T.V. Guide

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 . . .

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.

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?

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 . . .

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 . . .

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

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.