The Kiełbasa Chronicle

Lazy Sunday

2010-09-19T21:39:00.001+02:00

The Dolomites

2010-09-17T07:56:00.002+02:00

Having surpassed the four year mark of my time living here in Europe, I must say that I have encountered more than my fair share of beautiful places. From the sandy beaches of the Latvian coast to the rolling hills of Scotland dotted with bleating flocks of sheep, there is a diversity of travel experience awaiting anybody brave enough to venture through the circus tents that double as rural airports, or the archaic train stations of the former communist bloc. (why is it spelled with one "r" anyway?)

What has been missing from this traveler's dossier was a trek through some quintessentially Tyrollean mountain landscapes, the kind of territory associated with felt hats, high top leather hiking boots, and the cries of Ricola! After living near the always accessible highlands of majestic Idaho for seven years, I had an itch for the kind of views that make one's butt cheeks clench in fear, peaks of such colossal enormity they make you wish you had wings and a case of Red Bull. Like this guy.

The daunting task of planning such a trip, from the lengthy gear list to plotting our route from four star refugios to lung burning precipices and back down again, fell on the meticulously capable (read: OCD) hands of my former endurance sport compatriot, Jen Stover from Boise. All I had to do was find out which budget airline would get me near the Italian province of Belluno, two hours north of Venice. That and purchase all of the stuff on the aforementioned lengthy gear list so I wouldn't look like a total newb and embarrass my gearhead friends. Not the type of gearheads that my brothers are, with at least four snowmobiles, two motorcycles, a four-wheeler, and a coffin hoist in the garage, but the type of adventure seeker who owns three different Gore-tex windbreakers lined with polypropylene, titanium trekking poles, a variety of backpacks, all equipped with hydration systems, and shock-proof digital cameras that are water-proof to a depth of 100 meters.

Just for some perspective, here's the list Jen sent me:

Pack -midsize
bladder - camel back type
harness
leather or cycling type gloves
2-3 locking carabiners
3-4 18 inch tethers/slings
Pack towel
small headlamp
trekking poles
gaiters - to keep small rubble & rocks out of shoes
short sleeve wicking shirt
long sleeve wicking shirt or Hind Type
cycling arm warmers
compression / running shorts
over shorts ( hiking type with pockets)
underwear
socks - 5 pair
tights or long pants
waterproof windbreaker jacket
beanie
gloves
light weight fleece
trail shoes
sleep sheet
small dop kit > contact lenses, eyeglasses, deoderant, soap, toothbrush etc
blister kit / 1st aid

*Jen also packed her husband, Nic, and adventure racing teammate, Brad, who is also trained in mountain search and rescue. A good guy to bring along in case you fall off a cliff and shatter a femur or need any extra gear since he brings two of everything.

To further complicate matters, Wizzair (for my favorite cheap flights) only allows 10 kg (22 lbs) for a carry-on, or else you pay and extra 50 Euro to check your bag upon arrival at the airport. Wearing the same clothes for seven straight days of gut-busting hikes leaves one emanating the same odors as the display case at a French cheese shop. No, that's not Mimolette cheese you smell, it's Fromunda Bleu. (ask your nearest teenager to explain that joke if you don't get it)

This latest adventure far surpassed my lofty expectations, in terms of astonishing scenery, mouthwatering cuisine, and the animated jocularity and storytelling that ensues when old friends reunite. To share this expedition with some fellow thrill seekers from back in the Boise years, the previous chapter in my book of life, made it that much more satisfying. Here's to hoping we can do it again sooner rather than later.

The last day of a life-changing summer . . .

2010-08-16T15:53:00.007+02:00

A recent houseguest, my friend Walt from back in Hibbing, inspired me to come out of hiding on cyberspace and get back to writing. So this entry will be dedicated to him as he lounges on my couch devouring a book that chronicles the methodologies and reasoning behind the development of the Auschwitz death camp. Quite timely since after living here in Poland for the last four years, and urging many a visitor to take the tour, I finally made the journey. But I'll save those thoughts for another time since I'm feeling a bit wistful and introspective about the last 9 weeks of summer.

One could make the case for it being the "best summer ever" but that would be like asking my mother which of her three boys is the favorite. I love all summers equally since each are special in their own way. But this one will always hold a special place in my heart since I became engaged to the woman of my dreams.

Do you ever notice that when magazines want to ramp up circulation, they always employ the "Top Ten List" gimmick? Every few months, Men's Health will reveal it's never before published (if you haven't read the mag before), Top Ten Ab-Blasting, Washboard-Building Exercises, or Outside Magazine's Top Ten Best Places to Live Right Now! (my former home of Boise topped the most recent list). So without further adieu, I give you the The Kielbasa Chronicle's Top Ten Pictures of Summer:

The beginning of June brought the Sonisphere Festival to town. 100,000 metalheads converged on an airport runway on the outskirts of Warsaw to see the four pillars of thrash metal (Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, and Anthrax) rev it up to jet-engine decibel level.

It's the Iron Sheik, one of the World Wrestling Federation's most famous villains, in LAX airport. "Excuse me Mr. Sheik, I am a big fan from back in the eighties. Can I get a picture?" He was more than accommodating, a true gentleman.

The big family picture on the 4th of July. Can you count how many of us there is? And Luiza got to meet all of them.

Family Fun Time rolls into Nashwauk for the 4th of July Parade.

The ladies in the family enjoy some 4th of July Polish Punch as they watch some lawn games. Nobody fell out of their chair, much to my surprise.

It was really nice to share the beauty of outdoor Idaho with my big city girl from Poland.

On the last leg of our three week odyssey, my old friend and fellow chlorinated warrior, Steve showed us around in San Diego.

More fun on the Fourth with Steve and my brother Dave. Yes, we make it look easy, but this is harder than it looks.

Two of my very favorite people in the world came over at the same time in the beginning of August. Walt, all the way from Minnesota, and Carri from Boise, joined me in Warsaw for a big Euro-sized beer. We then went on to Krakow and Prague.

Joined three friends from Boise (Brad, Jen, and Nic) for a week in the majestic Dolomites on the Austria / Italy border. This is just one of the many jaw-dropping views we encountered during our many lung-busting treks up and down the peaks.

Election Day!

2010-06-20T19:29:00.004+02:00

Today is the day for a special election to determine who will replace the former President Lech Kaczynski, who was one of 96 victims in an April plane crash. Things are a bit different here, since there were at least ten candidates from various parties on the ballot. But the real race is between two men, acting prez, Bronislaw Komorowski and the late President's twin brother, Jaroslaw. He is the former prime minister and had achieved meager levels of popularity when he was voted out in 2007.

He represents the far-right, anti-Euro nationalist movement and has campaigned under the imaginative slogan: "Poland is most important". SuTprisingly, he has gained in the polls thanks to the country being in a time of crisis. Due to the undending torrents of rainfall in the countryside, the Vistula river has overflowed its banks and left many small villages underwater. The current interim government has provided about $1800 per citizen displaced by the floods, yet Kaczynski has played armchair crisis manager in calling for the payments to be doubled.

Pundits predict that "Bronek" (Komorowski) will fail to win the 50% majority for outright victory today. That means the inevitable run-off between the two leading vote-getters on July 4th. Definitely some historic moments going on here in Poland.

Goodbye Dad . . .

2010-06-01T07:55:00.002+02:00

James Gaspersich, age 69, passed away at home in Hibbing on May 13, surrounded by family. He is finally at peace after a 7 1/2 year battle with chondrosarcoma that never extinguished his dynamic spirit and zest for life.

He was born February 27, 1941, in Virginia, MN to Frank and Angela Gaspersich and graduated from Mt. Iron High School in 1959. After a short-lived career as a plumber, he attended St. Mary's School of Nursing in Milwaukee and graduated as a registered nurse in 1965. Commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the U.S. Army, he served in the Army nurse corp at Letterman General Hospital in San Francisco. After his discharge from the service, he returned to the Iron Range in 1968 and continued his education at Hibbing School of Anesthesia, becoming a certified nurse anesthetist.

From there, he commenced a career in anesthesia, beginning at Hibbing General Hospital, becoming chief of the department at Mesabi Regional Medical Center, and retiring from Fairview Range Regional Health Services in 2002 due to his illness. Along the way, he found his true calling, easing the pain of others. He cherished the friendships he made with his colleagues, and was truly blessed to work in such a compassionate environment.

While employed at Hibbing General Hospital, he met his true love, Janet Nelson, on May 25, 1968. They were united in marriage two years later, on June 6th, devoting a lifetime to raising their three sons and pursuing a passion for gardening and holiday yard decorations. He was also an active part of St. Leo's parish, serving for many years on the board of trustees, and was a member of the Knights of Columbus. Throughout his retirement, he cultivated his love of woodworking, constructing countless treasures for friends and family, but still found time to enjoy the peaceful solitude of yard work or plowing the driveways of Highway 37.

James is preceded in death by his parents, Frank and Angela Gaspersich. He is survived by his wife Janet; three sisters, Angela Bauer of Milwaukee, WI, Vivian (Herb) Schur of Rochester, MN, and Dolores (Ted) Huska of Hibbing; son Paul, daughter-in-law Jennifer and their two children Griffin and Lauren, of Blaine, MN; son Mark of Warsaw, Poland; and son David of Isanti, MN; and mother-in-law Edith Nelson, of Pengilly; and numerous nieces, nephews, and cousins.

National Tragedy . . .

2010-04-12T09:50:00.003+02:00

The whole country is in a state of complete shock as we mourn the loss of 96 government officials, including the President and first lady of Poland. Several times this past weekend, I walked down to the Presidential Palace which is about a 1/2 mile from my apartment to both pay my respects and marvel at the outpouring of emotion from what seemed like hundreds of thousands as they made the trek down to the official residence of Lech Kaczynski. This is a short video of the memorial only a few short hours after the country was given word of the catastrophe.

This shrine has now mushroomed in size since that afternoon, as most who pay their respects place a votive candle or a flower near the entrance to the grounds. You can feel the heat emanating from all the flickering torches within a hundred feet of the shrine. A view from above is the only way to get true sense of how many Poles have made the pilgrimage to mourn their leader. This video was taken yesterday at noon as the country observe two minutes of silence as sirens and bells rang through the streets.

Yesterday the President's body was driven from the airport to the palace where it will lie in state all week until the funeral on Saturday. Everything in the city came to a standstill as thousands lined the streets watching the motorcade pass by and throwing flowers at the foot of the hearse. City buses ringed the center as their normal routes were clogged with mourners and their vehicles. Hundreds on motorcycles and bicycles followed the procession after it went by.

There has been endless speculation about the cause of the accident and both black boxes have reportedly been recovered in good condition. Some point to an incident in 2008 when Kaczynski threatened a pilot after refusing to land in Tbilisi, Georgia and the political pressure to be at the ceremony commemorating the Katyn massacre. Whatever the cause, be it mechanical failure, pilot error, or a president under pressure, any efforts to establish blame won't bring back 96 people to their families.

World Cross Country Championships in Poland

2010-03-29T14:36:00.003+02:00

I witnessed some truly breath-taking performances last weekend at the World Cross Country Championships in Bydgoszcz (BID-gohshch), Poland. This middle sized city in the northwest quadrant, located at the confluence of the Vistula and Brda Rivers, somehow landed the bid to host runners from over 50 nations in a competition to see who was the best off-road, middle-distance runner. In actuality, it ended up to be a competition to see which teams could produce the second best harriers worldwide since Kenya swept all four individual race titles, and won all four team championships at the junior and senior levels. These guys were FAST! And the U.S. women's team finished with the bronze medal in the women's senior division, but were definitely gold medalists in the aesthetically pleasing division.

Is that you John Wayne?

2010-03-21T14:30:00.008+01:00

Again, one of those extraordinary opportunities came knocking at my door a few months ago. And by extraordinary, I mean this to be a virtually impossible occurrence for me if I was back stateside. But here in Polska, it is the land of opportunity if you happen to have the right accent. An almost surreal experience it was, but for unmentionable reasons, I decided to let this simmer for a time before publishing in the Chronicle.

Prior to getting the call up to the big show on the silver screen, my acting resume consisted of only this. My one blazing moment of profanity, err, I mean, glory. This had been a spinoff of a magazine shoot for the Warsaw Frogs rugby team, and was one of those "right place, right time" lucky breaks.

Last November, a casting agent stopped by one of our practice sessions looking for American voices for a film. Apparently there is a shortage of them here in Warsaw, or agencies just don't know where to look. In any case, this makes my terrible acting abilities in high demand as long as I can remember my lines and not take two many photos for the Chronicle while on the set. Fortunately, this role only required me to give a campy rendition of an American soldier leading his troops on a search for an escaped terrorist. My lines: "You are surrounded. There is no escape. Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up!" Later, this struck me as odd, being that the dangerous man we were on the hunt for, Muhammad, probably only spoke Arabic. But I guess you have to suspend disbelief at some point for any movie. There was also a command into a walkie-talkie "Roger that. 13.2 west." which I couldn't quite say without sounding too much like John Wayne. At least this is what the director's assistant said. What the hell does he know about John Wayne anyway? The guy grew up here. Besides, as I explained, all American soldiers think they are John Wayne anyway. I'm guessing they'll do a voiceover on that one.

Me as a commanding officer in the Marines. Now that was a stretch. But once again, throw all that logic stuff out the window when watching action movies. If Arnold can play a kindergarten teacher (Kindergarten Cop), Sly Stallone a cabbie turned country singer (He was overlooked by the Academy for Rhinestone opposite Dolly Parton), and Bruce Willis, a sperm (Look Who's Talking!), then surely I can have a turn at being a soldier.

You saw the Bourne movies right? A friend of mine, upon seeing me in these pictures, quipped: "Is this the fourth installmet in the Jason Bourne series, entitiled Bourne Retarded?" Pretty clever. I must say that I felt pretty awkward in this getup but as long as the check clears, I'm just going with it.

This filmshoot was apparently the real deal, a movie that should actually see the big screen outside Poland. It also was directed by Roman Polanski's contemporary, Jerzy Skolimowski, who was a pretty nice guy. I tried to bond with him over coffee in the make-up trailer, but he really wasn't one for small talk. Really the only thing we have in common is that we both like Poland. So we got that goin'. I'm sure he'll invite me to be his guest at Cannes.

I never got to meet the star of the show, Vincent Gallo, but apparently he really throws himself into a role and there is no limit to how far he will go to push a scene past the limits of good taste. I won't elaborate any further but this film should be pretty shocking. I'm doubting it will hit the big screen at a megaplex near you but there is some footage from when they shot the first part of the movie in Israel.

My scene consisted of me commanding a platoon of 22 Marines, including two snipers and eight German Shepherds. It was the only light moment of the whole film and if I don't end up on the cutting room floor, I will get ahold of the DVD and hope to post some footage, if for only the opportunity for my buddy Joe to heap more merciless criticism on top of my pseudo-thespian abilities. Weird times, as usual over here in Polska.

In the news . . .

2010-03-08T15:27:00.003+01:00

Lately things have been a bit slow around here for news in Polska. We had a few people have their cars destroyed by falling icicles, right around the corner from where we live. These old buildings aren't so efficient in their insulation so you get a situation that looks like this.

People worldwide are falling in love with a wayward pooch that stowed away on an ice flow in the middle of the Baltic:

One of Poland's greatest heroes, more famous for being the world's most accomplished lifter of heavy objects (a.k.a. World's Strongest Man on ESPN) has gotten bored with the fact that giant steel balls and kegs of sand do not put up much of a fight. So Mariusz Pudzianowski, a.k.a. "Pudzian" to those familiar with his work, has entered the world of Mixed Martial Arts, or "Ultimate Fighting". Here's footage of his first fight, that was mercifully stopped before he could crack this poor guy's skull. As they as say before every episode of Desperate Housewives, viewer discretion is advised. That means you Mom!

Although we have had a harsh winter with copious amounts of fluffy white stuff, we don't tend to mix our snowsports with a healthy portion of vodka. Our opressed neighbors to the east of us, however, tend to become a bit depressed during the dark days of winter and take some drastic measures to entertain themselves. I remember doing something similar as a youngster but I was never so drunk and definitely not as high (pun intended).

Ice Capades . . .

2010-02-05T15:19:00.002+01:00

Remember the Ice Capades? I vaguely remember attending a show at the Duluth Arena when I was a youngster. This was back when I was still harboring dreams of one day becoming a real hockey player like my heroes on the 1982 Hibbing High School hockey team. The stark realization that I was far behind my peers in the ability to streak down the ice at high speeds came to fruition during the Winter Frolic skating races during my sixth grade year. (January of 1986?)

The only reason I made the finals against the much more coordinated kids from the public schools was a pile-up in the final turn of the qualifying race that I somehow avoided being swept into. The clear-cut favorite, a gifted skater that went by the moniker "Duke", crashed and burned on that fateful day, allowing me to skate to victory, not unlike the miracle gold medal finish of Australian speedskater Steven Bradbury in the 2002 Olympics.

The other kids at St. Leo's school knew that I would be inevitably and soundly defeated the next week during the finals. The Duke had been the best hope for our tiny Catholic school to achieve vicarious glory. Their fears were confirmed. I wasn't even close, finishing a distant sixth place, but being awarded the miniscule courtesy medal that soon found its way to the bottom of my dresser drawer. Not long after suffering this crushing embarrassment, I decided to hang up my skates in favor of spending the next 6 years competing in a Speedo.

Fast forward 23 years to the recognition that only the love of a good woman could get me to put on another set of blades. What little skill I had back in the day has severely deteriorated into what one might envision if Fred Flinstone were crossed with one of the Hanson brothers. Fortunately I had the Polish Peggy Fleming to distract anyone's attention to my robotic movements.

How I took all the available sheets of ice for granted growing up. I can remember having no fewer than 6 city rinks to carve up either indoors or outdoors. This isn't quite the case here in Warsaw. Check out how unbelievably crowded open skating can be! You need to have your head on a swivel out there, lest you be taken out by another novice flailing about.

Happy Birthday Mom!

2010-01-28T18:02:00.002+01:00

The planets are still aligned . . .

2010-01-25T15:07:00.002+01:00

Did I honestly think that I would wake up this morning, wipe the sleep out of my eyes, fire up the laptop, and read the news that the Vikings were headed to the Super Bowl? I was only 2 1/2 years old the last time Fran Tarkenton led them there in 1977. Surely this would be the year that they would make a triumphant return and try to exorcise the demons that have made them the Buffalo Bills of the NFC.

Alas, it was not to be. But after watching the highlights, I am so glad that I stopped emotionally investing in this team way back in 1998, after Gary Andersen shanked a 39 yard field goal and denied me a road trip to Miami with my fellow bartenders from the Green Mill in Fargo. There was no wailing and gnashing of teeth as I stared plaintively at the glow of the screen this morning. No "Damn you and your interceptions, Favre!" or cursing to myself, thinking "How can you fumble the ball so much? You're supposed to be the best running back in the league!" Nope. None of it. Okay, there may have been a flicker of hope, deep in the recesses of my mind, some dormant brain cells that hadn't been stimulated since the Randall Cunningham, Robert Smith, Randy Moss "most prolific offense ever" season in 1998. But now they have finally been put to death with this last epic failure, a textbook display of how to lose a game that you seemingly have in control.

I feel for all of you that still hold onto hope, thinking every year that just maybe it will be different. But let me tell you that it's so much easier when you just give up hope and realize that the Vikes will always find a way to lose. It stings a lot less when the reality that it just doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things somehow crystallizes. However, if you derive some sort of masochistic pleasure from always coming up short, check out this video:

Attention prospective visitors . . .

2010-01-06T22:41:00.010+01:00

It has been a couple months since we moved in, but we at the Chronicle thought we would let you know that we have relocated our offices downtown, right in the heart of the Polish capital. After much deliberation, weighing the benefits and drawbacks of living in a pre-war building near the hustle and bustle of the city center, we decided to take the plunge. After all, as a friend of mine said during my decision-making process, "When are you ever going to get another chance to live right in the middle of a European capital?" (click on the pic for a high-resolution image)

The place is around 1000 sq. feet (sounds small to Americans, but it's huge by European standards) with two bedrooms, so we are hoping that we'll see an uptick in the number of visitors coming from across the pond. A lot of you have made it over here to the land of cheap beer, hearty food, and beautiful women, but there are still quite a few who have talked wistfully about a visit, yet there is always something that gets in the way of them buying the plane ticket. (Usually time and/or money) Yes, Europe is expensive, especially now with the Euro costing $1.50, but remember that Poland is still not moving to this currency in the foreseeable future, despite many politicians' claims. Only one of this country's neighbor's has made the switch in hopes of hedging their bets against any future financial crisis, Slovakia. Travel there is still a bargain, though, as it is in Hungary, the Czech Republic, and the Baltic states. So come on over!

We'd like to extend a hearty "gratulacje" to our fellow international educator, Kit, living down in Quito, Ecuador. She just tied the knot with her Ecuadorian boyfriend, Holger. If you recall from this entry, back in February of 2008, Kit relocated from her job as an elementary teacher out in California. We wish her and her new husband a lifetime of happiness and many more years of cross-cultural romance.

Also, a happy belated birthday (yesterday) to my Auntie Lori in Elk River, MN. She's the one of the left : ) .

The last three years of mild Polish winters have come to an abrupt halt as Old Man Winter has struck with a vengeance the last couple weeks here in Warsaw. We've been experiencing some northern Minnesota-like temps as the mercury has plummeted well below zero (which is really cold when you use the Celsius scale!). Add that to the substantial snowfall within the Warsaw metro area and you have yourself one big mess. Somehow, despite a relatively small army of snow removal equipment, the city has dug itself out. The lion's share of the work falls on city employees armed with nothing more than a piece of plywood with a wooden handle attached. I wish I could've found a picture since it really is a primitive looking but surprisingly effect method. No polished steel snowscrapers here. Do widzenia!

Family fun time

2010-01-03T21:10:00.003+01:00

Glad to be back in Warsaw after a couple weeks on the other side of the pond celebrating the holidays with the family. As many have said to me, "You're so lucky that you have a big family where everybody gets along with each other." I consider it more the product of our easy-going natures, honed over many years. It wasn't always like this ya know. There was more than a decade of tantrums, brawls, and declarations of "I hate you!" before the natural détente that accompanies the transition into adulthood (see: maturity).

Some of us, myself excluded, have arrived at the point in our lives when we can sit back and laugh (or be horrified) as we see ourselves reflected in our own kids doing battle with their siblings and cousins. I certainly found it amusing to be a curious onlooker watching my brother wrangle his two youngsters for the duration of the Christmas break. He failed to see the humor and was more than willing to point out how "relaxed" my lifestyle was and that coming home to witness the "family circus" was a potent form of subconscious birth control.

I must admit that observing two of my cousins (both 4-5 year old girls) wrestle over a sled with the end result being one kicking the other in the "privates" does not send one scurrying to the nearest Barnes and Noble for baby books. But it is always amazing that we can eschew all other commitments (i.e. in-laws) to coordinate our three-ring Christmas Eve. It gets tougher every year but this year's version was the biggest in history. 37 people, one fetus, and a couple dogs:

Two days later, most of us were able to reconvene back at my brother's cabin, or as I like to call it, The Family Funtime Resort. The occasion we were celebrating was my grandmother's 86th birthday, along with the arrival of a huge dump of snow on Christmas day. Paul, Dave, and I spent the afternoon excavating and constructing our own luge track which ran from the cabin, past the gigantic snowman, all the way to the lake. It was well worth all the effort as we spent hours outside recapturing the glory days.

Larbucks!

2009-12-10T21:24:00.006+01:00

Coffee. Black. Triple espresso. Mint cappuccino. Gingerbread mocha with a double shot. Egg nog machiatto. Chocolate latte with whip cream and a caramel swirl. These are just of few of the concoctions that have been served up in the teacher’s lounge at ASW in the past couple days. Every year around this time, the usual refuge from crazed, sugar-infused middle school students is transformed into Larbucks, the Polish outpost of the world famous Seattle coffee shop, complete with a faux fireplace, and dorks with laptops hogging the free WiFi for hours on end. Oh wait a second, one of those dorks was me.

Larry, our middle school techie and native Seattleite during the summer months, has made it his personal mission to get the staff through the always difficult days right before we all set off for the long holiday break with friends and family. Over the last few years, he has decided to share his love of the dark-roasted bean buzz with the entire school faculty. After chatting with him over a cup of sleep remover this week, I soon discovered that this love has morphed into obsession.

Myself, an amateur when it comes to coffee appreciation, bought my first espresso machine last spring, used, from a departing parent. It’s an old Krups with some wear and tear, but it’s effective in producing a powerful potion with just the right amount of amber foam to top it off. But when I saw Larry’s monsterous, almost robotic, multi-functional Swiss Army knife of coffee makers, my curiousity was piqued. This thing did seemingly everything but bake you the perfect biscotti to accompany your brew, with the sleek lines of an Italian sportscar to match. Thinking that I might be in the market soon, I inquired about how many ducats a beauty like that would set a guy back. After hearing how serious Larry is about his coffee, I decided that I didn’t quite have the samelevel of dedication. Not to mention the industrial grade grinder that he picked up from a guy in Italy for 200 Euros. Whew!
We here at the Chronicle extend a special caffeinated salute to the proprietor of Larbucks for his dedication and passion for his craft. The last two mornings have brough smiles, great conversation, and countless laughs among all that entered the cozy confines of Larbucks. It’s the little things that make coming to work at ASW a distinctive pleasure and his generosity in sharing his love of the bean adds that special touch to the holiday season. Thanks Larry! And thanks to our esteemed Athletic Director Jim Matter for taking time out of his busy schedule to pose for a few pics : )

Dive like an Egyptian

2009-11-25T11:00:00.004+01:00

I will never again complain about a lack of legroom on commercial airlines. I’d heard about these airborne cattle cars that pass for charter flights before, but finally experienced it firsthand on my way to Egypt aboard Air Memphis. For some strange reason we had to take an airplane from Tennessee to get from Warsaw to Hurghada, a resort town on the Red Sea famous for its spectacular coral reefs that equate to scuba diver paradise. But we (my Polish Cleopatra and I) had to endure four hours with our knees locked against the seat in front of us, the stench from thousands of Egyptian smokers who had come before us still clinging to the interior. Elvis was not on the plane, although one of our flight stewards (read: air waiters) resembled a slimmer Egyptian version of Wayne Newton.

Upon arrival, we were shepherded through customs where for the low price of 15 dollars, you too can receive an Egyptian visa to enjoy the sun, sand, and endless gratuity requests for doing anything from lifting your luggage off of the baggage carousel to holding the door open for you on your way to the restroom. And this was only within the first half hour after touching down. The next step involved delivering a busload of sun-starved Poles and the three token North Americans (Angie from Iowa and Yvonne from Saskatchewan, two teachers at ASW, were also diving that week) to around a half dozen different all-inclusive resorts with names such as The Desert Rose, Jungle Land, The Titanic (where the whole building is shaped like the infamous vessel but there is much less chance of being sealed in a watery grave), and the Magawish (actual spelling). Unfortunately, the two of us had booked a room at the Hilton Long Beach Resort, the last stop for the bus and located way out in BFE. There has never been a more appropriate usage of this metaphor since we were literally out in Bum____ Egypt.

Upon checking in, it became apparent that 90% of the hotel guests at the Hilton were Russian. It was also evident that at the conclusion of the 80’s, the nations of the world shipped any clothing with neon, ruffles, tightness or whiteness to the former Soviet Union. It was a garish display that would’ve made Elton John, David Bowie, or Pat Benatar proud. In fact, we dedicated hours to just sitting in the lobby with a drink in hand pointing out the pure majesty of this retro fashion show. My mom was a pioneer of this “sport” back in my childhood. I remember asking her what she was doing when she would just sit in a place like a mall or the state fair watching the world go by. She termed this pastime “people watching”, much like one would go in search of birds with their wide variety of plumage. Should it worry me that I am content to just sit and watch people go by? I guess there is the element of play by play commentary added when you’re with a partner.

The primary motivation for coming to Egypt was to learn how to scuba dive. I spent four days getting my PADI (Professional Association of Dive Instructors) open water certification in the warm, clear water of the Red Sea while trying not to get too distracted by all the colorful, and sometimes dangerous, fish swimming by. My instructor almost put me down on top of a Devil Scorpion fish during one of my drills. That could’ve been painful. She was not impressed with my adult ADD and inability to remember what she had told me on the surface long enough to perform the skills 10 minutes later on the bottom of the ocean. I just kept getting so nervous. It didn’t help matters that she was also a blonde Polish girl. I’m used to getting yelled at by one of those at home, but not on my vacation! (żartuje kochanie!)

The last couple days we went out onto a boat and explored some of the larger reefs located near Hurghada. My better half spent her days lounging by the pool, with the occasional venture out to snorkel in front of the hotel beach. We went together one afternoon and spotted moray eels, blue-spotted stingrays, lionfish, coronet fish, and many other species right only a couple hundred meters from the Hilton cabana bar. It was an amazingly colorful scene right off of the Discovery Channel.

Egypt also gave us a wide variety of local experiences, most exiting of which was the daily 25 km journey with my personal Egyptian cabbie who upon learning that I liked it when he went fast interpreted that to mean that I love danger. This meant cranking the steering wheel to and fro, causing the car to violently lurch from side to side at a speed approaching 180 kph (105mph). It was all I could do to show no fear, nervously smiling as my sphincter tightened enough to produce precious gems. We were also treated to endless haggling sessions over tea as merchants tried to convince us that they were making us “a very special deal” since we were from Poland. It didn’t take much prodding for them to share their low opinion of the ubiquitous Russians.

Upon further review: Air Memphis a definite thumbs down, although with a slight bribe we are able to finagle an exit row on the way home. Hurghada airport is your best bet for scoring bargains. Don’t even bother with the endless row of shop outside the hotel gates. Scuba diving in the Red Sea, though I have nothing to compare it to, certainly lived up to its billing as some of the best in the world. All inclusive resorts centered around the next feeding time is certainly something I will take a pass on next time.

The lighter side of Albania

2009-10-27T14:19:00.004+01:00

Through a twist of fate and the willingness of a tiny school in Albania to once again host over 40 middle school students from all over Europe, the Kielbasa Chronicle made a return trip to Tirana this year. I remember last year, tearing the four pages out of my tattered Eastern Europe guidebook, thinking I would only have to research Albanian words, food, and directions once in my life. After all, this tiny bunker-strewn wasteland is not exactly known as a tourist hot-spot. The food is great, the weather is mild this time of year, but clean and orderly it is definitely not.

Despite having made the same trip last year, five of the twelve kids on the cross country team made the return voyage, so they must have had a good time. We also brought along the czar of CEESA athletics and our athletic director, Jim Matter. My assistant coach from last year, Rachel, could not make the trip since she had a baby a few months ago, so the new addition to the coaching staff, who absolutely loved the trip, was Barbara, our middle school German teacher.

After four years, and missing it by a whisker a couple times, the boys’ team brought home the championship trophy, and their coach couldn’t have been prouder. The great thing about working with kids this age is that they have almost no experience to draw upon, so there is also little fear of failure. Just go out and run for the fun of it. Being on the trip is reward enough. It’s certainly a far cry from the days of coaching high school cross country where the season started Aug. 12 and ended the last weekend in October, with the kids running six days a week. We needed to employ all kinds of strategies, from bowling nights to camp-outs, just to keep the kids engaged. I have many good memories of those years, but don’t miss the level of commitment required.

It was a stress-free trip with a great bunch of kids who were so much fun to travel with. Sometimes teenagers have tendency to whine when things aren’t so entertaining, but this group was complaint free. The adults were also, and we even found time to rent a bus for an afternoon on the Albanian coast. After driving many air-condition deprived miles down potholed roads and passing through countryside which probably hadn’t changed in 50 years, we arrived at a remote beach, inhabited by only us foreigners and the staff of a tiny restaurant & seaside cabana rental. The fresh seafood dinner was phenomenal, as we enjoyed the company of our fellow coaches from Budapest, Moscow, Prague, and Zagreb. We all had to agree that middle school cross country was by far the most relaxing sport to coach.

Oktoberfest in Munich!

2009-10-01T15:05:00.007+02:00

If you aren’t paying attention at Oktoberfest, you will get your ass kicked. It’s not because of anything you did to provoke somebody’s wrath. You can just be standing in the beer tent enjoying the festivities, drinking in both the suds and the atmosphere, and you will first hear a warning. This comes in the form of a whistle. Not the kind you hear at a rock concert or sporting event, but an actual whistle. The referee kind. If you do not heed the warning and get out of the way in a timely manner, you will receive the foot of a sturdy but mature-looking German woman right between your butt cheeks.

This happened to me at the Paulaner tent on a sun-drenched Saturday afternoon. I don’t blame her for doing this. After all, she needed to deliver a flock of broasted chickens to some hungry festival goers and I was oblivious to the urgency of the situation. I’m sure I was not the first ass she kicked that day and there would undoubtedly be many more to come as the crowd became increasingly lubricated.

The tents. Paulaner. Haufbrauhaus. Augustiner. Lowenbrau and a score of others I can’t remotely pronounce. If I tried, it would sound like an attack of bronchitis. They are set out in succession along the back row of the festival grounds, gleaming temples devoted to the art of brewing and the ritual of imbibing. Each holds around 10,000 from around the world, some having reserved their place at the long wooden tables over a year in advance. If you are lucky enough to gain entrance sans reservation, you will be treated to a spectacle that can only be found annually for two autumnal weeks in Munich.

The beer is why they have made their pilgrimage. The natives, in all shapes and sizes, sporting lederhosen passed down from generation to generation for just this occasion. Australians with their yellow “Fanatics” t-shirts. The Brits, Scots, and Irish clad in their rugby jerseys. Americans in their university hoodies. and the Italians looking . . . Italian. Gelled, slicked back hair, high-priced T’s stamped with designer names, and gold-plated chains around their necks, ready to throw themselves at anything in a traditional dress.

The dirndl. Some are born to wear it, with their ample curves almost spilling forth from the bodice. Others look just a bit too ample for the form-fitting corset. But that doesn’t stop them from trying to squeeze into one for a few days while swilling beers and noshing on the cornucopia of pork products to be found around every corner of the legendary grounds. My traveling companion, despite looking fetching in her budget costume, felt a bit out of place since hers was cut comparatively high, eliciting more than a few stares and catcalls. Feeling self conscious and a bit allergenic, the dress lasted a few hours before being jettisoned, but the pictures were worth the price.

The weekend went by fast, a blur of hoisted beer steins and the ooompah of brass polka bands. This was one trip I won't soon forget. Hope to be there in 2010!

Field Trippin!

2009-09-24T14:28:00.004+02:00

Took the always fun "Discover Poland" expedition with my 6th graders a couple weeks back. Here are some highlights:

Part II: Think positive. At least now you have zero chance of dying!

2009-08-10T10:25:00.014+02:00

Back in the friendly confines of the Polskaland and taking time to savor the little day-to-day intricacies that make working and living here a true pleasure. School has started, the kids have been rejuvenated by a full summer of doing nothing and the editor of the KC has been newly minted as a master of education, whatever that means. Take it with a grain of salt since this is only year 10 of what I feel might be a Ripkenesque career as an educator.

Or maybe I should use a Brett Favre analogy? Here's hoping I don't need a veritable cocktail of painkillers to make it through my day when I'm in my early 40's. By the way, I really have no feelings about the Vikings' signing of the scourge of Green Bay since the boys in purple have been dead to me since the ruinous end of the 1998 season, which you can relive in painful, raw detail here. It almost brought me to tears all over again, but some masochistic part of me watched it until the bitter end. Damn you Gary Anderson! Or maybe I should be thanking him since the last 11 years of Sundays have seen me anesthetized toward any feeling of living vicariously through grossly overpaid athletes that couldn't care less about the average fan. But I'm NOT bitter.

Anyway . . . I never did finish my story about Pamplona. I will let the rest of it pour forth in the hope that it will provide some catharsis and rationalization. Where was I?

The running takes place at 8:00 AM every day for the whole 8 day festival. The average time it takes for the bulls to get through the 850 meter course (about 1/2 mile) is around 3 1/2 minutes. At around 6:30, I was lined up at where I thought would be an ideal spot (see video), midway between point 5 and 6 on the map. My thinking was that I would only be faced with a short 200 meter pants-filled dash into the bullfighting arena where I would bask for a few seconds in the admiration of the cheering throngs while simultaneously getting the hell outta the way of 1,500 pounds of pissed off hamburger. The rest of my traveling party had retreated to a balcony overlooking the course, for which they each paid 40 Euros, including breakfast.

About 6:45, Juan Law (Spanish cousin of Johnny Law), started clearing the streets. They had an ingenious method of closing the gates on each cross street to divide the course into one block sections, separating the crowd that was trying to do the same thing I was doing. Us glory-hounds were quickly surrounded by cops in nasty-looking berets and forcibly removed from the course. Oops. Didn't read anything in my research about that. Back to the drawing board. So I had been pushed off the course around point #6. I then needed to hightail it all the way back to the start, fighting my way through drunken cowards the whole time. I made it all the way back to #3 in the main plaza about 200 meters from where they release the bulls. There was a huge crowd assembled and all of them had that "What the eff have I gotten myself into?" look of terror on their face. In fact, there was even a procession of people lined up behind the cops who marched them out of the plaza after they elected to "use better judgement" as my mom would say. Pansies.

So all runners are packed in between points 3 and 4, but around 7:30 they swing open the gate (#4) that confined us to that area. This gives us 30 minutes to spread out along the course and take our positions from which we will attempt to avoid getting trampled by not only bulls but each other. At this point, there is no turning back. Foremost on my mind was the fact that one of the bulls scored a kill the day before when it was turned around going the wrong way on the course. It proceeded to gore anything in his path including an unlucky Spaniard who took a horn in the lung and jugular. Medical personnel pulled him under a gate only a few seconds after he was hit but he bled out in an instant was declared dead soon after.

As luck would have it, I ended up camped in the same position I had been in one hour previously. The adrenaline was pumping and, as per my nature in situations such as these, I wanted to capture the scene, bringing some of the sights and sounds of Pamplona home with me on my camera. Where I went wrong at 7:52 on that fateful day is anybody's guess. But after making a short video of the minutes leading up to one of those "gotta do it before you die" moments, one of Pamplona's finest spotted me from his perch on one of the wooden gates that seals off the course from any overzealous spectators. He barked at me in Spanish, which I took to mean "Sir, could you kindly put your camera away since the bulls will be released in just a few short minutes. I know you wanna capture this momentous occasion but you should really pay attention while trying to tempt death."

Alright, it's been 17 years since my last Spanish class so forgive me if I got the translation wrong. Soon enough, I felt like John Hinkley at the Washington Hilton in 1981. Surrounded by four of Juan Law's cousins as my heart pounded with fear, there was no escape and all I could think about was how stupid I was for not running into the crowd as soon as he had singled me out. I showed them that I had put my camera away and was ready to dodge bulls. But instead of congratulating me on my courage and my desire to showcase their fine city, they shoved me to the ground and under the gate. Not only was my dream of running with the bulls crushed but my brand new white pants bought specifically for this occasion were stained with the dirt, grime, and fluids of an all-night Spanish bender. As I frantically scrambled to run back to the start of course and fight again, the fireworks signaling the start went off and I wasn't even in a position to watch others get gored. Was it the blonde hair and blue eyes that made me the victim of police brutality? Or maybe stupidity? I guess I'll never know, but at least it makes for a good story.

Last few hours in Madrid . . .

2009-08-09T11:14:00.003+02:00

Sitting here in Plaza Santa Domingo, enjoying my last few hours in Madrid. It's really nice when a city has the foresight to provide free WiFi points for its citizens. Anyway, I should be sitting by a pool at the "fabulous" Hotel Wellington that was rated five stars. LJ and I booked this as a treat for our last night here before we got on separate flights back to WAW. Imagine our shock and utter disappointment when we stepped out into the courtyard under the blazing afternoon sun to discover that the whole pool area was shut down for remodeling. Dreams shattered. Depression ensues. After conferring with the hotel manager, we were informed that the hotel website states that the pool is shut down for the summer and it was our fault for not checking this out. Who the hell books directly with the hotel anymore? Are you kidding me? The site we went through, kayak.com which directed us to gtahotels.com, clearly stated that they had a pool and jacuzzi. So we dropped a bit more than we usually spend in hope of enjoying some super relaxation time the night before reality hit. I certainly expressed my outrage in no uncertain terms and was told that there was nothing they could do in the way of compensation. I did manage to put up a big enough stink to get us a room upgrade but you can't have a nice cool soak in a kingsized bed. Anyway, more writings about the last few weeks in Spain are to come when I get back home . . . until then, adios from Spain!

Part I: To run or not to run?

2009-07-13T23:01:00.015+02:00

I'm normally not up for glorifying myself through grandiose displays of machismo (okay, back in my 20's I was), however, when opportunities like this present themselves in such a fortuitous and timely manner, I find them too good to pass up. It's kind of like if you told me you had a boat chartered off the coast of South Africa, with full scuba kit, buckets of chum, and Steve Irwin back from the dead ready to guide me on a cage-diving expedition for Great White sharks, I would not hesitate to say, "I am in! She's a beauty!"

I've been spending the whole month of July in Madrid, pursuing a gilded certificate that will guarantee my supreme effectiveness as an educator (sarcasm alert!). This requires me to spend 40 hours a week in a classroom, with evenings spent hammering out papers that will somehow provide me with some deep, meaningful insight into my role as a mentor to children who would much rather be taught about matter's phase changes by The Pussycat Dolls. All of this introspection means that when the weekend comes, it's time to let loose a little bit.

Last Thursday, my ears perked up when I overheard one of my classmates saying that she and some other students were taking the bus on Friday night to Pamplona for the Festival of San Fermin. They were going to get tickets for the 9:30 PM bus which meant that their arrival time would be around 2:00 AM. The plan was to enjoy the sights, atmosphere, and beverages, watch the main event at 8:00 AM, and hop the first bus back at 9:15 AM. They assured me that we would be back in Madrid no later than 2:00 PM, in time for a long afternoon siesta. She even said that she would personally go down to the bus station and buy my bus ticket. All I needed to do was show up for dinner after Friday's class, and then hop on the bus. Perfect, I thought.

The adventure began much earlier than it was supposed to when about an hour into the bus ride north of Madrid, we were jolted from our sleep by the unmistakable sound of "clump, clump, clump" coming from our flat tire. Instead of pulling to the side of the road and calling for assistance, the bus driver had to limp his steed another 20 minutes up the road to the first exit, since the shoulders on major highways here are much too narrow for a vehicle of that size. Everybody on the bus had to suspend the buzz of anticipation for a couple hours, but at least we had stopped at an exit with what seemed like a roadside, local watering hole.

A couple of fellow Americans and I decided that since we were going to be here awhile, we might want to wet our whistle inside the Bellavista Pub & Hostel which, from the outside, looked deserted and badly in need of our business. Well, little did we know how bad they wanted our business. Upon entering the darkened tavern, we were immediately sized up by at least twenty willing ladies vying for our affection. Upon learning that beers were priced at 14 Euros (almost $20), we decided that we just weren't that thirsty. In retrospect, the fact that they had underground parking, a heart around the word "pub" on their neon sign, and billed it as not only a pub but ALSO a hostel should have tipped us off immediately that it was a house of ill repute. Or maybe the girls just REALLY like Americans and it's REALLY expensive to ship beer out to the middle of nowhere.

After two hours of waiting around the parking lot, watching the bus driver and the service van crew wrestle with the oversize tire and jack, seeing many shady looking characters arrive for the customer service and then depart after a brief period of time, we reboarded the bus and continued on our journey. Two hours later, we arrived in Pamplona at 4:00 AM to the throngs of inebriated revelers wandering the streets in the traditional red and white festival attire.

The bus station looked like a M*A*S*H* (for my younger readers, this was a television show about a mobile army surgical unit during the Korean war) triage unit with bodies spread across the pavement in various stages of consciousness. It smelled like I would imagine the streets of Bombay would on a hot summer night, with lakes of urine dotting the streets. At least I wasn't wearing sandals, like some of my travel companions, causing them to convulse as the wetness leapt up to their toes.

After the two hour delay, we realized that our fiesta window was closing fast and daylight would soon be here, so we made our way to the city center plaza where all the action was happening. On our way, we hashed out a bargain for the obligatory red bandannas and sashes that would identify us as serious tourists ready to follow in the footsteps of Hemingway, who immortalized the city of San Fermin in his novel, The Sun Also Rises. The Spaniards have paid tribute to their "Ernesto" by erecting a monument to him in front of the bull fighting arena. There is also a life-sized sculpture in one of the ancient cafes. He wrote extensively about the traditions and pageantry associated with the festival, and apparently must have been the kinda guy who lives in the moment without a thought to what morning will bring:

"The things that happened could only have happened during a fiesta. Everything became quite unreal finally and it seemed as though nothing could have any consequences. It seemed out of place to think of consequences during the fiesta."

I've never been to Mardis Gras in New Orleans, but I would imagine the clogged, narrow streets of this small Spanish city, a pick-pocketer's paradise filled with boozey victims of adult ADD, would be an apt comparison, minus the beads and frontal nudity on every balcony. Crisp white shirts soon became crimson with wayward swigs of sangria. Corner bocaterias were open all night long selling jumbo bottles of San Miguel and jugs of Don Simon. Everybody was infused with the spirit of San Fermin,

What came as a surprise was that despite all the besotted revelry, everybody was relatively well-behaved. There was a minor police presence but in Spain it's more the unseen threat of authority rather than a visual show of force. One poor fellow was tackled to the ground and hauled off by no fewer than ten officers as hundreds of foreigners uneasily observed the scene. Even the Englishmen minded their Ps and Qs which if you've ever encountered a gang of them on a "piss-up" is not an easy feat.

To be continued . . .

Happy 20th Poland . . .

2009-06-16T14:18:00.002+02:00

As I sit here enjoying the end of my third year in Poland, and marveling at just how fast the time has gone, the country is celebrating the 20th anniversary of the first free elections in the former Communist Bloc. I never thought it possible to be working and living in Warsaw back when I was watching scenes like this on CNN during my freshman year in high school. It certainly is a stunning collection of footage from those days, set to "New Year's Day" by U2, a song inspired by the reform movement in Eastern Europe. It was produced by the European Union, who even have their own channel on Youtube, called EUtube. Clever.

Only three more day until I'm back in the U.S. for a couple weeks. Most of my time will be spent up on Da Range, so drop me a line if you want to get together. I'm looking forward to seeing the family, doing some fishing with my Dad, and eating some beer-battered walleye before going back to Madrid on July 3rd for the completion of my studies. Hope everybody is having a great summer so far with weather better than we have here in Warsaw. Na razie . . .

My turn to cry . . .

2009-05-25T20:11:00.004+02:00

I have the best family in the world. They got me this time thanks to modern technology. Thanks to my cousin Michele for coming up with this fantastic birthday surprise. Once again, before you sit down and watch this, grab the box of tissues. I love all of you guys . . . see you in a few weeks!

Beauties and Beer Tents

2009-05-18T11:13:00.009+02:00

The Warsaw Open, a stop on the ATP Tour for some of the world's great female tennis players, commenced this week. The tennis gods smiled down upon tour organizers and this reporter when former world #1 ranked player, and Russian uber-babe, Maria Sharapova decided to use the tournament to launch her comeback from a shoulder injury that has sidelined her for over 9 months.

A couple friends and I hustled out of work in order to catch the end of her match against an Italian, Tathiana Garbin, and were lucky enough to see Sharapova blow three match points in the second set. This allowed us to actually find our seats and enjoy the third set which she ended up winning 6-3. The reigning queen of grunts did not disappoint:

She has been measured at over 100 decibels on the grunt-o-meter, the equivalent of standing near a police car with its blaring siren. The evolution of grunting in tennis is chronicled in great detail here by the BBC. Sharapova owes a great deal to the pioneer of the grunt in women's tennis, Monica Seles.

Also, last week, on a sun-drenched Friday afternoon, the hard-working folks at AS-dub convened for a faculty social at the nearest oasis, just off the bike-trail leading to school. We at the Chronicle would never condone drinking and cycling, and Polish law is quite strict in this regard, but there's great comfort to be found in enjoying good beer, good food, and good company after only pedaling a couple short kilometers from school. Patio culture is certainly one area where this country is leaps and bounds ahead of my former homeland.

Happy Mother's Day!

2009-05-10T17:35:00.005+02:00

The toughest part about working overseas is missing all of those special moments that happen in a family. It's a huge sacrifice and makes you appreciate the time you are able to spend with them even more. I've been living far away from the ones that I love for many years now and it never gets any easier hearing "You missed it!" after every birthday, graduation party, 4th of July, Thanksgiving, or wedding. Especially weddings.

You see my mom has four siblings, and as luck would have it, or what some might call a tragedy of epic proportion, the five of them gave their mother and father twelve beautiful grandchildren, eleven of them boys. As we all enter into our 30's, most of us, despite repeated warning, have sealed our fate by walking down the aisle. The byproduct of these ceremonies has been some legendary parties, which lead to some great family pictures, since these are the rare occasions when all of us are together.

Last weekend, my cousin Todd was the next in line to get hitched to his fiancee, Jill, and for months, much to my sorrow, I had been slated to miss this huge celebration because it just wasn't possible to get enough time off of work. I was resigned to the fact that AGAIN I would be hearing firsthand accounts of another reception that would go down in history. My brother Paul, however, had other ideas, and made a last minute plea for me to find some way to make the trip. After listening to his cajoling, guilt-inspiring phone call, I relented and made a quick search of the airfare sites. Well, somehow, the planets aligned and I was able to fly into Minneapolis on a Thursday evening, and hop the redeye back to Warsaw on Sunday night. For me, it was more like the "closed eye" since I spent the whole flight to Amsterdam (my first stop) in a deep slumber, reeling from jet lag, family fun time, and exhaustion.

The best part was keeping this a covert operation. My brother and his wife Jennifer were the only ones who knew about this last minute change of plans. Everybody, including my parents, who I had just spent Spring Break with in New York a couple weeks earlier, were sure I was destined to miss yet another special occasion. Needless to say, it was something I will never forget, and one of the best decisions I ever made. I'm so glad that we were able to capture the look of both my grandma's and mom's faces when they realized I had made it home. Just make sure you have your box of tissues handy when you watch this video . . . and make sure you take your mom out for brunch today. Of course, don't forget about Grandma!

The Big Apple . . .

2009-04-21T09:43:00.006+02:00

With the drop in airfare from Europe to the U.S., it was possible to spend spring break this year in New York City. This was my first visit to the Empire State and Luiza's first trip across the Atlantic. To make the trip all that much more exciting, we met my parents, brother Dave, and my two BFF's (that's best friends forever for you folks not versed in adolescent lingo) Brian and Jeff. Brian drove in from Pennsylvania with his girlfriend, Lindsay, and Jeff flew in from Minneapolis with his new cell phone.

We were pretty jet lagged to start things off but managed to go out on the town until the wee hours the first night in town. The next day, we took in the Easter parade before checking out Rock of Ages, a musical based on the music of my formative years, the hard-rockin, spandex clad 80's. If you grew up in that era, you will love this show starring American Idol alum Constantine Maroulis. It was a heaping helping of cheese, but who doesn't love cheese? They even worked in a four-pack of Bartle's and Jaymes as a prop.

The next morning, the boys left and we had been lucky enough to score tickets to Letterman. All of you High School Musical fans out there will be jealous to find out that I was seated only twenty feet away from Dave's first guest, Zac Efron. (queue squealing girls) It was interesting to get a behind the scenes look at how the Late Show is produced but it loses a bit of luster when you are being goaded into laughing and clapping. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a big Dave fan, but think he was much funnier back in the NBC days when the comedy was edgier and he interacted with the audience a lot more. Through the magic of youtube, check out the classic Velcro Suit, Marshmallow suit, and Chip Suit. Just the Chronicle's small contribution in keeping you productive at work.

The rest of the week was spent just being tourists. We went to see Billy Elliott, the Tony Award winning "it" musical this year. It was spectacular to see all these kids performing some jaw-dropping dance moves with impeccable timing. Though I'm sure they've broken some child labor laws while preparing for the show since the choreography and songs were mind blowingly complex. One of the tiny ballerina girls who stole the show was only seven years old.

We saw our share of tall buildings, heading to the top of both the Empire at night, and Rockefeller Center during the day. If you only have time for one, make sure it's the "Top of the Rock". They've really streamlined the process by putting a time for you to show up on your ticket, and then showing a video detailing the building's history during your brief twelve minute wait.

Mom and Dad tooled around Central Park in a bicycle cart driven by a Macedonian medical student. They learned all about Yoko Ono's dominance of the Dakotah Hotel (she owns seven apartments there) and how she blackballed Madonna from getting an apartment. There were many other trivial tidbits that escape me but my Mom can tell you more about them.

While they were learning the inside celebrity scoop, the proverbial cherry on our sundae happened on Saturday, when we just happened to ride our rental bikes through a shoot of "Law and Order: SVU". I just wish my parents, who are HUGE fans of the series, all three installments, were there to see it. I was hoping that Mariska Hargitay, who my father informed me is the daughter of famed pin-up gal Jayne Mansfield, would arrest me, but no such luck. The locals paid no attention, however, since the city is such a popular backdrop for both film and television.

Luiza, Dave, and I saw a show at the famed Comic Strip, but unfortunately most of the comics we saw were hacks, especially the final five we endured who were given just a few minutes in front of the mic to prove their comedic chops. All of them failed miserably and made me glad that I only have to make sixth graders laugh everyday. Comedy is not easy folks. It was cool to have this uniquely American experience since there is no stand-up scene here in Warsaw.

I feel really lucky to have had this chance to see my family (Chicky and Scrote too!) for a week and introduce them to Luiza. Having the time off in the middle of the spring to hop on an overseas flight and play in New York City is just one more reason I never take this job or the special people in my life for granted*queue the video*

The real deal . . . spring that is.

2009-04-09T13:56:00.003+02:00

Now this is more like it. Mother Nature has decided to let go of her lingering embrace of Jack Frost. The blizzard of "snirt" captured by my camera a couple weeks ago seems like a distant memory as the darkness of winter's tunnel has ceded to the inevitability of changing seasons, toasty sunshine, and the fairer sex shedding their winter coats in favor of something more, errrrr, revealing.

The first race on the burgeoning Warsaw running calendar came and went with lots of fanfare. The Carrefour (French supermarket chain) Warsaw Half Marathon, which is a distance of 21 km over here, not 13.1 miles, turned a crisp Sunday morning spent recovering from Saturday's rugby match into something akin to running through a crowd armed with bamboo sticks. Nobody was actually hitting me, but with every step on the uneven cobblestone streets jiggling my bruised, pasty-white thunderthighs (it's tough to run in the winter), it certainly felt like it. Special guest at the runner expo was none other than famed run-walk-run guru and U.S. Olympian, Jeff Galloway. I wanted to see if he remembered meeting me at the Portland Marathon back in 2001, but didn't see him after my finish. Maybe I should've looked around, but the post-race celebration at Rooster was calling.

Last Sunday, it seemed like the whole city decided to spend the day outdoors, after the requisite trip to mass, with palms in hand. The Old Town was bursting with both tourists and locals queuing up for ice cream, sipping beers on the square, or capturing footage of their youngsters chasing each other around the fountain. Those of us who opted for a faster mode of transportation, the bike, cruised from park to park and over bridges in search of pubs and restaurants with inviting patios. From Pub Lolek to Metal Bar to the legendarily eclectic Spider Bar across the river in Praga, we cycled for hours, the last stop being my favorite spot for grub, Boston Port.

It's all downhill from here as we roll on towards summer like an 18 wheeler crossing North Dakota on I-94. This beautiful weather makes me so metaphorical. Anyway, check out this vid. Bluegrass music is taking this great nation by storm and I was one of the first on the bandwagon. It sounds great with Louie Armstrong lightly playing in the background. There is also a great clip of one of the funniest running costumes ever, second only to Mr. Blister and Captain Cramp in creativity, but definitely tops in degree of difficulty. Thanks for reading!

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2009-03-25T12:27:00.004+01:00

Ahhhhhhhhh, behold the colorful bloom of spring in Warsaw!

Oh S**t! It's actually on TV!

2009-03-18T13:43:00.005+01:00

Nobody in this country cleans up after their dog. There are brown landmines of every shape and size littering the city of Warsaw. I probably have to dodge these lawn sausages at least a dozen times a day from the moment I walk out of the gate of my building until I ride my bike through the Kabaty Forest on my way home from work.

People really have no collective fecal conscience here. I'm sure they believe that these canine colon cannonballs are biodegradable and will eventually be swallowed up by the ground. Instead, they just lie in wait for some unlucky pedestrian to plant his painstakingly polished loafer into its squishy goodness.

On a related note, did you know that through the power of the internet, you can send somebody (preferably someone you don't like) a bag of doggie duds? Check out this site . It's even been featured in Time and Maxim magazines so apparently someone is ordering enough to keep them in business. Too bad this didn't exist back when the Unabomber was terrorizing America. You can't be sentenced to life in a super maximum security prison for Fedexing dogcrap but it sends the same message as a bomb without the bloody mess: "You're not really my favorite person."

Anyway, the commercial crusade that encourages Poles to "Clean up after your dog man." has reached the airwaves of MTV. I haven't personally seen it, since that would require me to sit through some of their mindless programs (Tia Tequila? My Super Sweet Sixteen? Whatever happened to music videos?) but the magic of Youtube will allow you to watch it over and over.

It took fourteen hours and around forty people to film this one minute commercial. I was happy to be a part of something that gives back to society, something that just may make Europe (it will be shown in other countries) a safer place to wander around without constantly staring at the ground.

Off piste or piste off?

2009-03-05T17:37:00.007+01:00

Last week, we had "winter break", more commonly known by its other name: Ski Week. Luiza and I were lucky enough to find a cozy little apartment nestled in the French Alps near the famous Alpe D'Huez resort. Click on the map to the right for a better view.

This was my first European ski experience and I found it much different than the U.S. Here, you are treated too much longer runs, some as long as 4-5 miles, but you are riding / skiing straight down the face of a mountaintop glacier rather than through powder-covered mountain runs carved out of vast stands of evergreens. Finding pockets of "freshies" can prove to be quite difficult, especially when day after day is bathed in glorious sunlight. I'm not complaining . . . it was just a bit, like I said before . . . different.

Also, rather than one ski lift taking you to the top of the mountain, you might have to hop onto an aerial tramway or gondola lift before jumping on a chair lift to take you to the peak. The area we were at reportedly has 93 different lifts. This may seem like a mind-boggling number of ride choices but I am thinking they are including surface lifts in order to inflate that figure.

The Dutch continue to live up to their reputation as a fun-loving, hard-partying bunch. We walked to the only hotel in Allemont for Après-ski and found out that it had been bought in the last year by an Amsterdammer. The place was filled to capacity by fifty of his fellow countrymen and boy did they know how to party. The hotel bar was packed with people dancing on tables (which included us after awhile) and singing along with the in-house band. Strangely enough, their well-behaved children, numbering at least twenty, were in the adjacent room having dinner while being attended to by hotel staff. After eating, they then left their parents to party while they went to bed, on their own! Not only do the Dutch know how to party but their children are self sufficient. Not bad.

After five straight days of me riding my board and Lu on her skis, our bodies felt like one of those Stretch Armstrong dolls from back in the 70's. Next time we will enjoy more Apres Ski and less of those quad burner 10K long black diamonds. Though over here, they aren't diamonds, just black lines. However, you can't possess nearly the same amount of bravado when you tell your sporty friends how you were rippin' it up on the black line runs.

Anyway, hope that spring has almost sprung in your neck of the woods. We are still getting some dustings of śnieg over here in the Polska land. Oh, by the way, we wish you a happy Women's Day. This is the day that you honor the women in your life which means makeshift flower stands all over the city are having their best day of the year selling tulips and roses. So if you have a Polish woman (or one of Polish descent) in your life, make sure you surprise her by acknowledging her existence on this special day.

The feminists were out in force today, making sure their calls for liberation for Polish women were heard in the form of a live female rap group on the back of a semi truck. Yeah, I don't get it either. Whatever happened to the art of the protest song?:

Happy Birthday Dad!

2009-02-20T16:30:00.003+01:00

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§

Sh!t . . .

2009-02-20T07:54:00.008+01:00

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 Pr opeller 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.

Sports report

2009-02-12T14:14:00.009+01:00

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!

Pretty boys . . .

2009-02-10T08:17:00.017+01:00

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.

Happy Birthday Mom!

2009-01-27T16:20:00.005+01:00

Dear Mom,

Today is your birthday and you are still as full of life as you are in this picture, way back when, before I was even a twinkle in your eye. In fact, this picture was taken way before you had the first of three boys who would test your limitless patience. Even though we are many miles apart, know that I am thinking of you not just today, but everyday. Looking forward to seeing both you and Dad in April.

Love,

Mark

So everybody out there, raise a bottle, errrrr, a glass and toast my Mom on her 63rd birthday! I think that back in the early days of my Mom and Dad's marriage, this was the only way he could get her to go fishing with him. My Dad was always a smooth operator.

Are you moving back now?

2009-01-23T11:12:00.007+01:00

I've been asked that question by a few of my friends back in the U.S. since G.W. made his final flight off into the sunset. The definitive answer for this is a resounding "NO!". I'm absolutely shocked at some of the things I've been reading about the educational funding cuts slated for 2009. This does nothing too instill confidence that there will be sweeping reforms designed to undo the damage of NCLB anytime soon.

Anyhow, how about that inauguration? Here in Warsaw, we gathered at the Hard Rock along with some U.S. Embassy folk to get our glimpse of history on the monstrous plasma screen. It really was an occasion that made me proud.

I was also happy to be sharing the moments with some friends from other countries, i.e. Australia, Ireland, Canada, Sweden, and of course Poland. This certainly made me a bit more conscious of how the rest of the world must view all the hoopla surrounding a change in leadership. Some random observations:

Whatever happened to the separation of church and state? I am fully aware that there must be a higher power up there, over there, wherever, but isn't religion supposed to be between myself and God? Government shouldn't be telling me when to pray. However, with the severity of the economic crisis, now might be a good time to start.

That Rick Warren guy sounded creepy. "And his daughters, Maleeeeea and Saaasha . . ." made my skin crawl.

Aretha Franklin would've sounded better singin' this number. She and Obama could've done some sort of duet song and dance.

Speaking of dance, this was a great vid on youtube. I just wish that Beyonce would've launched into "Bootylicious" after this poignant moment. And it's in High-Def, no less!

Could there have been a more fitting image to epitomize the legacy of this administration?

That was . . .

2009-01-21T00:13:00.001+01:00

. . . a pretty damn good speech. Now I'm goin' to bed : )

King Barack?

2009-01-20T13:39:00.005+01:00

Apparently, some in the Polish press have felt that today is being treated more like coronation rather than inauguration. My roomie and gf, L (why don't people use real names in blogs?), related to me that journalists here have taken to calling our new prez "King Obama". Staffers at the Chronicle are elated with this big improvement over some of the things that they have called our previous monkey in chief.

From a foreign perspective, I suppose it is difficult to understand all the hoopla and stratospheric expectation surrounding the three day Obamapaloosa. The concert line-up on Sunday, which included U2, Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen, and Beyonce, is something better suited to one of those self-congratulatory MTV awards shows or a star-studded benefit for AIDS relief.

Imagine if Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper's swearing in ceremony featured a powerful display of talent, such as Alanis Morrisette, The Bare Naked Ladies, and the bad boy of Canadian rock, Bryan Adams. Or how about Poland's Lech Kaczyński sharing the stage with that blonde bombshell, Doda (side note: she is a card-carrying member of MENSA), or Natalia Kukulska? Now that would be an amusing sight.

The outgoing (God, I love that word) administration has taken some heat over here for failing to make a farewell phone call to Polish leadership. It is customary to bid a fond adieu to trusted allies, and "W" cared enough to dial up Nick Sarkozy, Angie Merkel, Gordie Brown and even Vlad Putin. He even found time to apologize to, errrr, thank the leaders of Denmark, Greece, and Georgia but one of the five countries that helped invade Iraq and Afghanistan was left waiting by the phone like a jilted date on prom night. Rejection has never been so heartbreaking. One of the most unpopular Presidents in U.S. history gave you the Heisman stiff arm on his last days in office. *sniff sniff, sob sob*

It's still not too late to reach out and touch someone, George. Maybe you should try Skyping us over here in Warsaw? We'd love to see you on the webcam!

Media Alert! My 6 degrees of separation . . .

2009-01-15T18:54:00.007+01:00

If you are a fan of the Daily Show on Comedy Central, make sure you check out tonight's guest, Vanity Fair writer, Bethany McLean. She was also the author of The Smartest Guys in the Room, one of the first sources that raised questions about the financial solvency of Enron. Also, when I was in ninth grade and she was a senior, she was one of those unapproachable goddesses at Hibbing High School in northern Minnesota. Those of us living across the pond have to wait for the online version of John Stewart's show tomorrow. I can't wait to see how she's gotten over the fact that, as a shy, still pubescent freshman, I never quite gathered up the nerve to stand within ten feet of her, let alone tell her what a good swimmer (we were both on the swim team!) she was.

Chicago . . . my kind of town.

2009-01-11T03:42:00.003+01:00

Well, here I am sitting in Chi-town, listening to the plaintive calls for passenger Nikolia Schrumpuff, err, whatever his name is. He needs to get his foreigner keister down to Gate B17 for pre-boarding to Stuttgart. Meanwhile, I am stuck here at Gate B16 waiting for my flight to Munich which has been delayed. It sounds like such a minor inconvenience to describe it as "delayed". My whole day has been full of the dreaded d-word.
It's amazing how cheery flight attendants can be while serving the third round of free soft drinks to passengers stranded on the windswept Minneapolis tarmac. I retained my sanity by mentally devouring two newspapers and three magazines, including a mind-numbing Cosmo article on ten easy ways to please your man. Our scheduled 11:05 AM flight finally departed at around 3:00 PM after sitting on the runway for around two and half hours. My problems were compounded by an air traffic control order to hover in the air for an additional 45 minutes while the inevitable convoy of behind schedule aircraft took their turns touching down.
Surely LOT Polish Airlines flight #2, which is ALWAYS delayed, will give me time to spare. I should even be able to stuff my face full of American food one last time before leaving the land of the free. Well imagine my surprise to read the words "ON TIME" displayed on the flight info monitor. My usual dogged sprint to the train and through the international terminal were futile. The doors had shut about five minutes prior to my breathless arrival. Damn you for choosing today to be punctual, LOT Polish Airlines! I'm writing a letter to your CEO.
After some haggling with the powers that be, Agnieszka at the reservation desk, and with a little help from one of the fathers of one of my students, I was able to make it onto a later flight, but through Munich on Lufthansa. Apparently, diplomatic passports carry a little bit more clout than my ratty but well-traveled little blue booklet.
So here I sit. Waiting. I still have enough money to afford a couple dinners. Just got done noshing on a big Chili's burger while chatting up the second-tallest player in WNBA history, 6' 8" Lindsay Taylor who plays the off-season in Poland. And she doesn't just play in some scrub city. She plays in the thriving metropolis of Gorzów, home of the largest oil fields in Poland and only a short two hour bus ride to Berlin. Learn something new everyday.
Fortunately, I haven't quite reached the breaking point yet. Oh, wait a second. We just got delayed again. My flight that was supposed to take off at 8:55 has now been backed up to 10:45. Thank God for the internet. Maybe I should start collecting carts . . .

SantaCam!

2008-12-29T16:47:00.003+01:00

This year, let's look at things from Santa's perspective. With about thirty-five relatives packed into the house up in Pengilly, MN, we needed a visit from the big guy. Everything went off without a hitch. There was no beard-pulling, no leg wetting, and only one crying baby. Take a look:

Keep them entertained . . .

2008-12-18T13:50:00.006+01:00

As 2008 winds down, and we inch toward a well-deserved three week holiday at the Chronicle, it is paramount that we keep the kids engaged in the learning process. Things can get a little bit wild around here when the youngsters adopt a "Who cares?" attitude. They sit at their desks, bursting with the anticipation of Christmas, with plans to board flights bound for all corners of the globe. Even for those just staying in Warsaw, education can sometimes be the last thing on their minds this time of year. This requires me to get a little bit more creative in my presentation style and bring a touch of "showmanship" to the classroom.
The question I get the most when I introduce kids to the wonderful world of science is, "Are we going to get to blow things up?" or "Do we get to work with fire?". Far be it from me to inspire some young pyromaniacs by handing them a copy of the legendary Anarchist's Cookbook and giving them free reign in the laboratory. I will, however, break out a super cool density demonstration. Don't try this at home:

Sole Survivor!

2008-12-16T14:47:00.011+01:00

We are nothing if not timely here at the KC. I'm sure this guy will be getting the Iraqi equivalent of the Congressional Medal of Honor in a few years. But for now, the government has to feign outrage at such an incident. And how about that Secret Service? You always here about how they are trained "to take a bullet" for the President, but not a size 10 Rockport? Or was that an "Iraqport"? Sorry about the Fozzie Bearesque attempts at humor today but it's that kind of mood around here as Christmas vacation creeps closer and closer. The kids are getting crazier with every passing day.

The most outrageous thing about this incident was not the shoe throw itself but how one would think that this would actually rattle Dubya. Instead, true to form, never letting on that he finally "gets it". . . "it" being reality. This interview, at 1:27, "I don't know what his beef is." Classic. Ex-presidents are given Secret Service protection for 10 years after they leave office. I'm thinking that the American taxpayers will be paying for his protection well into his geriatric years.

Have fun with this new game. The object is to hit the shoes, not the Prez.

Signing Day . . .

2008-12-12T17:39:00.006+01:00

Today was the last day for teachers to sign their contracts for the 2009-2010 school year. After a lengthy holdout and some high pressure negotiations between my agent and the general manager of the school, I have decided to stay with the organization for the foreseeable future. This was my first year as a restricted free agent so AS-Dub would have had to match or exceed any lucrative offers from other schools.

There was some interest from teams in Asia, but the only serious offer was a three school sign and trade with the International School of Zimbabwe and Hong Kong International School. They were offering three first-round draft picks and a P.E. teacher to be named later. Rumors abound that this was to be the crafty southpaw, Ken Schwartz of Hong Kong. But my agent invoked the no-trade clause based on Zimbabwe's 11.2 million percent rate of inflation and the uncontrolled cholera epidemic. So it just made sense to resign with one of the classiest organizations in international education rather than take my chances on the open market. It also gives me the privilege to keep performing for the best fans in the world right here in Poland.

Other teachers waited until the waning minutes of the signing period as the clock inched closer to 4:oo PM today. Most are staying put due to the favorable collective bargaining agreement forged with management for the 2009-2010 season. Financial stability in an uncertain economic climate is something you can't take for granted. After all the drama involved in the signing period, I think the pieces will remain in place to make a championship run next year. But we're just taking it one class at a time. Thanks for reading. Have a good weekend!

Seasonal Advice . . .

2008-12-09T15:10:00.008+01:00

I successfully navigated the annual staff Christmas party last weekend. It was a swanky affair bordering on opulence since it was held at the Hyatt Hotel in downtown Warsaw. Seeing everybody's differing ideas of what constitutes "festive casual" dress what quite inspiring. In most cases it inspired admiration at how elegant some people can look when they get decked out for a big night on the town. But there are always those rare cases where we should dig up the fresh corpse of Mr. Blackwell and allow him to offer up some wry commentary.

I only say it was a successful navigation because anytime you bring together a huge gathering of professionals who normally don't see each other in such a social setting and then add an open bar, anything can happen. There is a danger in going past the proverbial "tipping point" and saying or doing something you would never have the chutzpah to say or do during working hours. Some of you may still have that office party to attend this holiday season, so I will offer up some things I've learned over the years. Most are from watching others. Some are from personal experience. Without further adieu, here are the KC's

Tips for the Office Holiday Party

1. Never start a conversation with a co-worker by saying "You know what your problem is? "

2. Shots. Not a good idea.

3. Nobody is there to talk about work, especially your co-workers' spouses. If somebody you are chatting up suddenly starts slamming their drink so they can make a quick exit for another one, try this line "So what do you do . . . . ?" or "How about that financial crisis?"

4. Everybody loves your imitation of Kevin Bacon in Footloose. Nobody loves your imitation of Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing.

5. Never high-five the boss. Fistbumps are acceptable. One-armed man hugs are not.
6. Utilize the video feature on that digital camera. Blackmail can be very lucrative.

7. If a good buddy is engaging in some termination-worthy behavior, get the camera out, capture about five minutes, and then pour him into the nearest cab. He will owe you for life when you show up the next day with evidence in hand.

8. Mistletoe and co-workers do not mix. Workplace romance only works out on television. This also goes for "freak dancing" with colleagues. See rule # 4.

If you obey this advice from your friends at the Chronicle, the holiday office party can be a safe and joyous occasion sharing the Christmas spirit with your respected workmates. Just be careful around that open bar. Remember, always follow a glass of beer or wine with a glass of water and you'll be in the clear. And always use a designated driver. I will end this week's blog by posting this great reminder about proper gift-giving this holiday season.

Unusual talent . . .

2008-12-01T11:53:00.002+01:00

Back in September, we brought you some highlights from the few programs on Polish television that I am able to enjoy. This past weekend was the grand finale of Mam Talent, Poland's answer to America's Got Talent, minus David Hasselhoff. Below is a clip of the winners, two male acrobats doing some amazing things while wearing only underwear. This would certainly qualify as being talented, but I'm wondering how many votes they received from hot and bothered female viewers enamored with this visual exhibition of human art.

Things to be thankful for . . .

2008-11-26T16:52:00.010+01:00

Whatever you call it: being "blessed", having good karma, luck, etc. the Chronicle has a lot of things to be thankful for this holiday season. This is meant to be an unconventional list, so if not seeing "The love of family and friends" makes you think I'm not thankful for them, then I will just say right off the bat that I value them first and foremost. That might even include you, gentle reader. So, in no particular order, here are just a few more.

1) Skype. The ability to see my parents on the webcam every week while talking to them when I am so far away (4,529 miles according to indigo.com) is truly a gift. Add to that the fact that it costs nothing to call them and you have something to truly be thankful for. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, download Skype today and give me a call! That means you Dave and Paul! Quit living in the stone age. Dust off the wallet and drop the dial-up internet.

2) Jogobella yoghurt. It's Polish, comes in really big containers, and is damn tasty. Pineapple and kiwi flavors are my faves.

3) My new roommate. Yes, I am "living in sin". Sorry Mom! But you always said that whatever makes me happy makes you happy too. I am happy : )

4) My job. I never take for granted a place where I learn far more from the kids than they learn from me. It's also gratifying to know that the people I work for value me as well, especially during these tough economic times. Thank you school board and parents!

5) Wizzair. You gotta love a no-frills budget airline that is ballsy enough to paint their planes fuschia. $100 round trip from Warsaw to Italy . . . que bueno!

6) Podcasts. Being able to load up the iPod every morning with my favorite radio shows from the states so I can get through the commute is priceless, and free!

7) Obama. Yes, their are still 55 more days left of shame, but I can already detect an audible increase in volume when telling people what country I am from. Hurray for the return of dignity, intellect, and humility to the White House! He could accomplish nothing over the next four years but it's just nice to have a cool President for a change.

8) Being able to watch episodes of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report online. We are self-professed news junkies here at the Chronicle. These guys make even the depressing stories seem funny.

9) Facebook. Yes, this just sent all of you anti-establishment, "swim against the current" folks cringing. But it's just another one of those pieces of technology that keeps the overseas guy in the loop. I am especially amused by the photos posted by former students and younger cousins. Good to know that keg stands haven't gone out of style.

10) Sarah Palin. God, how I love that woman. She has given so much laughter to so many people. Where, oh where, can I make my contribution to the Palin campaign for President in 2012?

11) Free coffee at work. Sometimes its the little perks that make the biggest difference and nothings brings employees together like free coffee. A big thank you to Kasia who makes it every morning. You are appreciated :)

12) Visitors. Having friends and family who make all the effort, and spend the money to come and see me here in Poland is really appreciated. When are you making the trip?

Wanted: Teachers willing to relocate to faraway lands

2008-11-20T10:46:00.006+01:00

It's that time of year again where I make the yearly plea to my stateside colleagues encouraging them to try teaching abroad. The last couple years resulted in two of my friends attending job fairs in Iowa and San Francisco, with both of them ending up in sunny Ecuador. The Chronicle is happy to report that D who worked down the hall from me in Middleton (Idaho) and K, who I used to work with at Green Mill in Fargo have found enormous job satisfaction and endless adventures near that imaginary line dividing the hemispheres. In fact, sources close to the KC say one of them (luckily the one that is not married) has even found a cross-cultural romance which might lead to a contract renewal for next year.

Are there any educators out there willing to take the plunge in 2009? It is astonishing how many international schools are opening up around the globe. One statistic published by The International Educator put the number of international schools in 2000 at 1,700. At the beginning of 2008, there were over 5,000. I will admit that not a small number of these are fly by night operations in dangerous geographic locales. They span the globe and even the alphabet from A (Azerbaijan and even Afghanistan) to Z (Zambia and Zimbabwe), so it pays to conduct thorough research before you land that dream job in the Grand Cayman Islands or Costa Rica. You could end up signing a contract to spend the next two years of your life in Kabul.

Even though I am thousands of miles from the nearest beach and Jack Frost is about to start farting white stuff all over Poland this weekend, the last couple years have been an amazing adventure both personally and professionally. Sure, the Polish winters are frigid and unfailingly bleak, but I consider myself quite fortunate to have ended up here at AS Dub. And if any readers out there in the business of teaching children are tired of it being just that, a "business", then write to the editors at the Chronicle and we will be happy to give you advice on how to get started on a career overseas. After all, I think Obama has too much on his plate to worry about trivial matters such as class sizes and a yearly raise for teachers that exceeds the rate of inflation. But don't delay, deadlines for registering at job fairs at the University of Northern Iowa (deadline: January 9th), San Francisco (January 5th), and Cambridge, MA.

Well, that's the spiel for this year. I hope we can report again on a successful candidacy around February after recruitment season. Thanks for reading!

Thoughts on Italy, Obama, and the closing of Damascus Community School

2008-11-10T13:31:00.010+01:00

It's been a long time since I poured out the contents of my grey matter onto this keyboard. Since then, it's been quite an eventful couple of weeks with a trip to Tuscany, an historical election, and the political expulsion of some colleagues down in Syria. All of these are worth their own separate blog entry in the Chronicle but since there is a lot more going on in the near future, I will cover all of these issues en masse.

First of all, let me say that I have a newfound love of Italy. Being able to spend a whole week in the northern part of the country opened my eyes to both the natural and man-made wonders of Tuscany. This was my second trip to "the boot of the Mediterranean" and the first I was inspired to write extensively about. Longtime readers will remember a trip to Rome with my brother Dave and the parents back in the spring of 2007, but that entry focused mainly on the beauty of Slovenia and a tearful family reunion. I can say that I was awe-inspired by the world famous scenes of historical importance such as the Coliseum, Forum, and Pantheon or the extraordinary religious significance of the Vatican. However, the real beauty of Italy lies in the culinary delights, vineyards, and the idea of "la dolce vita" (the sweet life) that is the very essence of the Italian countryside.

Our trip started with some gorgeous weather in the Cinque Terre, a collection of five rustic seaside villages dotting the Italian Riviera. The three days we spent there consisted of hiking the trails along the cliffs, sipping the acclaimed white wine produced in the region, devouring anything dipped in pesto, and trying to avoid the disciples of Steves.

Okay, I will admit that I enjoy the Rick Steves guidebook series. His refreshing takes on how to travel through "the back door" by focusing more on the holistic experience of travel rather than a checklist of landmarks, churches, and museums are a philosophy everyone should subscribe to. Be that as it may, the followers of Rick Steves' books have become victims of his success. It seemed that wherever we went in the Cinque Terre, per his recommendation, we found my fellow Americans. The majority of those encountered were quite pleasant and it was enjoyable to chat with people about where they were from, including the lady from Blaine, Minnesota who was on sabbatical from her teaching job for a stint teaching at a boarding school in Switzerland. I also had the chance to converse with a fellow North Dakota State alum in San Gimignano after inquiring about whether she was Canadian or Minnesotan. You can't miss that accent. Okay, I shall digress, since the more I consider things, I'm coming to the conclusion that I should appreciate the fact that Americans are not letting the terrorists win by cowering in fear back at home. (This last statement was with tongue firmly in cheek).

Pisa was one of the definite highlights of the trip even though we were enjoying it under a torrential downpour. Seeing one of the most recognizable sights anywhere on the globe had an almost mythical quality about it. This feeling was quickly replaced by bewilderment associated with countless people striving for that perfect picture of them keeping the tower from falling over.

Not much hasn't already been written about the aesthetic virtues of Florence, so I won't even make an attempt except to say that it does deserve another visit. Our itinerary only allowed for one day of sightseeing there though it was our base of operations for three days. I have no idea how insane the crowds must be in the summer time months, and am in no hurry to find out. Crowds were thick even in the low season of late October.

We also visited Sienna, a fantastic historical rival to the larger Florence, and surrounded by the rolling vineyards of Tuscany. We took advantage of the inexpensive Chianti which flows like water but still managed to trudge 360 steps to the top of the town hall tower for a stunning view of the countryside.

Tuscany managed to meet the sky high expectations created by the endless guide book hyperbole. With so many sights to see in Europe, and having an open-ended tour of duty here, a repeat visit will have to wedged in there somewhere, especially with the election restoring some modicum of goodwill towards the American people.

Yes, I must say, my faith has been restored in democracy and my apathy towards the political process in general has ebbed to a historical low point after reaching an all-time peak in 2004. Even if Obama fails to deliver on most of his promises and the impending financial crisis and military quagmire extinguish this upwelling of hope, at least we have shown that anything is possible in the US of A.

With that being said, old W still has more than two months to really muck things up for his successor. He has already had a direct impact on the careers of four former ASW colleagues. The military operation conducted within Syria's borders caused a slight backlash leading to the closure of the Damascus Community School. Two couple that I had worked with here in Poland were told they had 48 hours to pack their bags and get out of the country. I guess a six month paid vacation is not so bad but now they have to go back to one of the international job fairs and go through the cattle call once again.

Congrats to Danielle and Dave in Ecuador! They have decided to extend their contract for another year of adventure on the middle of the globe. And it sounds like Dave is studying to become a teacher too. It's a good life. Thanks for reading! Happy Independence Day to all my Polish readers and to all those stateside, thank a veteran. Do widzenia . . .

Italia!

2008-11-07T19:00:00.005+01:00

Haven't had time to post in a couple weeks. Sorry about that. But enjoy some footage from fall break! Tuscany exceeded all my expectations. Will share more thoughts on that later.

Do widzenia,

Mark

Making history in Albania . . .

2008-10-23T10:08:00.007+02:00

Last year around this time, the Chronicle reported from frigid Ukraine after taking the ASW middle school cross country team to the capital, Kiev. As we strive to push the touristic envelope by squiring you, the reader, to the deepest, darkest, least visited corners of Europe as well as the more popular destinations, the Kielbasa sports editor was sent to Tirana, Albania a couple weeks ago.

"Why Tirana?" you may be asking, as well as a few parents concerned about their child's safety. Well, think of CEESA (the Central Eastern European Schools Association) as a sports league, in the same vein as major league baseball except without the steroids and exorbitant payrolls. Schools in Warsaw, Moscow, Prague, Budapest, Istanbul and Bucharest have outstanding facilities for hosting the team sports, i.e. soccer, basketball, volleyball, and softball. These are the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox of international schools, which operate on healthy budgets but charge twelve dollars for a beer and a hot dog. Oh wait, that's still baseball.

International schools in cities such as Vilnius, Tallin, Riga, Zagreb, and Belgrade are the small market teams, the Minnesota Twins, Milwaukee Brewers, and Kansas City Royals if you will. They lack the facilities to host the major tournaments so they take turns hosting smaller events such as tennis, Math Counts, Knowledge Bowl and Speech and Debate. Oh yeah, and cross country too. It doesn't take much to host a cross country meet except a big park, some road construction cones, and a few volunteers.

So consider a school like Tirana International to be the Nashville Sounds, a AAA affiliate of MLB. They want to be invited to the major leagues but have to prove themselves worthy by hosting an event. Which is why the Chronicle sports department was witness to the first ever cross country race in Albania's history:

One of the more fascinating, albeit tragic, reminders of Albania's isolationist past are the bunkers that dot the landscape from the coastal beaches to the rugged mountain terrain. Everywhere you look, there are small, cylindrical concrete shelters large enough for only one man. Albania's Stalinist dictator, Enver Hoxha, commissioned the construction of 600,000 refuges, enough for 25% of the country's population. He feared invasion not only from the West, but from his ally, the Soviet Union as well. Check out some of the beachside huts of Albania:

Frogs pick up the Czech and another Capital's Cup

2008-10-19T19:10:00.010+02:00

Some of you may or may not know that one of my hobbies is playing old man rugby with the Warsaw Frogs. I really shouldn't characterize this brand of the English sport with such a condescending denomination since being 34 makes me one of the club's elder statesmen. Truth be told, there are a large number of quality players from around the world making up the squad. They just happen to have landed in Poland's capital for a variety of reasons, be it love of country, a good woman, or money.

One could go as far as saying that the Frogs are a mainstay of the social scene for ex-pats in Warsaw. There are around sixty guys involved in various team functions, be it actual matches or just hoisting the occasional pint while wearing team gear. The annual Warsaw Tens tournament in May is attended by more than a dozen teams from around Europe and as far away as Tahiti and the United States. But our season culminates in the fall at the Capital's Cup, hosted by either Moscow, Vienna, Warsaw, Budapest, or this year's team, the Prague Barbarians.

Since all touring sides live by the credo: "What goes on tour, stays on tour.", I will provide only a partial glimpse into the weekend. Defending the title with ease (bulletin board material for the archrival Moscow Dragons)after only allowing one try to be scored against us in five matches, the Frogs hoisted their third consecutive cup. Amazingly enough, this ugly mug remained unscathed by the usual contusions beneath my eyes. My only badge of honor this year was a nasty spike-shaped bruise upon my derriere.

The real fun began after the actual playing of the matches. Every year the team braintrust chooses a different theme for the trip. This year's was a parody of the world famous French bicycle race. But instead of conquering the Alps and Pyrenees, the "riders" in the 2008 Le Tour De Frogs spilled into the streets of Prague clad in various shades of spandex and brandishing a thirst for adventure rather than pain and agony.

For those unfamiliar with the sport, the physiques required to play rugby vary from the dainty, waif-like backs to the robust members of the scrum who never miss a meal. Hilarity ensued when the whole traveling party of twenty four guys were squeezing into outfits which left little to the imagination.

The rest of the weekend is contained within the classified files at the Chronicle, only to be revealed upon court order.

What the hell is going on over there?

2008-10-15T18:01:00.007+02:00

It's clips like this of angry mobs that make me very scared! Are there really that many angry mobs back in the U.S.? Alright, I realize that he's not exactly speaking to a gathering of MENSA but it really makes me feel warm and cozy to be far far away from people like this:

My apologies for not posting in a couple weeks, but with the three day weekend in Prague, defending the Warsaw Frogs' title as the best ex-pat rugby team in Central / Eastern Europe and then the four day junket to bizarrely picturesque Tirana, Albania for the CEESA cross country meet, I have been kind of spent.
You can look for a more extensive update in the next few days as things return to normal around here. For now, I will just give you a couple teaser pics from Prague and Albania. See you in a little bit . . . oh, and head on over to Danielle's Living the Good Life blog for some great pics of mountain biking in the Andes. Pretty damn cool stuff.

ALBANIA! The country's motto: It's really not as bad as you'd think!

Weekend in the mountains . . .

2008-10-01T12:48:00.004+02:00

Last weekend, the Chronicle staff decided to get out of town and head for the hills, errr, I mean mountains. "Poland has mountains? I did not know that." Yes, dear readers, this country does contain some topographical features but unfortunately it is necessary to take a six hour train ride to see them. So charge up your iPod, buy the latest issue of the Economist, and take along a beautiful blonde traveling companion. We are headed to Zakopane (zah-ko-PAH-nee).

When you talk about this famous mountain resort town, the first thing that comes to mind for me is the legendary Oscypek. This is a cheese made out of salted sheep's milk and sold only in the Tatra Mountains of Poland. The process in making this highly-addictive dairy product sounds relatively simple. You grab the nearest sheep,whisper sweet nothings in its ear, milk it, make some cottage cheese, throw it in a fancy little wooden form for a night or two, and finally smoke it in a hut for a couple weeks. Okay, maybe it's not so simple but the result is absolutely mouth-watering and worth all the effort.

As you walk through the city, there are carts everywhere selling Oscypek. It costs about forty cents for a golf ball sized chunk. Double that price if you want it cooked over an open flame and served just above the melting point. Excuse me, I need to wipe the drool off my keyboard.

After devouring about twenty pieces of smoked cheese, it was out to dinner for some lamb smothered in more cheese. It felt like Thanksgiving in September as we waddled back up the street to our hotel. Fate had also smiled on us upon checking in. We were informed that a tour group had take over the whole 2nd floor so we were upgraded to a suite.

I had to chuckle upon learning that our fellow guests were all retirees from upstate New York. One couple was even decked out head to toe in Buffalo Bills gear on Sunday morning. Hey, whatever works for ya I guess, since the Bills are 4-0 so far this season.

The next morning we spent a couple hours waiting in line for the gondola to take us up to the top of the 6,500 ft Kasprowy Wierch. I think we could've climbed to the top in that amount of time, but there was so much snow near the summit, some skiers were getting lots of early season turns.

After coming down from the peak, we had just enough time to quaff a couple pints, and of course more cheese, before jumping back on the rails. It had been a beautiful but quick weekend getaway . . . Next week, we will report from Prague, site of this weekend's Capital's Cup Rugby tournament. Do widzenia!

Don't piss off Letterman . . .

2008-09-25T22:52:00.001+02:00

Thanks to my Mom for giving me heads up on this one. Some really funny stuff from Dave last night. The guy was on fire! Enjoy . . .

T.V. Guide

2008-09-19T18:04:00.005+02:00

I've been surviving without television for quite some time now. Despite being one of those kids who lived for the Thursday night lineup on NBC (Cosby Show, Different World, Cheers, and the very underrated Night Court), I was able to wean myself off the tube during my years spent in Boise. This stemmed more from my inability to afford basic cable on a teacher's salary than from some conscious decision to put down the remote and participate in life. Okay, I did spring for high-speed internet and spend an alarming amount of time clicking the mouse, so to speak.

Viewing choices here in Poland are limited for the linguistically challenged. You can catch American movies on every night, but must train your ear to ignore the monotone recitation of the dreaded "lektor": the deep-voiced Pole who is doing his best impersonation of James Earle Jones. Unlike countries in western Europe, where they hire individual artists for overdubbing each actor's lines, there are identical utterances heard for each role.

However, there is one thing I enjoy about Polish television. They have no qualms about showing liberal amounts of skin, no matter what time of day. Last night, for example, I was treated to at least a full two minutes of Demi Moore's silicon enhanced torso (cleaning it up for the younger readers)in a scene from her 1996 smash hit about exotic dancing with Burt Reynolds. And of course, dropping the dreaded "F-bomb" during prime time is certainly no big f'ing deal. It's akin to me appearing on Sesame Street and saying "K*#@a!", the mother of all Polish swear words. In deference to my Polish readers, I will refrain from such profanity in future postings.

Yes, you will never see a Nipplegate scandal here in Poland. As Luiza says, there are some "pretty strange American rules" about television. "Not German, not British, not Polish, ONLY American rules." I think this probably pertains to the rest of Europe too.

Two programs that I have thoroughly enjoyed recently, despite the language barrier, are "Mam Talent" (you have talent) and "You Can Dance". Yes, I realize that these are blatant rip-offs of shows produced in both England and the U.S., but they are infinitely more entertaining. Like their predecessors, both of these shows rely on the delusional for comic relief. We all derive some twisted pleasure out of seeing somebody make a fool out of themselves and then become enraged because they believe the judges just can't see how really gifted they are. Only mom and dad, or some incredibly desperate life partner still believes in them.

Here are a couple clips from Mam Talent. The first is of my dark horse candidate for bringing home the title, Sssssnake. Pay attention to the Gene Simmons inspired tongue-flicking. He made it through to the next round. All he needs to do to push him over the top is swallow a live field mouse on stage. It would be Game Over for all the other contestants. Ssssnake, if you're a reader of the Chronicle, I am a big fan! Oooops, no more youtube clip, but you can find the vid HERE.

Of course, there was the obligatory little girl with the big voice act. These always make the judges cry. She really is cute, but I don't think she holds a candle to Britney Spears on Star Search:

As for "You Can Dance", here is my dark horse contestant, Justyna. The judges loved her, ahem, "spunk", so much that they kept a running dialogue with her for five minutes. I think these two guys have been hanging out at the Bulgarian Embassy in downtown Warsaw.

But the man to beat is Jakub, who made the judges cry. He's gotta shave the awful peach fuzz beard if he wants to win. It's as bad as my attempts at facial hair. Okay, almost. Have a good weekend!

Deleted Scenes . . .

2008-09-16T12:59:00.005+02:00

Sitting home sick today. If there's one thing about Polish docs, it's that they always err on the side of caution and usually recommend AT LEAST 3 days off, no matter what your ailment. I hope this is the one and only day I need for the antibiotics to destroy these little sinus infection bugs.

Congrats to my cousin Chad who got married last weekend. Here's a pic of all the cousins at the wedding. Click on it for a closer look. They had a photo booth which certainly allowed for some great candids. Looks like everybody is having a great time. Wish I could've been there!

I rescued a few short clips and pics from my camera and decided to throw them together in a short video. It's just a little window into the last couple months. Summer with the family, beach rugby, school field trip, and the George Clinton concert. Don't get too dizzy during the bicycling portion . . . I did. Or maybe it's just my stuffed up sinuses.

So much inspiration, yet so little perspiration.

2008-09-10T20:09:00.004+02:00

My literary fire has been more of a weakly glowing ember lately. It could be that as the weather gets colder, and I actually have to get up and go to work in the morning, the energy reserved for conjuring up slide shows and penning some random whimsical thoughts just isn't available. Maybe a nice picture of my childhood heroes Ponch and John will help. It could be just random enough to trigger some semblance of creative thought.

On a side note, to all my readers in Canyon County, Idaho, (that all 2 of you!), please remember to get out and vote in November. I hope that when I return to Idaho, the state will have faded from blazing red to a more pleasant shade of light blue. I know it will never be New Hampshire, after all this is the state that elected Larry Craig and Bill Sali. However, I was happy to hear that my good friend and mentor, Mike Warwick, is running for State Representative. He doesn't think he stands a chance but knowing how many young minds he has influenced over the last 20 years, I disagree. You can check out his site here.

The ASW middle school cross country season is under way with yours truly at the helm. Not sure that my flabby carcass deserves to be coaching such a fine bunch of youngsters. I don't exactly look svelte after inhaling paella and drowning in sangria all summer. The damage was evident on Tuesday as I lost a 3K race to a couple kids on my team. To make matters worse, one of them was a sixth grader! I could have easily kept this a secret from you, dear readers, but I feel by publicizing my defeat, I just might turn things around by Christmas. Otherwise, I won't be needing that pillow to play Santa this year. Keep me in your prayers, and also pray that Alaska gets a $30 billion natural gas pipeline. Amen! (please watch this, it's unbelievable!) This lady could be one missed heartbeat away from being President.

Why isn't anybody worried?

2008-09-01T11:33:00.003+02:00

Greetings from the front lines of the new cold war. Yes, it looks like we are headed for another chilly relationship with our old friends to the East. Our former friend Vlad is none too happy that Georgie has decided to install some missiles here in Poland. And our fine feathered friend, Lech "The Duck" Kaczynski has been thumbing his nose at Putin every chance he gets. He even took a trip to Georgia to show support for the "victims of Russian aggression". Check out this CNN clip if you are confused:

Amid all these charges and counter-charges, nobody has bothered to suggest I flee Poland ahead of the impending invasion of the Red Army. Actually, I suppose it can't be called that anymore since the Russian flag bears no resemblance to the crimson banner of the Soviets. Too many colors on the current flag to assign a name like that. It's still interesting that not even my mom has called to voice her concern over a possible nuclear strike.

The Kielbasa is a bit confused as to why GW would want to go through all this trouble pissing off the Russians for the purpose of protecting Europe from the Iranians. This was agreed to before the devil went down to Georgia. Sorry, had to reference Charlie Daniels, since I'm sure that there are those from the American Deep South that fear for the safety of Atlanta's citizenry.

Dear readers, you can take comfort in the fact that there are no trips to Moscow planned for this school year. My two coaching assignments require travel to Albania and Hungary. Last time I checked, we were still on good terms with both countries. But then again, you never know what kind of reckless endangerment is planned for the last 4 months of this Presidency. Look for our naval fleet to set sail for the shores of the Balkan Peninsula anytime soon. Sorry to cut this short, I have to go find my nearest bomb shelter. Thanks for reading!

P.S. Maybe it's time for Sly Stallone to begin production on Rocky 7 . . . it worked before.

Summertime wrap-up . . .

2008-08-20T17:26:00.008+02:00

Now that the Kielbasa is finished with its summertime hiatus--but I actually posted a few times!--I just want to lean back in the broken office chair and, in the immortal words of "The Boss", Bruce Springsteen:

"Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture
a little of the glory of, well time slips away
and leaves you with nothing mister but
boring stories of glory days."

Yes, I'm nostalgic for summer already, as educators all over the world are dragged kicking and screaming back to their classrooms. Well, those of us in the northern hemisphere, anyway. My apologies to those reading in Ecuador and Peru. I'm feeling the same pain you felt a few weeks ago.

The last 5 days in Spain were spent basking on the scorching white sands of coastal Valencia. Luiza and I did our best impersonations of your average Spanish slacker. Roll out of bed around 10, breakfast, back to bed, beach for 4 hours, taverna for cocktails, back to the hotel for the cost-cutting dinner of jamon, bread, olives and Sangria, then an evening wandering the city. It was a fitting end to 5 weeks in this gorgeous country. Here are a few pictures. Que bonita!

From there, it was a gauntlet run through airports, including a dead sprint across Heathrow,complete with an O.J. Simpson Hertz commercial juke move around a loud-mouth female liquor rep from Chicago. I only know this because she ended up on the same flight as me and proceeded to give me an earful when she arrived at the gate while I was being probed by the metal detector wand. If your out there somewhere lady, I'm not sorry for dropping some R-rated language as my sweat-drenched frame flew by. And while we're on the subject of airports, why is it that guy driving the huge cart usually flanked by a platoon of geriatrics won't give a guy with only 40 minutes between connections a ride to his gate? I ran by a couple of them that barely looked up from their Daily Telegraph, let alone asked me if I needed a faster mode of transport.

After 22 hours of travel, I reached the "Minnesota nice" confines of Lindbergh terminal (MSP) around midnight. Due to my scholarly pursuits in Madrid this summer, I was only afforded eight total days with the family. This included my cousin Mickey's graduation party where I was able to see a plethora of relatives in one location. It was like the Target Greatland of family visits (one stop shopping).

Just once, I'd like to schedule a family reunion in northern Minnesota where we all dress up in matching t-shirts and take a big group picture. And since when do people have weddings outside the summer months? I'm missing three cousins tying the knot in the next 6 months. No, the three of them aren't marrying each other. We're from Minnesota not Mississippi.

The remainder of the week included school shopping with Mom and Dad (as a teacher, you're never to old to have Mom take you shopping!), dinner at Grandma's house, an ill-fated fishing trip with my father (some nautical faux pas are better kept a secret, right Dad?), golf with my two brothers, and water-skiing at the cabin. We even found time to get everybody to smile for a family picture (no matching T's though).

I'm looking forward to the summer of 2010, when I will have finally concluded my schooling the real purpose for summer is realized. Eight days was not nearly enough time to hang out with the family and get all my visiting in, so some day I will take the better part of eight weeks to hang out in Minnesota and spend my days playing with my niece and nephew and shoveling goose crap off the beach at my brother's cabin. It's the simple things in life, ya know?

Back to work . . .

2008-08-12T15:22:00.003+02:00

I just flew in to Warsaw yesterday and boy are my arms tired. All schlocky humor aside, it's my whole body that's tired. When you add that third flight to get back, I think it has a compounding effect on your level of jet lag. Usually it's a long flight into Chicago and then a short hop over to Minneapolis. Because of the time spent in Spain this summer, I needed to go from Madrid to London to Chicago to Minneapolis, and Minneapolis to Chicago to Frankfurt to Warsaw on the way back. Global aviation is the epitome of efficiency. My head is about to hit the keyboard right now but I look forward to the relief I will receive in a half hour.

The TBL (Teacher Basketball League) kicks off its season today. Every Tuesday, the manly men of AS-dub get together to recapture their youth by laying more bricks than Malbork Castle. They huff and puff their way up and down the court for an hour or so before convening at a local establishment for a few earned pints. I just hope none of the new guys on staff are expecting a recreation of White Men Can't Jump. If the TBL was a movie, it would be called Old Guys Can't Breathe. But at least we don't have problems with the IRS like Wesley Snipes.

Batman

2008-08-07T01:14:00.003+02:00

Last night, as I entered the blissful state known as REM sleep, I was abruptly awakened to the sound of my mother shrieking . . . "Mark! Get in here! There's a bat! The bat is here!" Before you can say, "Holy nocturnal flying mammal Batman!", I leaped out of bed and donned my sturdiest fang-proof hooded sweatshirt.

As I stealthfully crept down the hallway, I was met by my father, who had went outside for a breath of fresh smoke, errr, I mean, air, to help him get too sleep. He too had heard my mother's distressed call for help and had armed himself with a weapon that has proved to be the downfall of many a bat . . . the badminton racket. Dad, after assessing the situation, incorrectly assumed that I wanted to be the hero and handed me the racket.

Having preached to my students about the ecological importance of all creatures great and small, I implored the man of the house to open up all the doors and let the bat enter the way it came in. After all, why should we be the death knell for an animal known to consume thousands of mosquitoes each night? We need all the help we can get up here in northern Minnesota.

I had no time to convince him of this poor little guy's right to leave our abode alive, and my mother was growing more panicky by the moment. I opened up the door to her bedroom and saw this human-shaped lump quivering underneath the covers as Myotis lucifugus soared above head, probably as afraid as she was.

Seeing an opening he immediately veered toward me and out into the hallway. After a few half-hearted swipes with the racket, he must have sensed danger. Instead of latching onto my face and gnawing a hole in my cheek, he made a beeline for the basement. My father, chuckling the whole time, shouted directions like Marlin Perkins telling Jim how to wrestle a dangerous anaconda on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom.

Cautiously tiptoeing down the stairs, I spied my prey lying on the carpet. As soon as I took that last step, he flew directly at me and with a few furious swings of the racket, it was over. With mixed emotion, I collected the brown furry corpse in a towel and deposited him outside. The house was safe and all could rest easy. It took me awhile to fall back asleep after my adrenaline induced "fight or flight" instinct kicked in. And I still felt a little sympathy for the bat.

Ed. note: My father wants to let everybody know that I was just as scared as everybody else.

Where has the summer gone . . .?

2008-07-22T11:54:00.009+02:00

My time in Madrid is coming to a close. This is the last week for the graduate program in international education. I've been really fortunate to meet some great people from all over the world, not only in my class but from the other programs as well. It's really an eye opener to hear about the conditions in different countries and schools from Asia to South America.

In my cohort alone, there are teachers from Hong Kong, Tokyo, Hawaii, Cyprus, Uzbekistan, Morocco, and Barcelona. Nine teachers who are all on the path toward achieving the same goal, but coming from vastly different worlds. It is also female dominated as there is only one other male among the 9 students. This makes for a different atmosphere when we go for tapas and drinks after a long day of study. I'm usually the lone male since the other guy in the cohort is a self-professed workaholic. I take a more relaxed approach to learning as I try to get my academic goals accomplished while soaking up the culture and energy of Madrid.

Luiza has joined me for my last 2 weeks in this sun-drenched country. While I'm toiling away in the classroom, she heads to the public pool a couple metro stops away from the apartment I'm renting from a teacher at the American School of Madrid. When I haven't been writing papers or reflecting on what I've learned in class that day, we've taken in the sites in the city and the surrounding countryside.

Highlights so far have included a rather gruesome bull fight. You never get an "appreciation" for how barbaric the sport can be by watching some video clip on the Travel Channel or seeing some picture in a guidebook accompanied by a breathlessly romantic capsule describing the pageantry and elegance of the toreador as he skillfully dispatches his quarry. What they fail to show is that there is not just one but a whole platoon of bullfighters working on the unenviable task of disorienting and slaughtering these powerful beasts.

I will never be mistaken for an animal rights activist as I devour a juicy steak or reel in a tasty walleye. But I must say I felt pretty sorry for the bull as he was repeatedly stabbed between the shoulders by razor-barbed sticks. But the real gore is at the conclusion of the fight when the toreador plunges a three-foot long sword into the bull's back. It might require more than one bloodletting to bring the fight to an end. At this stage, the crowd was eerily silent. I think the bullfight we attended must have been predominantly tourists. To make a long story short, bull keels over and dies, carcass hooked up to a team of horses and then dragged out of the arena. Bring on the next bull . . .

The second weekend I was here, the girls and I decided to attend the Pride Parade. Yes, the Gay Pride Parade. Everybody was letting there freak flag fly, so to speak, as we saw everything from drag queens walking on impossibly tall heels to a convoy of mobile dance floors moving up Gran Via, the main avenue of Madrid. I would have to say that the truck that elicited the most hoots and hollers belonged to the "bears". This would be a tribe of gay men know for both their size and thick coat of fur.

Well, this is all for now. I know that this entry has been sitting here waiting to be published and one of my more ardent readers has been requesting some new material, so here you go Auntie Lori! More to come soon . . . sorry for the delay, but hey, it is still summer after all.

This ain't no Slim Goodbody!

2008-07-11T12:29:00.003+02:00

A couple nights ago, some of my fellow students and I attended an exhibition entitled, "Bodies". You may have read about this in your local newspaper or saw it featured on various news programs. It has traveled to cities around the world, receiving rave reviews where ever it has appeared.

The exhibit features actual corpses displayed in various states. I won't attempt to provide any description here since words fail to adequately depict the macabre nature of this anatomical extravaganza. Although most consider it gruesome to pose dead bodies simply for the entertainment of the living masses, as a teacher, I can see the educational potential.

The real question is where these cadavers came from. There are two competing exhibitions on the world-wide museum circuit and unfortunately, I went to the one that is allegedly display bodies harvested from Chinese prisons. I didn't find this out until after I went, but wonder if it would have stopped me from satisfying my curiosity by attending the event.

You can find out more by viewing this two part Youtube vid from the ABC news program, 20/20. This may not be suitable for those with sensitive stomachs. You have been warned.

Back to school . . .

2008-07-06T20:31:00.003+02:00

When I thought about going back to school to receive my master's degree in education, I envisioned many a weekend spent corresponding with some faceless professor on the other side of the world about how to properly cite a magazine article with three authors in proper APA form. I was also sure that this would be a long, drawn-out process involving the analysis of didactic research intended to cause poignant self-reflection on how I could improve my pedagogy (one of my favorite educratic buzz words). What? Oh, sorry. It seems that I'm allowing the writing style required in graduate school to seep into my recreational journalism. I once again apologize for being so pedantic but I'm trying to be a bit more serious about my academics this time around.

Luckily for me, my conception of what graduate school would be like has been grossly exaggerated. As I write this, I am sitting on a terrace in sunny Madrid listening to the sounds rise up from the street below, and given how the program is structured, did not have to contend with any homework over the weekend. Life is good.
For the rest of July, I will be living in the Spanish capital, trying to knock off the rust caused by years of academic inactivity. Yes, I know that spending the summer months exploring the Lewis and Clark trail, wrestling a salmon, or touring Yellowstone are some creative ways in which I've earned continuing education credits in the past, but that experience pales in comparison to the rigor of finishing four classes in as many weeks.

The first week of class went off without too much difficulty. Well, I suppose I should mention that my instructor, a vibrant, spry man in his 70's, had a stroke on the fourth day and could not return to complete the instruction. I'm not a physician but I would guess strokes aren't treated like a vasectomy where you can slap a bag of frozen peas on it and the swelling subsides. We are all thankful that he benefited from the expertise of a gifted neurologist and is on the road to recovery. It certainly made for a memorable first week.

As for the city itself, I could certainly see myself taking a position at the American School of Madrid for a few years. The culture here is unlike any other place I've experienced in Europe. The two week beach holiday in southern Spain last summer did not really give me a full appreciation for the Spanish way of life. Being able to study in such a cosmopolitan city is truly fortuitous.

My three years of Spanish in high school is also really paying off. I was able to insult a shopkeeper in his native tongue after he tried to rip me off by not giving me back my correct change. After only a week, I think I have just as many complete Spanish sentences as Polish phrases in my linguistic arsenal. Mr. Hobbs would be proud of me. Luiza is probably not since I did pledge some time devoted to Polish this summer.

I have a couple more blog entries worth of material from this first week. But for now, it's time to go punish my gastrointestinal system with some more spicy food. Viva España! Adios! And of course, do widzenia and dziękuję to my Polish readers!

Back from the Baltics . . .

2008-06-27T17:27:00.005+02:00

I've returned from a couple weeks of traveling around Eastern Europe with my friends Kyle, from Boise, and Joe, from way back in the kindergarten days at St. Leo's elementary. I had a wonderful time shirking the inevitable responsibilities that will come along with my enrollment in a graduate program this summer but am looking forward to my arrival in Madrid tomorrow. Until the Chronicle establishes communication from there, we hope you enjoy this video slideshow of our Baltic journey . . .

Father's Day . . .

2008-06-14T16:04:00.003+02:00

Tomorrow is Father's Day, and frankly, I can't remember the last time my dad and I were together on this occasion. This would not sit well with most, and I do feel regret that I can't be sitting with Dad in a boat on some serene Minnesota lake enjoying the porketta sandwiches my mother so lovingly prepared. In fact, as I write this, my two brothers, Paul and Dave, are out fishing with him and, I hope, reeling in a mess of walleye to be stored in the freezer until I arrive in August.

As anybody who lives far away from home can attest, you have to remind yourself that your parents want you to spread your wings and build a life for yourself. If that wasn't the case, I would be living in a basement apartment back in Hibbing with my extensive Stars Wars action-figure collection. I'm also certain that I wouldn't enjoy the relationship I have now with my folks. It's ironic that the farther I've moved away, the closer we've become.

The greatest joy I've felt since moving here was the opportunity shepherd my parents and Dave around Poland for almost three weeks and get them safely back to the states. I had this tremendous sense of pride that I was able to do this for two people who have given me so much throughout life. It was almost like that "Look at me, Dad!" feeling you get when you learn how to ride a bike, catch a pop fly, or yes, reel in your first fish. I could tell that they knew I was going to be alright over here after all.

On Father's Day tomorrow, don't forget to tell your Dad what he means to you. Too often we spend so much time seeking his approval that we forget to tell him how proud we are of the things that he has done. But more importantly, tell him how much you value him as a person, role model, and a friend. I love you Dad.

2008-06-06T15:08:00.002+02:00

In Europe, they take their "futbol" seriously. To my American readers, you may know this by another name, soccer. Whatever the name, it still bores me to death and I believe the only reason it enjoys such immense world-wide popularity is because you don't need much equipment to play. I'm sure they are still making soccer balls out of pig bladders in some parts of the world.

This weekend, the Eurocup 2008 tournament to determine European soccer supremacy kicks off in Vienna. Poland has qualified and will face Germany as their first round opponent on Sunday. You don't need the History channel to understand the precarious relationship between these two countries. Poles are still slightly bitter about that whole Nazi invasion / Holocaust thing. And the Germans try to distance themselves as much as possible from this tragic chapter in its country's history and are sensitive when it comes up in casual conversation.

So you can imagine the controversy generated by the cover of the popular Polish tabloids, Super Express and Fakt, a few days ago. They brutally depict Polish coach
Leo Beenhakker beheading the German captain wearing a Prussian helmet. On the other cover, he hoists the heads of the captain and coach as blood drips from his gruesome trophies. So much for sensitivity in journalism.

The funny thing is that Beenhakker is Dutch. In my limited experiences with the Dutch, I have found them to be a fun-loving people who would never behead somebody. Beenhakker apologized to the German people for an "awful thing done by weird and dirty and sick people." Well stated Coach. Should be a good match, but Poland is the overwhelming underdog in this one since they have never defeated the Germans in international play.

Have a good weekend!

The fine art of wearing a Speedo.

2008-06-03T10:57:00.006+02:00

With the arrival of swimsuit season, we at the Chronicle want to post some friendly advice when it comes to choosing men's beachwear. Here are some rules to follow when deciding whether or not to squeeze into that skimpy Speedo:

Don't do it if . . .

1. You are not a competitive swimmer.
2. You can't see your feet.
3. When you're significant other runs her fingers through your hair, she's rubbing your back.

The above rules do not apply if you meet any of the following criteria:

1. You are German. (but you must be on holiday in Croatia)*

2. You are Polish (but you have to be living in Poland)*

3. You are an American wearing skis.
(CAUTION: This video is NOT to be viewed by small children!)

Thanks to my friend Ethan back in Boise for inspiring this blog entry. He breaks all the rules when it comes to pulling off the pink banana hammock. I'm so glad that he wasn't wearing this when we skied Brundage back in January.

*I took the photo of the German back in 2005. The other magnificent specimen was captured on film at Powsin Park a few days ago when we took the kids there for a field trip. I was so proud of them for not gawking like their teacher did.

The best things about growing up.

2008-05-28T10:52:00.002+02:00

Puberty. The word strikes fear into every middle school student's heart. And those of us who have lived through this adolescent phenomenon can testify to the horror of these "changes" they talk about in health class. Yes, it's that time again for me. No, I'm not actually going through a second bout of pubescence, but as a health teacher, I get to discuss it in great detail each trimester. Recently, I asked my students to list their Top Ten Great Things About Growing Up. Here are some amusing responses:

1. Freedom from strict rules.
2. Driving. (They've obviously never sat in a Warsaw traffic jam.)
3. No school!
4. Go pubs/clubs to drink. (Already thinking about this at age 11? Scary!)
5. Getting to go to R-rated movies.
6. Going to the mall by yourself.
7. Buying your own choice of pets.
8. Getting a fun job. (My kids think at least 60% of people love their job.)
9. Having a better body shape / bigger and more muscles. (Every adult has muscles!)
10. Getting a tattoo. (Can't wait to get that Euro symbol on my bicep.)

"Shall we see the sea?" she said sheepishly.

2008-05-27T12:59:00.006+02:00

Back from a wonderful tour of the Polish seaside towns of Gdansk and Sopot. Gdansk comes in a close second to Krakow as coolest city in Poland. It holds a special significance in Polish history as being the birthplace of the Solidarity labor union, which was the first of its kind behind the Iron Curtain. I've heard they have an excellent museum dedicated to "Solidarnosc'" and how it led to the end of Communism in Eastern Europe, but I opted out of this visit in deference to moja dziwczyna, Luiza. It would've been torture for her to submit to a Polish history lesson on such a beautiful weekend. In her words, "I don't need to spend such time walking around with huge pictures of Lech Walesa staring at me." Point taken : ) I really have no frame of reference for comparison. Maybe it would be like me visiting Samuel Gompers Park in Chicago or the Teamsters Freight Transportation Museum. I don't really think the Teamsters did much to alter the course of world events, however.

Sopot, the quaint city with white sand beaches and no shipyard was where we chose to stay for the four day holiday weekend. It is also home of Molo, the largest wooden pier in Europe. Every city is always trying to claim something as the biggest, longest, highest, etc. In fact, there is a great website dedicated to roadside attractions in the U.S. called The Gallery of Huge Beings. For some reason, my home state of Minnesota is contains more than its fair share of fiberglass statues.

It was a great opportunity to unwind before making the final push toward summer. We did a whole helluva lot of nothing productive, one could say. It was all one continuous stretch of walking, talking, sitting, people watching, basking, eating, and drinking.

Oh, I did get to watch the Sopot 7's rugby tournament and also invented a new game called "Polish or not Polish". It's funny to hear Luiza describe for me the reasons she thinks somebody looks "typical Polish" while I explain the importance of footwear and dental health on determining country of origin.

Before I go, I would like to plug a blog I've been reading called The Polandian. This contains some really insightful commentary on Polish culture and also links to obsure youtube vids that have some relevance to my adopted homeland. Maybe I shouldn't tell you about it so I am free to propagate some its literary material as my own. If Big Dan Bergan and Penny Tingstad are reading this . . . I'm only kidding! Plagiarism is a serious crime kids.

Here's a great clip of heavy metal legends Iron Maiden playing a Polish wedding back in 1984. Thanks to the guys (and gals?) at Polandian:

The mortgage crisis and the price of a piwo.

2008-05-21T10:28:00.005+02:00

Let's jump in the Way Back Machine and set the dial to August of 2006. A wide-eyed American is in his first month of employment at AS-Dub and life is good. The benefits of working overseas are quickly realized due in no small part to a tax-free income in dollars, rent paid by the school, and a relatively cheap cost of living when compared to life back in the US of A.

"Way back then" you could buy 3.1 zlotys (Polish currency) for $1.00 and a pint of beer at one of those clubs with no-necked bouncers and a velvet rope cost around 10 zloty (about $3.20). It felt good to know that every fine restaurant and swanky bar in Warsaw was accessible to the common man. Well, maybe not to the common man, but to the common foreigner.

My rental allowance also covered my monthly living expenses (about $900). I even had a little bit left over to pay my electric bill. Not one penny of my apartment cost came out of my pocket. *sigh* I was living the high life.

I know what you're thinking. Next, he's going to give some pitiful sob story about the crash of the dollar due to the mortgage crisis and how life is sooooo tough now. WRONG! On the contrary, I am still very much in love with life over here, thank you very much. I am dating an amazing woman, fulfilling my travel dreams, and working at a world-class school.

The point of this financial analysis is to give you some perspective of how fortunes rise and fall given the fate of the U.S. economy. You read the Kielbasa because I hope you find it interesting, right? The correlation between Joe Blow trying to afford a $400,000 4 bedroom house on a $50,000 salary and the skyrocketing price of beer in Poland is nothing if not fascinating.

So fast forward to present-day Warsaw. Today, the currency is trading at 2.17 zloty for $1.00. The same beer is costing around 15 zloty ($6.90) due to Warsaw's deluded vision of being on par with other European Union capitals. This represents an astonishing 215% increase in 18 months. Just typing these numbers makes my pulse quicken and brow sweaty.

If the cost of a pint wasn't tough enough to absorb, I am now paying an additional $344 to supplement what the school gives me for my rent. Alright, it's not so bad since it only averages out to an extra $98 / month since I moved here. Damn . . . I'm usually such an upbeat person but now I wouldn't mind having a Pez dispenser full of Prozac. Okay, on the bright side, there is a place down the street where I can still find a 5 zloty piwo so upon paying my rent every month I can go drown my sorrows while planning my next travel destination.

I listened to an interesting episode of This American Life from NPR that explains the mortgage crisis using stories of ordinary people. Check it out here. By the way, I never thought I would become so addicted to NPR. Just one more thing I have in common with my parents as I grow older. I remember when the only thing we had in common was a last name. ; )

I hope all my stateside readers enjoy the Memorial Day weekend. Take the time to remember the true reason for Monday's holiday. If your here in Polska, enjoy the long four-day break from your daily grind. If you're not of the religious ilk, find out why you have a holiday so you can impress all of your Catholic friends. Na razie!

Hungry and Slow . . .

2008-05-06T16:31:00.005+02:00

The first in what I hope will be a long line of visitors in 2008 arrived last week. KyAn (spelled wrong so nobody can Google her, inside joke) a "she-friend" from way back in the days when I was spending an inordinate amount of time ordering from Pizza Patrol after polishing off another sixer of Old Style. Yes, the Fargo days.

Ahhh, college. The formative years. The chief value in higher education is, as George Edwin Howes said, "It's the only way to learn that it doesn't really matter." That's not to say I didn't learn a lot during my years on the great plains of North Dakota, but most of the knowledge I gained was found outside the lecture hall. Which leads me to another great quotation from that most profound of philosophers, Anonymous. "If all of the students who slept through lectures were laid end to end, they'd all be a lot more comfortable." Anonymous sure was a witty guy. Too bad he also had a hard time staying off the sauce.

While some may long to press rewind on life's VCR (that's what we had in the early 90's, kids) and go back to those days of dorms, dining halls, and debauchery, we at the Chronicle are comfortable in our soon to be mid 30's skin. It's not too bad chasing trains, reclining in Hungarian thermal baths, and swilling wine in the Slovenian countryside. I will readily admit that I'm not so hellbent on sampling the nightlife as much as I used to be. However, I derive a rush of endorphins from just deciphering bus / train time tables in the hopes of arriving at my appointed destination on time. It's not as easy as it sounds, folks. Trust me.

From Warsaw to Vienna to Budapest to Lake Balaton to Slovenia in a week with a 14 hour train ride back to Warsaw (switch trains twice) thrown in just to build character.

Seeing my bitter Croatian friend, Darko, in Vienna was a great beginning to the trip. Why is he bitter, you ask? Because he's Croatian! That's a little dig at him only because he is constantly trumpeting the virtues of his homeland while relentlessly ripping on my grandmother's birthplace. If there is one thing that former Yugoslavs enjoy, it's ethnic strife.

But the real highlight of the trip was the wine tasting at Saksida winery in the Vipava valley near the northern border with Italy. I will let the pictures speak for themselves:

We will be back . . .

2008-05-05T10:12:00.003+02:00

Just a note to tell you, dear readers, that the Chronicle will be back in full force this week. Lots of news to report. Just finished with an epic journey through Hungary and Slovenia. Many pics to come. So hold tight. When I get done wading through my gargantuan pile of laundry which must be subdivided into eight or so European piles that are more easily digestible, I will sit down and compose my next hackjob. : )

Rugby season

2008-04-21T16:11:00.007+02:00

The Warsaw Frogs have entered the meaty part of their schedule. Last weekend, we had the distinct pleasure of traveling to Poland's most picturesque city, Krakow, to face the 2nd team of Juwenia. This past weekend, we played a team from England, Old Brentwoods. The Polish monsoon has provided us with the kind of sloppy conditions that make any Brit feel at home. (click on pic for larger view)

It seems like all of these clubs, from the U.K. in particular have such monikers that deviate from the standard City - Mascot format. This weekend we are hosting Sussex Police (are these guys cops, or what?), Heathfield and Waldron (sounds like an ambulance chasing law firm, or maybe they will represent you if you are the victim of brutality from the Sussex Police), and Barns Green (buy your retirement condo next to the beautiful links of Barns Green!)

It's nice to be the "only game in town" when it comes to hosting teams from the U.K. The attraction of 1 Pound beers and pubs that are open all night is a strong enough lure to stock the Frogs with willing opponents well into the next decade. I just wonder whether I will be able to withstand the next few months . . . maybe I should rethink things and buy a membership at Barns Green.

A monumental day in history.

2008-04-17T08:33:00.007+02:00

There have been many watershed events in the history of technological innovation:

1800 - Volta invents the battery.

1834 - Samuel Morse invents the telegraph.

1854 - John Tyndall demonstrates the principles of fiber optics.

1876 - Alexander Graham Bell patents the telephone.

1916 - Radios tuners invented, that received different stations.

1940 - Peter Goldmark invents modern color television system.

1942 - John Atanasoff and Clifford Berry built the first electronic digital computer.

1947 - Mobile phones first invented. Although cell phones were not sold commercially until 1983, AT&T came up with the idea way back then.

1985 - Windows program invented by Microsoft.

1990 - The World Wide Web/Internet protocol (HTTP) and WWW language (HTML) created by Tim Berners-Lee.

and finally,

April 13th, 2008 - My mom discovers how to send a picture over e-mail.

Thanks to my brother Dave for teaching her!

Maybe this isn't important to you, but being 10,000 miles away from my family is tough. I only get to see them twice a year, but now that Mom has taken this gigantic leap forward in communication, I should be getting many more updates on the grandchildren, Griffin and Lauren. I can't wait until she starts her own YouTube series devoted to her adventures with these two cuties.

The mean streets of Warsaw . . .

2008-04-16T12:44:00.005+02:00

Sometimes I find myself wondering why more Americans don't take the opportunity to work or even just take a trip overseas at some point in their life. In fact, there is a widely published statistic that only 34% of Americans over the age of 18 own a passport.

I know that there are a number of obscure contributing factors at work here. These include, in no particular order:

*Proximity - North America is so huge that it would take a lifetime to see the diverse array of sights within its borders. There are so many different ecological and cultural zones in North America that contain even more variety than continental Europe.

*Cost - With the high cost of airfare, hotels, and the plummeting dollar, international travel is something that few can afford.

*Time - We all know how little vacation time American companies give their employees. Using all of those 2-3 weeks on one trip seems a bit wasteful. Europeans, conversely, receive more vacation time yet are paid less, thus take more time to go on holiday.

*Fear - The following piece appeared in the Chicago Tribune, on April 7th.

POLAND
The U.S. Embassy in Warsaw reported that crime throughout the country is declining but there are places in Warsaw known for criminal activity that are best avoided. Advice from the embassy includes: avoiding large parking lots near closed businesses, especially after 10 p.m. when police say crimes increase substantially; limiting activity in the vicinity of Wilanow Bus Stop; and evading groups of individuals who might approach you.

This was part of a regular World Watch column where various security updates from embassies around the world appear. I don't know why it was picked up by the Chicago Tribune since there aren't many people I know, except for a couple former Chicagoans I work with, who are regular visitors to this site. Should residents of Illinois be aware of this?

I wait for my bus in Wilanow (pronounced vee-LAH-noov) almost everyday. I don't hang out in large parking lots near closed businesses. Does anybody? And how can you have a group of "individuals"? If you are an individual, how can you be part of a group? I always stay away from individuals who have the audacity to form a group.

This alert came about because a couple American kids were mugged near that area. One actually had an iPod stolen. While I harbor sympathy for any victims of petty theft, one has to ask if it was really necessary to issue an official warning from the U.S. Embassy.

I have found Warsaw, and Poland as a whole, to be a place where one doesn't have to worry about walking down the street at night. You actually see woman stroll through parks by themselves long after the sun goes down. So to my visitors arriving in the next few months, please don't cancel those plane tickets. The reports of Warsaw being a haven for organized crime have been greatly exaggerated.

Home is where the heart is. . . or should be.

2008-04-10T11:09:00.002+02:00

April 2nd is the anniversary of Pope John Paul II's death. This is considered a day of reverence in Poland and you can see many candle votives and makeshift memorials to this holiest of men as you walk around Warsaw. There was even a "sighting" of the pontiff in a bonfire on last year's anniversary.

Last spring, I was fortunate enough to travel to the Vatican with my parents and brother, Dave. We went into the basement of St. Peter's Cathedral where all the popes are enshrined in their crypts. Of course, there was a small crowd gathered near PJP's tomb as they each waited their turn to pray their devotions. It really was a moving scene.

John Paul II is now on the fast track to canonization, or sainthood. The Catholic church wants to remove his body from the crypt and display his remains inside the cathedral. However, there are those in Poland who want his heart removed and enshrined in Wawel Cathedral (pictured). This is in Krakow, near Watowice, the Pope's birthplace.

This practice is not without precedence. Famous composer and pianist, Frederic Chopin, has his heart embedded in a column of Holy Cross Church here in Warsaw, while the rest of his body lies in Paris.

You can read a fascinating article about this debate here.

My sympathies to those in Da North Country

2008-04-07T15:23:00.010+02:00

While I bask in the glories of springtime, Mom, Dad, and the rest of the crew in northern Minnesota are digging out from a bona fide blizzard. I'm not talking about a light dusting that will melt in a few days, but rather 24 1/2 inches of fresh, deep powder. The picture to the right was taken in Bemidji, MN yesterday. Unbelievable!

Below is my Dad moving some snow on Sunday afternoon. Little did he know that this would be a futile attempt since they got another foot last night. The second picture was taken the next day. In the picture is our next door neighbor, Joe Gnoza. Notice the depressed look on his face as he comes to grips with the cruel reality that gardening season is at least another 6 weeks away. But I'd like to wish him a belated 70th birthday. Cheer up Joe! Also, a happy 78th birthday to my Aunt Dolores, who is also probably back in Hibbing cursing all this snow.

Warsaw Half-Marathon

2008-04-07T09:26:00.006+02:00

Ahhhh . . . the beauty of standardized testing is to give the teacher, errr, I mean the kids, a time-out from the daily grind. So, while they engage in the tedious process of filling out bubbles with a #2 pencil, I will give you, dear readers, an update.

Last weekend, a couple of friends from work ran the Warsaw half marathon with me. For them, it was their second road race ever, coming on the heels of competing in the Run Warsaw 10K last fall. I applaud them for their chutzpah, running double the distance with virtually no build up to this mileage. This may be due to the fact they seek out advice on running from yours truly. I'm not exactly a fountain of conventional wisdom when it comes to adequate preparation and proper nutrition.

So when the three of us toed the line, I think we embodied one of my favorite running expressions, "off the couch". To do a race "off the couch", means that you have taken the time to put aside the six-pack and bag of chips in order to perform some sick test of endurance with little or no training. I have seen some amazing off the couch performances and, unfortunately, have utilized this training program way too often. That's what happens when you look at endurance athletics as a way of earning "beer credits". The more miles you run, the less you have to worry about looking like you spend a good portion of your life sitting on a barstool.

My two colleagues, Pawel and Pawel, are both P.E. teachers at AS-Dub. Both of them "walk the walk" when it comes to knowing how important exercise is in your daily life. But I'm sure all of us can remember having a gym teacher back in school who was a walking contradiction of everything he preached. I won't name any names, but those of you who attended Hibbing High School know who I'm talking about.

Anyway, the Pawels had a great time, finishing in just a shade over 2 hours. More importantly, they did not cross the finish line saying "I will never do that again!". So it's all going according to plan, he said with a menacing smile. In a few short months, you should be reading about them completing their first marathon . . . off the couch, of course.

Thanks for reading! And answer the poll question!

Thawing out . . .

2008-04-01T17:14:00.005+02:00

After a few minor blizzards, I do believe that spring has finally arrived here in Warsaw. The bike has been dusted off, the beer tents are preparing to open, and there is actually a period of usable daylight after the long workday. This also means that hormonal adolescents are harder to control and a cagey veteran teacher has to employ a strategy of taking the class outside whenever possible.

Last weekend, ahem, I mean the weekend before that, prior to the Kielbasa going on Easter hiatus, required a trip to London and the inaugural participation of the Warsaw Frogs in a rugby 7's tournament on English soil. For those not familiar with rugby, it is usually played with 15 players on each side exchanging bruising hits and chasing an oversize ball when the little guys (these are called backs) quake with fear and kick it the length of the field. 7's is an abbreviated match in which each side has 7 athletes (hence the name "7's"), who are usually a bit more dainty and breakable than the average rugger.

The Frogs, benefiting from the assistance of some London Irish players, rolled through pool play and into the semi-final round, but were jobbed by the refs and settled for 4th place out of 20 teams.

After the tournament, we took in the sights but not before being treated to great cooking from Sean's mom. It was nice to stay in their house down in South London and wake up to the smell of breakfast every morning. Thoughts of my own mom's cooking certainly came to mind as we sat down to enjoy this delicious cuisine. Alas, my two weeks back in Minnesota for the summer will be here before I know it. How time flies when the weather is beautiful.

It's March Madness Baby!

2008-03-20T14:04:00.004+01:00

I do not follow college basketball yet for some reason I have taken it upon myself to run the NCAA tournament "office pool" at my respective school for the last 5 years or so. This involves a fair amount of labor, hunting down people for their entries, and then hunting them down when they forget to predict the final score and / or don't put their name on their paper, much like my 6th graders.

When the dust settles in a couple weeks, and a champion is crowned, I am sure that I will have flushed another few dollars, or in this case, zloty, down the crapper. I just hope that the lucky winner of the pool is gracious enough to buy the tourney administrator a few piwos. The weak dollar is killing me over here, but I will save my analysis of world economies for another day.

Right now, I am looking for anything to pass the days until spring "officially" arrives. The calendar says that today is supposed to hold that title. But looking out my window, it is apparent that we in Polska are still caught in the icy death grip of winter. I think Warsaw has accumulated more snow in the last 3 days than all of February. It's left me in a bit of a funk and one way to shake off the blues is to take a trip.

So I will be shedding a few pounds this weekend, so to speak, in London. Hip, hip, cheerio!

Something to think about.

2008-03-17T12:48:00.002+01:00

"I am not an enthusiast of a young person sitting in front of a computer, watching video clips and pornography while sipping a bottle of beer and voting when he feels like it,"

--Former Prime Minister of Poland, Jaroslaw Kaczynski on e-voting.

Happy St. Paddy's Day . . .

2008-03-17T09:21:00.002+01:00

The weather today in Warsaw reminds me of Ireland. Wet, cold, rainy. Unfortunately, one of my favorite holidays had to fall on a Monday this year. All of the Guinness ads are touting the celebration of "St. Patrick's Day weekend" since I'm sure most, even some Irish, will forgo a hard night of drinking in favor of having a hangover free Tuesday at work. I am no exception, although here in Warsaw, like most European capitals, it's easy to find an Irish pub. I think there are 4 of them. They have spread like a virus. Enjoy an aerial tour of Ireland: