Not that this is exactly front-burner stuff, but thanks to several news organizations and John Oliver's "Last Week Tonight," I've discovered there appears to be some ambiguity about exactly what year this year actually is, at least in China.
It's either the Year of the Goat or the Year of the Sheep. Or both. Or neither, depending on how you interpret Mandarin. Or, in my case, don't, since I can't even handle the menu at PF Chang's.
Let me explain. But not in Mandarin, because, well, I don't speak it. And, apparently, you don't write it. Rather, you draw it because Mandarin, it seems, is a language composed of sounds I couldn't possibly decipher but I'm assured actually are words, and symbols, which I can't possibly draw but am assured actually mean something.
And before anybody gets all up on their big ole' stone high horse here, the fact that I couldn't learn to speak Mandarin on a bet isn't at all the fault of any and everyone who does. From what I understand, it's an incredibly popular language, but one that is really, really hard to learn. And I'm just not interested in working that hard, just so I can fail Language and Art, all at the same time.
Among the long and ever-growing list of things I can't do, learning a second language appears pretty close to the top. I took two years of Spanish in high school and probably drove a very dedicated educator to early retirement. Well, that and all those casinos in Tunica. I was given a passing grade on the promise that I would never actually speak a word of the language in public and that if I did, I wouldn't admit I learned it from her.
I do still remember one complete sentence of Spanish: "el toro es grande." Apparently, irony doesn't have a language barrier.
Anyway, back to Chinese New Year. The problem (which is, perhaps, an overly-dramatic description, all things considered) is that Mandarin doesn't appear to be all that specific when it comes to determining the distinction between sheep, goats or any other cloven-footed animal that eats grass and bleats.
So, this could be the Year of the Sheep, could be the Year of the Goat or could be the Year of the Yak. It all depends on how you interpret the symbol Mandarin-speakers use in place of letters when they write a word.
Now wait, you say. You have to interpret a symbol to determine what something meant? Is this a language or a Rorschach test? To which I say, hey, that was my line! And, yes, apparently that's how it works in China. And has been for thousands of years, so if they're doing it all wrong, at least they have tradition on their side. We boil peanuts. Culturally, it's always something.
So, there is, apparently, in Mandarin, the word for the aforementioned cloven-hooved, bleating grass-eater is a symbol that is supposed to head you in a general direction. A note of caution: this is a complete and probably terribly inaccurate over-simplification written by someone who doesn't understand a word of the language he's describing. If you want to waste your time "educating" me as to what parts of what I'm saying aren't exactly correct, I suggest you consider a hobby. Bird watching is nice. Or macramé. It's the symbol that comes before that symbol that tells you whether we're talking about goats or sheep or yaks or whatever.
Now, I'm not particularly interested in picking a fight with an entire country. And it does seem like even though they may not be too clear on exactly what year they're celebrating, they seem pretty slap-happy about it, and that's always a good thing.
But I don't think I'm being unrealistic here when I say one should expect a little more precision when it comes to things like, oh, I don't know, the date. I mean, I've lost entire weekends before, but I always knew I could find them if I really wanted to. And if someone would just remove the railroad spike I was sure was embedded in my skull.
So you'd think a culture that dates back thousands of years would be able to decide on exactly what year this is, particularly since the animal symbols repeat themselves every 12 years. I mean, it can't be this hasn't come up before.
And yet the only people who don't seem to be bothered by this are the Chinese. There, they're busy partying like its 1999. Or, if their calendar is any indication, 19 ... something. It could be 99 might be 89. It might even be in the 2000s, depending on what you put immediately before the 19.
Perhaps, if you've been around as a culture for thousands of years, you learn not to sweat the small stuff and focus on the big picture. You say sheep, I say goat, whatever. Find someone to kiss, make some promises you won't keep and move on.
Sounds like a plan, whatever you decide to call it.
Gary Smith is a recovering journalist living in Rogers.
Commentary on 02/27/2015