The man who sported the Magnum P.I. stache throughout the 80s is having a birthday today. I would like to write some poignant prose about how much my dad means to me but a few sentences pounded out on this french keyboard will have to suffice. My typing speed has slowed to a snails pace and i can,t even find the apostrophe. Dad, I am thinking about you today, and will see you in a few weeks. Love, Mark
Here is zhqt z znetence zould look like if this keyboqrd hqd qll the letters in the right plqce: This is reqlly frustrqting: ?qbye I should hqve just typed this zhole post like this§ Do thing you could hqve understood zhqt I q, trying to sqy§
Ever since I was a precocious youngster playing the lead in St. Leo's third grade stage adaptation of Shel Silverstein's "The Giving Tree", I knew I was born to act. I wanted to be mentioned in the same breath as Gary Coleman, Ricky Schroeder, and Kirk Cameron, but it was never in the cards for me to be on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine as the next teen heartthrob. I attribute this to the fact that my family never went anywhere for vacation beyond Wisconsin. There are a distinct lack to Hollywood talent scouts in America's Dairyland, or the Land of 10,000 Lakes, for that matter.
But here in Poland, the rules are different. Knowing somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody leads one to be involved in situations that can only be described as surreal. Recently I had such an experience. Somehow word spread to Warsaw about my broken childhood dreams and unfulfilled potential as the male equivalent of Punky Brewster. Through some strange twist of fate, or the need for a native Amerenglish (not the Queen's English) speaker, I was called for an audition at Propeller Film. They have amassed an impressive portfolio of cleverly filmed commercials that air on television throughout Poland and the rest of Europe. These guys are professionals. And I am certainly not.
Somehow, after thirty minutes of channeling my inner Deniro (You talkin' to me?"), I landed the role of a gangster in a commercial about dog poop. My line was brief, but required the utmost feeling of steely emotion in its delivery. I need to look into the camera with the look of a man facing a lengthy prison sentence and simply mutter "Shit!". Sorry for my profanity Grandma, but it was pretty cool getting paid to repeatedly say a word that used to result in a mouth full of soap.
The commercial is still in the process of being edited, but I can tell you that those who are not in "the biz" have no idea how complicated the production process can be. The actors have the easy part. We spent most of our time sitting in the make-up trailer sipping Red Bull while waiting for the crew (around forty people) to adjust the lighting, sound, and camera angles.
The finished product, around one minute in length, was shot in the style of an American crime thriller set in an abandoned factory. The entire shoot lasted around twelve bone-chilling hours. I was only there for eight but the production crew spent all of their time outside in sub-zero weather. I can't imagine how much work goes into producing a full length feature film.
I hope to provide you with a link to the completed project in a couple weeks, with permission from the film studio. For now, I've included some behind the scenes action.
The 2009 Special Olympics World Winter Games are being held right now in Boise, Idaho. The Chronicle made arrangements with BBC sports correspondent Cathy Rushton to capture some footage of the Polish delegation. This skeptical Brit even made speedskating silver medalist Mariusz Skonieczny verify with photo I.D. that he was Polish before she provided us these great shots of him enjoying the games. We wouldn't want any imposter Poles appearing on this page. Her overall impression of the games: "It was really very moving, the enthusiasm and joy was quite incredible". Thanks Cathy!
The last couple weeks have been a whirlwind of work, education conferencing in Paris (pics coming soon), rugby training, and now, frantic preparations for Valentine's Day. These are all valid excuses for my return to the every two weeks format of the Chronicle. You remember those days? During the first year of its existence, The Chronicle was fortunate to find enough material to update every 14-20 days. Somewhere along the way, the editor decided that there was a demand for a weekly dose of folksy tales from the East side. Either that, or he just decided he was into this writing thing. This has resulted in a detectable upswing in political rants and a leveling off of Polish content.
That being said, the target of my civic rage is safely clearing brush back in Texas, so we are pursuing a fresh, more upbeat report, the working title of which is called "Pole Position". We will ask a random Pole ten questions relating to their homeland, the state of the world, and some quirky, offbeat subjects as well. The first edition will be forthcoming within a week.
Pole Position speaks to my demographic since we all grew up playing this now archaic video game on the Atari 2600. But is there a better, wittier, title out there? I know that there is a wealth of creativity within Chronicle readers, so now is your chance. Please submit your ideas in the comments section and we will make sure to give you intellectual credit, although the financial crisis prevents us from offering monetary compensation.
Last weekend, the Warsaw Frogs were given their big break; a photo shoot for a Polish men's fashion magazine. It was gratifying to witness the dedication it took to get a dozen rugby players together in the dank, dilapidated (alliteration alert!) basement of an old hotel at 8:00 AM on a Sunday morning. We were there for four hours, with our only pay being cookies and Pepsi which, in true model form, were promptly regurgitated into the toilet during the post-shoot wrap party.
The feature should appear in next month's edition of Malemen magazine, but the Chronicle was able to get their hands on a couple outtakes. As you can see, we had to roll around in the mud prior to the photo session. All sense of pride and dignity go out the window when you are turned into a piece of eye candy.
