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Mostly a bridesmaid...
Aug. 31st, 2005 10:03 pmIt came as something of a surprise to me yesterday that dinner had been moved from the Fili to the Proton Club, for an evening that I later found out was to celebrate the successful integration of the "space head unit." You have to love these people; they'll find any excuse to tie one on.
I again found myself off on the sidelines for the main event, which was happily limited to three fairly direct toasts. (To what? I'd be at a loss to recall, even if you were to threaten to yank my fingernails out with rusty pliers.) My real work came later.
Perhaps the worst situation for an interpreter to be in is a tête-à-tête involving two headstrong individuals who consider the mutual exchange of unflinchingly steadfast (and, naturally, opposite) opinions for the better part of an hour to be a useful pastime. (Did I mention the work was Russian-French?) Halfway through the exercise, I would have happily gnawed my arm off to get away; by the time I was finished with this particular twosome, I was ready to go out and gnaw someone's head off.
I've said it before: Interpretation is a performing art, which is why it is not enough to be able to merely speak and understand two languages to do the work. You have to feel comfortable with people and in front of people. At work, the interpreter is always "on," be it for a filled auditorium or an audience of one on each side of the language divide.
Moreover, it struck me last night that interpretation also involves elements of improvisation - or at least aspects of the impressionist's art - in the sense that someone tells you what to say, and exhibits mannerisms, facial expressions, etc., and leaves you to your own devices to decide how best to render the utterance in the "other" language. (I am acutely aware of this when I am able - too well, I sometimes think - to communicate withering sarcasm across that divide.)
* * * I was the early guy into the полтинник today, and ended up supporting electrical continuity testing for much of the day at the launch pad. But first, we had to get past the welcoming committee at the office:
This herd of camels is not wild (though I am told there are wild horses on the steppe around here). They exhibit signs of ownership, e.g., nose rings and brands, and did not stray far from where we encountered them in the morning, just outside the fence that surrounds the полтинник. These are very likely the same animals we saw in the distance the other day while doing the walkdown of the debris recovery building.
Continuity testing consists in checking out every wire that runs from point A to point B to make sure the circuits are ready for the launch. Fiber optics run from the control room to the "vault" under the pad (an aptly named volume about 20 feet below the surface), and that's been checked out for some time. Another segment, made of copper, runs from the vault to what amounts to a huge plug that sits underneath the rocket and connects to various connectors on the bottom of the rocket. These connectors, in turn, run up the rocket to various sytems and the payload.
Everything went well, but the whole process was time-consuming and involved a couple of misunderstandings with the Russian participants, mostly because it's hard to keep track of who had jurisdiction for what. For most of the day, we were on a service tower managed by organization A, working on wiring owned by organization B, and speaking on a telephone installed by organization C.
Eventually, everything was set up properly for the tests, and the actual tests themselves went very well. Here's the comm team working with their breakout box:
If you look closely, you can see a couple of cables hanging down the left side of the picture. Virtually all the cables I could see on the tower were wrapped in braided shielding that looked like some kind of exotic snakeskin. In fact, if you zoom in real close on a coil of the stuff, it does look like a pile of snakes, doesn't it?
I finally got back to the hotel area around 7 pm tonight, which made for a pretty long day. Everyone's had a long day, today. We'll see what tomorrow promises.
Cheers...
I again found myself off on the sidelines for the main event, which was happily limited to three fairly direct toasts. (To what? I'd be at a loss to recall, even if you were to threaten to yank my fingernails out with rusty pliers.) My real work came later.
Perhaps the worst situation for an interpreter to be in is a tête-à-tête involving two headstrong individuals who consider the mutual exchange of unflinchingly steadfast (and, naturally, opposite) opinions for the better part of an hour to be a useful pastime. (Did I mention the work was Russian-French?) Halfway through the exercise, I would have happily gnawed my arm off to get away; by the time I was finished with this particular twosome, I was ready to go out and gnaw someone's head off.
I've said it before: Interpretation is a performing art, which is why it is not enough to be able to merely speak and understand two languages to do the work. You have to feel comfortable with people and in front of people. At work, the interpreter is always "on," be it for a filled auditorium or an audience of one on each side of the language divide.
Moreover, it struck me last night that interpretation also involves elements of improvisation - or at least aspects of the impressionist's art - in the sense that someone tells you what to say, and exhibits mannerisms, facial expressions, etc., and leaves you to your own devices to decide how best to render the utterance in the "other" language. (I am acutely aware of this when I am able - too well, I sometimes think - to communicate withering sarcasm across that divide.)
This herd of camels is not wild (though I am told there are wild horses on the steppe around here). They exhibit signs of ownership, e.g., nose rings and brands, and did not stray far from where we encountered them in the morning, just outside the fence that surrounds the полтинник. These are very likely the same animals we saw in the distance the other day while doing the walkdown of the debris recovery building.
Continuity testing consists in checking out every wire that runs from point A to point B to make sure the circuits are ready for the launch. Fiber optics run from the control room to the "vault" under the pad (an aptly named volume about 20 feet below the surface), and that's been checked out for some time. Another segment, made of copper, runs from the vault to what amounts to a huge plug that sits underneath the rocket and connects to various connectors on the bottom of the rocket. These connectors, in turn, run up the rocket to various sytems and the payload.
Everything went well, but the whole process was time-consuming and involved a couple of misunderstandings with the Russian participants, mostly because it's hard to keep track of who had jurisdiction for what. For most of the day, we were on a service tower managed by organization A, working on wiring owned by organization B, and speaking on a telephone installed by organization C.
Eventually, everything was set up properly for the tests, and the actual tests themselves went very well. Here's the comm team working with their breakout box:
If you look closely, you can see a couple of cables hanging down the left side of the picture. Virtually all the cables I could see on the tower were wrapped in braided shielding that looked like some kind of exotic snakeskin. In fact, if you zoom in real close on a coil of the stuff, it does look like a pile of snakes, doesn't it?
I finally got back to the hotel area around 7 pm tonight, which made for a pretty long day. Everyone's had a long day, today. We'll see what tomorrow promises.
Cheers...
