interview on Czech television that was good fun, and then the next day I was in Hamburg, answering the same questions
about what makes someone a good searcher on Google, but this time with a
slightly more German twist. Sample question: “How can someone be the most efficient
searcher possible?” That’s an
interestingly engineering-style question.
It’s very Googley, but also very different from questions I got from
reporters in Dublin. There the questions
were more about the user’s experience—“how can we be sure that the searcher is
really happy with what they find?” I
don’t mean to caricature, but there’s a reason the stereotypes are the way they
are. Hamburg… Dublin… they have very different
outlooks on life. I suspect they also
search differently, although I didn’t do any studies to find out.
On the other hand, in the Swiss newspapers I became the “Chef
für Kundenzufriedenheit,” literally, “chief for customer satisfaction,” which
is not quite the way I think about myself, but I can see how they got that
from “user happiness,” which IS in my job title. It’s a distinction that matters in English,
but does it work that way in German?
Don’t know.
These subtleties in language kept coming up again and
again. One of the things I teach is the
way to use additional search terms that describe the *kind* of thing you want
to find. A nice example is to do an
Images search for [bicycle diagram]:
which always gives you a page full of nice
diagrams, each with the parts all labeled.
Alas, when you do this in German, it doesn’t work. Turns out that the German word
“diagramm" (that’s their spelling) has a slightly more limited meaning
than “diagram” in English. (You have to
use the German word “schema” to get labeled diagrams.) Likewise, a word like “serious” (“serious” or
“seriös” in German) has several meanings in German. But you can’t say (in German) “he was
seriously ill,” that sense of “serious” as “substantial in number or size”
doesn’t carry over into German.
I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. I know all about false cognates (example:
Spanish “dia” means “day” but has no relationship to “diary” in English, it
just looks like it does). But somehow
had the impression that a relatively simple word like “diagram” (a word that IS
a true cognate across language pairs) would also copy all of the subsenses of
the word as well. Nope. Not true.
What’s so interesting to me is that search strategies that I
thought would work across-different languages don’t turn out to be very
robust. When I tried the [
The image search
ReplyDeletejapanese jitensha diagram
worked fairly well for me. I started with
japanese bicycle diagram
and lost the "japanese" modifier, so changed "bicycle" to the japanese word.
I also found a few with
自転車の分解図
(Google translation of "exploded diagram of bicycle")
In which sense is "diary" unrelated to "día"? As far as I can see, they both originate from Latin "dies".
ReplyDeleteGreg -- The root of "diary" is from Latin, "dies" -- you're quite right. However, DAY has a more complex etymology that is NOT Latin in origin. DAY: Originally from Old English, dæg "day," also "lifetime," from P.Gmc. *dagaz (cf. O.S., M.Du., Du. dag, O.Fris. dei, O.H.G. tag, Ger. Tag, O.N. dagr, Goth. dags), from PIE *dhegh-. Not considered to be related to Latin dies (see diurnal), but rather to Skt. dah "to burn," Lith. dagas "hot season," O.Prus. dagis "summer." Meaning originally, in English, "the daylight hours;" expanded to mean "the 24-hour period" in late Anglo-Saxon times. (From: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?allowed_in_frame=0&search=day&searchmode=none)
ReplyDelete