The Search for Putski

Tommy Roscoe's Final Moments

2006-09-09T22:14:00.000+02:00

Of course it was impossible to keep this video from making it onto the internet.

Viewer discretion is advised.

Tommy Roscoe Dies in Freak Accident

2006-09-08T11:34:00.000+02:00

PNN Breaking News
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In a week already marred by the tragic death of "The Croc Hunter", Steve Irwin, people worldwide have been propelled even deeper shock into shock and grief as another international icon, Tommy Roscoe, kwown affectionately as "The Puts Hunter", died as well in a freak accident in France while filming another entry for his well
known blog, "The Search For Putski."

Roscoe's crew was filming in the Lapellier mountain range where Roscoe believed Putski to be hiding. Putski, who became aware of Roscoe's intention to publicly arm wrestle and humiliate him fled Poland in May. Many experts believe that Putski escaped to the south of France.

However, in what seems to be an incredible and deadly irrational blunder, Roscoe believed right before his death that Putski may have been hiding underwater for the last 3 months and dove into a small natural pool to search for him. It is then that Roscoe was fatally bitten in the chest by a frog. Frog bites are very rarely lethal, and companion and crewmember Marlene Bronson has called his death "an incredible freak occurence" and his decision to suddenly pursue Putski underwater, "retarded".

Putski, who above ground is very capable, was out of his element in the water.

"I explained to him the dangers in the pool and that a frog was very unlikely to cause him any harm, even here in France", Bronson told reporters in France, which has declared a national day of mourning and called an emergency parliamentary session to change their national dish from frog legs back to freedom fries.

"I saw the frog bite him in the chest, and watched him pull out the fang. That's when I believe he died. We pulled him out and airlifted him to hospital, but he was already dead."

The incident was caught on film. Bronson viewed the video as standard procedure in an autopsy in the case of an unusual death. She said it was "horrific" and wants the tape destroyed. The tape is in police custody in Poland. However, many media experts believe that it is highly probably the footage will surface on the internet in the next few days. "Once something exists on film, it is impossible that it won't surface on the internet", says media professor Mort Garmont, "Whether there is any justifiable reason for it to be released is another issue altogether." Demand to see the footage has flooded many internet networks.

Fans worldwide are shocked by news of Roscoe's death and his contributions to society are being remembered. "He resurrected the catchphrases 'Yo!', 'Guy!' and 'Yo Guy!' and brought them back into popular lexicon", said Canadian Prime Minister, Steven Harper.

"Why did it have to be him?", 10 year old Leroy asked Associated Press.

Roscoe leaves behind an unknown amount of illegitimate children.

Max Turbo Ices Crime

2006-06-30T02:11:00.000+02:00

Well fuckers, nobody is commenting on my blog anymore, I'm drunk and in London, UK, so here you go. If this doesn't wake you up, this blog dies..

It was a sad time. It seemed like every Polish person over the age of 30 was out to make my life hell. In the grocery store, in the opticians, and in the streets, I was met with short tempered rudeness.

"What are you doing here"
"The line starts over here"
"A bike? Here on this street? You asshole"

It was the Poland I anticpated, the Poland I had dreaded. Rude, communist style service, anger for no reason, irritabilty to no end. And then, one day, after returning home from the ice cream parlour, a drunken bum in our neighbouhood asked us for money. When I didn't answer his, ignoring his drunken slurring, he insulted us, unbeknowst to Criagio, and then proceeded to harass women in our neighbourhood. Well, Craigio's honour is something that Max Turbo defends, something that Max Turbo cherises...so this ensued. Enjoy it in regular speed, slow motion, and then super slow motion. Listen for the sounds in slow motion, and the expressions of extreme concentration in super slow motion...

Nowa Huta? Nowa Way!?

2006-06-28T19:04:00.000+02:00

Well, it seems the joke was on us. Craig came back from Krakow with this flyer for me. Not only did someone have the idea of visiting Nowa Huta before us, but they're already making money off it. And so begins communist-tourism, to the bewilderment of all Polish people, who often are of the short-sighted opinion that any relics and symbols of Poland's communist past should be torn down and destroyed. My favourite bit, in the 'Communism Deluxe' tour, to visit an unchanged 1970s communist era apartment to experience everyday communist life.

So, in light of this new information and inspired by this new off the beaten path, genuine experience tourism, I'm not offering this:

Albert Jebra meets the Nunns

2006-06-19T19:22:00.000+02:00

Craig's parents were in town for a week and I was supposed to meet Craig and them at the bar one evening after work. I knew right away that Tomek wouldn't be attending this meeting, a new personna would. But who?
Max Turbo? No, too aloof.
Diesel, his gay german roommate? No, too dangerous to even pretend to be Diesel in Poland.
No, Al Jebra, dungeon master, 13th level elf warrior, and virgin would help welcome the Nunns to Poland.

Well, the fucking joke was on me, because they didn't even bat an eyelash. What a waste, I had half a bottle of hand lotion in my hair...

I did however get a taste of North English views and opinions, courtesy of Mr. Nunn. So everyone, grab your atlases and a red pen, because we've been misinformed about a few things. It turns out that England neither needs Europe, nor is actually a part of 'the continent.' As well, the metric system is gay, so sorry Laurence, start measuring your penis in inches, not centimetres. Well, I'm off to eat some baked beans, be good...

Bboying in the Bloc

2006-06-04T15:35:00.000+02:00

Ever since Marco returned from Prague in the summer of 2000, telling me that he saw posters for the Eastern European Breakdancing Championships, it has been my dream to witness such a competition.

While in Warsaw with Craig, we found billboards for the Warsaw Challenge, an open compeition for breakdancer crews from Poland and Eastern Europe. It was time to fulfill yet another dream in Poland.

The dancing was the best I'd ever seen and the atmosphere was bizzare. Hundreds of breakdancers, and not a black person in sight. And of course, there were little bits of Eastern European flavour...

Poodle on Pudl softcore. Oh yeah.

ATA from ghost crew. My hero.

The most difficult move in breakdancing, taking 50 years to master and requring a broom: The Babcia Freeze.

Four eyes ÷ 2 = ???

2006-06-02T17:24:00.000+02:00

Dumbo had his feather.
Linus had his blanket.
If I were a cartoon character, I'd have my nerd glasses.

Why god? How did it happen?

Was it the punch in the face I got in Krakow? Was it the mosh pit this past weekend where someone knocked them off and stepped on them? Was it that fat retarded kid that sat on them them when I was teaching last year and had to peel them off her ass? Or was it me constantly taking them on and off in front of the mirror and mouthing "Oh yeah."

Whatever it was, today, when I took off my glasses, the frame snapped and shock came over me. The student I was teaching looked at them and said, "No good. Structure damage."

Those glasses were part of my face. Mulan helped me to pick them out, trying on endless pairs until that one was just right, was perfect. They fit my nerd persona perfectly. Without them I feel naked. I don't feel cool. When I don't wear them sometimes, people occasionally don't recognize me and ask me if I've shaved or lost weight. Even me. I keep looking in the mirror now and wondering what Screech is doing in my bathroom naked, brushing his teeth using my toothbrush...my fucking toothbrush, Screech!!

Not once did I want to replace them. Not once did I even look at another pair of glasses. And last year, when I used my benefits to buy another pair, I put them away immediately, only as back up. I hadn't even worn them once in the 10 months I've owned them. Finally, today when I got home clutching my old broken pair, I put the replacement glasses on and looked in the mirror. A minute later I found myself screaming "I HATE YOU! i hate you!' AT THE IMPOSTER IN THE REFLECTION. Had I known what would have happened this day, I would have bought three pairs of them right away 3 years ago and put one pair in my closet, one in a safety deposit box, and one in a time capsule on the moon.

No, these glasses were special. It's not like when you see a nice watch and really need it, and then a month later, see another one you love, and another, and another...These were the last pair and the only pair for me. Only once before did I ever love any personal article this much, my pair of discontinued Nike ninja shoes that I had in high school and wore until they had completely fallen apart and smelled so bad they were in a state of being perpetually aired out. Each time I wore them they brought me joy.

Now what? What the fuck do I do? Does anyone understand this? Has anyone ever owned something that was perfect and they didn't know how to live without? That they never wanted to replace? That became part of their personality? I was going to wear them until they were finally cool in Poland. I was going to give Woody Allen a run for his money for who could wear the same pair of glasses the longest. I was going to have photo albums where everything and everyone got older, but my glasses stayed the same? But not anymore?

What do I do???

Do I do the impossible, which is try to replace them with something identical, which will only result in me trying on 250 pairs of glasses and each time saying, "No, not quite right...". Everyone has felt this before, trying to replace something that was cozy, comfortable, familiar.

Or do I give up and get something completely different? If so, I'm scared. I'm dumbo, and I don't believe I can do it without them...

Epic Train Trip VI - The Epic Disappointment

2006-05-30T13:41:00.000+02:00

For years my father had been telling me that I had to see Wieliczka, the enourmous salt mine outside of Kraków that dates back to the middle ages. In its 300km of tunnels are underground lakes, rivers, chapels, ballrooms, and numerous statues, all made from salt. An entire city built from salt, it is listed on UNESCO's original list of 12 world heritage sites.

My expectations were high, as were the prices to get in. 65 złoty, bargained down by me to 30 by insisting that Craig and I were students and had forgotten our ID at home. The cashier believed I was under 25, but didn't believe Craig was. But unfortunately, this acknowledgment of my boyish good looks was the highlight of my trip to Wieliczka. I had expected too much, and short of finding a Morlock, the underground monsters from H.G. Wells' 'The Time Machine', I could only be disappointed. Although what I saw was unique in this world and amazing, I could only think of how tired my feet were and how bored I was.

Once again in my life, the theme of hype ruining substance proved true.

So for all of you, if you're ever in Kraków, pop into the salt mine. It's a real piece of shit. Trust me.

Bitch. He's been on his knee now for 600 years. If you don't know for sure now, you'll never know.

Jesus Christ!

Deeper and deeper in Morlock territory. The tour was 2 hours, and covered 2km of the 250km of tunnels and paths in Wieliczka.

If you are extremely rich and eccentric, you can have your wedding in this enourmous underground hal. Everything is made from salt, even the chandeliers are made from salt crystals. It's these small touches that keep us super-rich satisfied.

Well, they weren't quite Morlocks, but at least I got a couple of notches into my bedpost.

Sloppy seconds for Craig. This man has no sense of shame.

Epic Train Trip V - The Epic Nun

2006-05-24T12:57:00.000+02:00

(enjoy this one, it's reserved my seat in hell)
Do the math:
(a) It's a very catholic country, full of nuns.
(b) Ice cream is delicious and available everywhere.
(c) Poland is crowded, so most people here are irritable, stressed and visibly upset.

Therefore, the Drake-Roszkowski equation states that a+b+c= 1 surly, overweight, ice cream eating nun and the probability of me finding her is absolutely certain, as long as I stay in (c)Crowded areas high in (a)Nun and (b)Ice cream. What better place than historic Wawel castle in the Jewel of Poland, Krakow, which we had just happened to return to after our brief stop in Katowice...

What's this? What better omen could there be? Saint Tomasz street? Time for a quick prayer! "Please god, let her be surly, let her mood be much colder than the ice cream she's so sexily licking"

Wawel castle. We're close, I can feel it. High in ice cream, nun and surly people!
There she is! There she is....no wait...that's a surly Nunn eating ice cream. So close!

What!?! Who's that trying to hide in a crowd of children!? She's big alright! And that's ice-cream she's licking! But is she surly?!?!?!?!?! Is she!?!??!?!?!

Ouch! What's this? My camera has actually frosted over...Oh! She's surly! And she's making an evil, one squinting eye face. You don't see those very often outside of Hollywood. Thank you, St. Tomasz, patron saint of me! Dreams do come true, as long as they're mediocre enough...

Having fulfilled yet another one of my life's ambitions here in Poland, we decided to drop this dump called Krakow, and head out to Nowa Huta, a communist suburb developed by the Russians to undermine Krakow's cultural and religious importance. The literal translation of this suburb, Nowa Huta? New Steelworks. My hope: that it would be so dreary, so communist, so grey, that my colour photo would actually come out black and white...

Right off the tram, things were looking hopeful. "Kill the Jews" in the foreground, a nuclear power plant in the background. Exciting! Off to find the least colourful part of Nowa Huta...

Alas. I had actually asked two old drunks in the park where the most communist part of Nowa Huta was and they said they we're standing in it. Neither grey, nor ugly, Nowa Huta was full of pretty little courtyards and children happily playing. What kind of communist dream is this. Bullshit!

Epic Train Trip IV - The Epic Contrast

2006-05-23T22:24:00.000+02:00

With no place to sleep, and the rain coming down hard in Warsaw after I had angered the Chinese Gods, we hopped on a train to Toruń. With no expectations, we were astonished to discover how beautiful this walled medieval town actually was. Despite the terrible weather, our short stay in Toruń left us charmed, and inevitably ready for the contrast of our next destination: KATOWICE.

Ask any Pole, which is the ugliest place in this country, and inevitably, the answer will be KATOWICE. But come on, with 8 months of being warned this place would be hideous, could it really be that bad? Could it really live down to it's expecations?? And more importantly, in a place of such despair, would I find my surly, overweight, ice cream eating nun?

Toruń. You charmed the pants off me. Oh, so this is what a Polish town looks like when it wasn't bombed to rubble by the Nazis and Russians.
The leaning tower of Toruń.

The balloonless hot-air balloon(pictured), along with the wingless plane and the boardless skateboard are three of the least effective modes of transport known to man.
Fireworks over an ancient castle. Boom, Boom Boom, I love Toruń! I can never come back, because I will only be dissapointed when next time the city doesn't explode and light up in beautiful colours for me.

From fireworks to steelworks. Katowice, I arrived looking 28, and an hour later left looking 34 and feeling 62. And to make things worse, still no nun.

Epic Train Trip III: The Epic Protest

2006-05-23T22:13:00.000+02:00

Well, well, well. What's this? The Chinese embassy? Well, Tomek has a bladder and brain full of beer, a pen, and a piece of paper. So why not take this opportunity to deliver a protest straight to Chinese soil! Let's teach these guys a lesson on violations of human rights and moral decency, or at least violations of decency! But for all my protesting, would win the right to get a glimpse of a surly, overweight, ice cream eating nun?

And while we're in a protesting mood, let's free ovens too!

Epic Train Trip II - The Epic Hat

2006-05-16T12:34:00.000+02:00

Morale was low. We were tired. The weather was terrible. I had yet to find an overweight, surly ice cream eating nun.

Yes, it was day 2 of Epic Train Trip and I was ready to call it quits. Suddenly, to the rescue, came my wonderful Polish aunt and the power of Polish hospitality and beer. Although she hadn't seen me in 20 years, she called me little Tomchu right away and pampered me and fed me rejuvinating magic bbq. Warm slippers and a tempermental toy poodle in their comfortable home outside of Warsaw were the small details that made me feel like I was at home in Caledon again.

Although it was cold and raining that night, the next day was May 1st, and my aunt assured us that there is an ongoing agreement between god and the communists that every May 1st, Labour Day, the weather would be nice until at least 1pm. Sure enough, we awoke to sunshine the next morning and my aunt took us to an enormous Russian market, full of shady characters selling pepper spray, cigarettes and Nazi paraphanelia, and bought me the hat that would transform our trip. When I put it on, the fun loving Russian proletariat in me that was always hiding from the capitalists, finally had the courage to come out...

Now sunny and warm, suddenly Warsaw's rebuilt old town didn't make me want to hang myself.

With the power of my new hat, I took a shot at busking. A man was playing the Titanic theme on pan flutes in the main square and I one upped his gay new age music with my interperative dance.

A family filming me with an enormous 1980's over the shoulder video camera forced one of their frightened children to put 5 zloty in my hat. I can only imagine that endless days of laughter they and their friends are getting right now on their Betamax in rural Belarusestonia.

Hey Laurence. How many giant seagulls can you fit on your dick? What? You never tried? Oh!? You never tried?! You're telling me you never measured your dick in giant perched seagulls? Whatever. Hey, Jess, check this guy out, he couldn't even fit a canary on his dick...oh yeah.

Perving on some perverted old men. How does it feel now, you sick bastards?

Craig taking a pit stop to 'knock one off' before going to the train station.

Look! Hahaha. A funny colored little yellow man wearing a funny hat. Can you believe it? His mother sure couldn't!

A run down pre-war building that we decided to explore. The only problem was a man was barring the entrance with a 2 by 4 and yelling at me that he won't let me in. I decided that we needed the mace that I had bought earlier that day at the Russian Market to be safe. But what if it was fake? What if the mace didn't really work? Hmmm.....

Oh, drunk Tomek. It works!

Not only did the mace burn and hurt me, it showed us all how I will look in ten years.

Our final destination this day. The last remaining piece of the wall that surrounded the Jewish Ghetto. 1 1/2 days of looking, finally down a side street, buzzed into an apartment complex, into the courtyard, and behind the dumpster, there it lay. This is the best bit of sight seeing I've ever experienced in my life. It was cool, man!

Epic Train Trip I

2006-05-08T21:53:00.000+02:00

1,432 - km covered on the trip
4 Number of times we suddenly found ourselves on a John Paul II street
17.4 - Length of Laurence's penis in cm
800 - Number of steps descended into the Wieliczka Salt Mine
1 - Number of times that I was maced by Craig
0 - Number of times I changed my underwear
26 - Number of times we peed outside to save 1 złoty
178 - Estimated weight in kg of Wawel's fattest nun
8 - Number of times that I woke up on the train to find Craig staring at me lustfully

This past long weekend, Polish rail offered an umlimited ticket for 60 złoty (20 dollars), valid for all of Poland for 6 days. Craig and I decided to take advantage of it, sleeping on night trains to save money on hotels, and paying a surprise visit to my family in Warsaw that I last saw when I was 9 years old. Yes, when travelling and in need of a place to stay, that aunt of an aunt of a cousin of a friend is suddenly your 'Ciocia'. On this trip I had only one goal. To find an extremely overweight, surly nun eating an ice cream. My ultimate sexual fantasty.

Here are some highlights from journey 1 - Wrocław to Warszawa.

Craig returning to Gliwice, his former home town in Poland, an industrial shithole with absolutely nothing to do. Like a Jew returning to Auschwitz, he was overwhelmed by the memories, but his of endless boredom and existential angst. Smile Craig, you made it out. How many others didn't...

The palace of culture and science. Your first view from the train station. Communist architecture at its finest. A gift from Stalin to Poland, many people want to tear it down. In it's basement levels are 40 feral cats whose job it is to keep the palace mouse free.

Our 5 hour stop in Kraków, which was our original goal. It was so full of English speaking tourists that we got out right away and took a night train to Warsaw...but not before flipping Police Van G76 over. Fuck you, G76!

Civilization at last. No more damned pierogi, no more bigos, no more barszcz. I'm in the big cosmopolitan city now. I can finally dig my teeth into a delicious "30cm Sandwicz"

Finally caught without a valid ticket on a tram in Poland. It took 8 months though. The fine was 86 złoty, and only later did everyone tell me that I should have given them a 20 złoty bribe to buy themselves some beer and leave us alone. Everyone told us this, like it was knowledge we should have been born with. Even an 300lb nun would have bribed these guys.

Gay.

But gayer.

Monument to the soldiers who died in the Warsaw Uprising. I was especially intrigued by the detail on the first soldier's leg so I had a closer look.
On closer inspection, I learned this was the monument to nerdy chicken shits who didn't want to Uprise, and were happy to stay in the ghetto and play Scrabble with Jews.

The special, childlike racism that only a country completely devoid of blacks can have. Who could name a coffee shop 'Little Blacky?' and have a big lipped African as their logo. No, not someone who hates blacks. No way. Only someone who has never seen one and classifies them with other fabled curiousities such as elves, hobbits, unicorns and Chinese people.

"One large black coffee please, Bambo."
"(click) (click) (kung!) Yessum!"

Don't be outdone convenience store! You got negros too!

Smingus Dingus 2006

2006-05-04T10:51:00.000+02:00

The day I dreamed of for so long, my first Smingus Dingus in Poland. For years, I have been woken up on Easter Monday by my dad soaking me with cold water and yelling Smingus Dingus! as he ran out the door. For some reason unknown to me, Easter Monday is an official over the top water fight in Poland that lasts until noon that day. My entire life, regailed by my father with stories of how crazy it always was in Poland, I woke up early that morning to see if it was true. Would the years of hype live up to this day? Will the climate of modern times have tempered down this once crazy day like they have to so many other things?

My day started off with soaking Marlena, Craig (who I had promised not to soak the day before) and his sister visiting from England, who didn't believe this holiday existed until she was soaking wet. It was my obligation to soak every girl, because any girl left dry will, according to legend, die alone.

Next Craig and I went out on the balcony to scan the area. I was overjoyed to see gangs of kids, walking around with buckets and waterguns, popping out from behind cars, and generally roaming the streets like packs of rats. It was a war zone. As the gangs roamed, windows would suddenly open up high in apartments buildings and buckets of water would come crashing down on their victims, with an adult laughing from the window as the kids cursed in Polish and regrouped. Entire gangs of up to ten kids, were looking to soak any non adult. This is considered good ettiquete- babcias and dziadeks are totally off limits. Invalids and the homeless are considered a grey area.
It was like some sort of post apocalyptic horror, Escape from New York meets Lord of the Flies meets white water rafting. These monsters were ruling the streets and I was scared to go down. Marlena told me that in the villages, they chase you into your home and even the shortest trip outside means getting soaked. We nailed a few kids from our balcony, only to hear them calling us fags and losers in Polish and taunting us to come down. I couldn't resist.

At this point, Marlena, already soaked by us, left for her train home and Craig and I headed down to try to drown some children. Craig's sister stayed home and locked herself in the bathroom to man the fort. (chicken shit)

What's important to keep in mind at this point, is that this holiday is like Halloween. Only kids are really allowed to participate, and us walking around the streets could be likened to a 28 year old 'kid' smelling of cigarettes that comes trick or treating to your house, with a 'Scream' mask tied around his neck, asking in a deep voice if you have any schnapps. For kids it's fun, but any adult seeing us running the streets considered us pathetic.
We came back after 20 minutes soaked but looking for more. Marlena returned wetter than ever at this point, saying that a group of bad teenagers were throwing brown river water at everybody at the tram stop, including babcias, and then afterwards began to rock the tram back and forth like in a riot. She raced back to the safety of my arms as quickly as possible.

We hit the streets, all of us, looking for more action. We came across a group of 'bad kids', that were older and looked more like ogres than children and I swear to you, that one of them was 11 years old but had a full moustache. These Chernobyl kids weren't backing down, and I knew we were in trouble when I was dumping water on them from the balcony and one little pervert just stood there asking for more and moaning, like he was getting turned on.

Yes, this was our biggest mistake, not bullying children under 10 years old, because when eventually we had enough, these bad kids got into our building. They then deduced which apartment was ours and began knocking on our door, gently and politely at first, then pounding. We lay there, in complete silence, looking at each other unsure of what to do, feeling helpess, trying not to breathe, not to make a sound, as they knocked and asked "Hello? Anybody home?...ANYBODY HOME!?!?!'. My heart was pounding, and I knew it was stupid, but I quickly opened the door and soaked one of them and then locked the door again. That's when enourmous amounts of water began to pour under the door, soaking our entire corridor and bathroom. As they walked away down the street, they kept laughing and pointing at us, asking if our door was wet. Yes, now 28 years old, bigger, but still unable to grow a moustache, a group of bad ass 11 year olds with facial hair had once again humiliated me. Some things never change.

Thank you Smingus Dingus 2006! You were one of the rare times in life that substance matched the hype.

Me soaking the Pope moments before he crushed me with his giant hand. Who did you get this year?

get 'em high

2006-05-04T10:24:00.000+02:00

My aunt, a week after I lent her my Kanye West CD.

MAX TURBO

2006-04-23T13:56:00.000+02:00

Tomek, your image hasn't served me well in Poland.

Your curly poofy hair. Your nerd glasses. Your slim figure. Your love of wearing scarves in warm weather.

Too many times now Polish Buraki (meatheads) with their shaved heads and their Puma runners have snickered and giggled as you've passed by. Too many times you've just nearly avoided getting punched in the face. Too many times people have called you 'gej'.

No. This night Tomek died. And MAX TURBO was born...

The last photo of Tomek Roszkowski before intensive Image Reconstruction Surgery.

Tomek
RIP
Oct 14, 1977 - April 22, 2006.

Neither Tomek, nor MAX TURBO, this in between entity had no name, no soul and no chance of getting laid.
Hello, Polish girls. The name is MAX TURBO. And yes, I fuck on the first date.

Hi, Polish Buraki. The name's MAX TURBO. I came here for two reasons, to eat pierogi, and to kick some ass....and I'm all out of pierogi.
Hi, Polish television audience. No, I'm not that guy from the new show Starsky & Hutch that premiered last week on PolSAT. I'm MAX TURBO.

Check!

2006-04-21T16:36:00.000+02:00

One down, 9 to go Craig. Hurry up, there's only 2 months left.

by the way, the only other Roszkowski on that list is Dorota, my middle aged aunt, and she's in Canada, so you're going to have to branch out a bit...non Roszkowski's need love too.

Goodbye, sweet world

2006-04-04T09:25:00.000+02:00

Agnes' departure left a hole in Craig's life that could not be filled, even by a disgusting English breakfast. It was then, in the middle of his fryup and on the verge of insanity, that the sausage convinced him to take his own life. 4 failed suicide attempts, one successful. Goodbye Craig, I will pass the message to the mice that you supposedly loved, but left behind a dumpster that one cold winter day, that you died bitter, lonely and full of regret.

The day she left even sausages cried...
Art reflects life. Even culinary art.

Suicide attempt #1. But we hadn't paid the gas bill.
Attempt #2. The self asphyxiation gave him a massive erection, but nothing more.
Attempt #3: White rabbit...
Craig + radio = Craigo.
Attempt #4: Won him respect from Polish breakdancers, but didn't kill him.
You can't beat gravity.
Maluch owners of the world, breathe a sigh of relief. The reign of terror is over.

We'll see you in Hell, Craigster.

Goodbye, Agnes

2006-04-04T09:20:00.000+02:00

Well, we made it through five months or so together. I don't think that we've spent this much time together since we were 4 years old. We made it through tears, beers, your extra 12 pounds, my imaginary weight gain, and a mutual new found love for pierogi with meat. We fought at times, you were in the wrong each time, but for the last few months got along really well. It feels weird now that you're gone, especially since now it's really nice out and it finally looks like what I wanted you to see, sunny, colourful and bustling with activity.

And now you're home for the first time after living abroad, and home is something different and strange. Scary? Surreal? Disappointing? Disorienting? Difficult to recognize? It comes to pass in a few weeks, but hold onto the important thing you realized: that 'real life' is an idea that people that never have the balls to leave home push onto you, that a real and fulfilling and crazy and difficult life awaits you when you risk it all again and being life in a new country with new people.

You're going to get advice from two different camps now, those that tell you to suck it up, that you had your fun, and now it's time to get used to real life and grow up. They think that feeling you have now is something to be swallowed up and ignored.

The others, the minority, but the brilliant ones, will tell you that you just had a taste, and that feeling you have right now is your heart reminding you when you took a big risk you were really alive, really scared, really happy, and each day was different and meant something. Home will always be there waiting for you, so eat some bean burritos and get the hell out of there again!

Cheer up junior, Poland was just the start...

Computerized rendering of what Agnes would have looked like by the first snowfall of next year.

14 minutes of Poland

2006-03-24T14:20:00.000+01:00

Scene 2

It is early in the evening of Tomek's grandfather's Name day. Tomek returns to his grandfather's house because he had accidentally taken his aunt and uncle's keys with him when he left earlier in the day. He enters the small, poorly lit kitchen. Everyone is sitting around the table, which contains 4 empty vodka bottles.

Cast of Characters

Tomek: hero
Dziadek: angry, cussmouthed drunk grandfather
Wujek Janek: uncle of Putski fame, sporting a big moustache
Wujek Rysiek: black sheep of the family, sporting an ever bigger moustache and an alcholic's nose
Ciocia: overweight chain smoking aunt. the only sober one.

Tomek sits down between Wujek Janek and Wujek Rysiek. Janek is growling at Rysiek and is holding fists.

Janek to Rysiek: I'm going to kill you. I'm going to fucking kill you. Let's go!
Rysiek: Bring it. Let's go. I'll kill you!
Tomek: Hey guys, what's going on here, calm down, calm down...Let's just relax a bit.
(Janek turns to Tomek, as if just noticing him, then begins stroking his head)
Janek: (barely conscious, in broken English) I love you. I love you. You are nice.
Rysiek: He loves you! Understand!?
Ciocia: You're his favourite, he loves you.
Janek: I love you.
Tomek: Ok, Ok. That's good.
(Janek now has a fistful of Tomek's hair and is shaking his head roughly)
Tomek: Ok, ok, that's enough now. Whoah...ease off now Wujek.
Dziadek: Leave him alone! Leave him the fuck alone!
(Dziadek leaps out of his chair and runs to Tomek and begins to caress his head)
Dziadek: I fucking love you. Don't listen to what anyone else goddamned says, I fucking love you!
Rysiek: He loves you, do you understand!?! He loves you!
Dziadek: I'll give my heart for you.
Rysiek: He'll give his heart for you. Understand? You can't do that in Canada. You can't love. You don't have love there!
(Dziadek begins kissing Tomek's head)
Dziadek: Do you love me, Tomek? Do you fucking love me?
Tomek: Yeah, sure Dziadek. You're cool man.
(Dziadek, beaming, returns to his seat)
Rysiek: Look at how happy you made him. Look at him. He loves you!
Dziadek: Shut the fuck up Rysiek! Get the hell out of here!
Ciocia: Hey, Tomek. That girl that was here earlier with you. If she keeps eating like that, she's going to be fat. Are you going to marry her?
Dziadek: Get fucking married. We'll have a big fucking wedding in the backyard. I'll get a goddamned band. Woohoo!
Ciocia: She was nice. But she's going to get fat if she keeps eating. Like Agnieszka, she really put on some weight.
(everyone pauses for a moment in agreement)
Rysiek: That girl had a nice damned figure!
Dziadek at Rysiek: What the fuck are you talking about? What kind of goddamned language is that for a nice fucking boy like Tomek to have to hear? Tomek, did you hear what that asshole said?
(Tomek nods with a sad look on his face)
(Janek returns to consciousness again and turns to Tomek)
Janek: (in broken English) You my friend. You my friend. To here. (pointing to his head)
Tomek: Yeah man, you're my friend too.
(Janek begins to stroke Tomek's head again)
Dziadek: Leave him the fuck alone!
Rysiek: He loves you Tomek!
Dziadek: Shut the fuck up Rysiek. Go to your room!
Ciocia: Oh my god! The keys! The keys! We forgot about the keys!
Tomek: Everyone relax! I gave the keys to Janek 10 minutes ago.
Ciocia: Janek! Where are the keys?
Janek: I dunno! I dunnnnnnnno. You check for me.
(Janek collapses on the table and everyone begins to dig through his pockets, rolling his limp body around to get to his front pockets)
Ciocia: They're not here! They're not here!
Tomek: Relax! Relax! They're there, on the table.
Ciocia: Phew, ok.
(there is now a 30 second lull of silence)
Dziadek: Tomek. Tomek. Be a good boy. Pull Dziadek's ear.
Tomek: What?!?!
Dziadek: Pull my ear goddamit! If you love me, just grab my fucking ear and pull it!
Tomek: What's going on here?
Dziadek: Pull my ear!!
Tomek: Is this some kind of Polish tradition? I'm not pulling your ear.
Dziadek: (waving his hand in disgust) Then to fucking hell with you!
Rysiek: Pull his ear! He loves you!
Tomek: Ok, i'll pull it.
(Dziadek walks over to Tomek and offers a big, old man's ear. Tomek holds it gently and tugs)
Dziadek: No! Harder! Really pull on it!
Tomek: Ok!
(Tomek yanks on his grandfather's ear and Dziadek returns to his seat beaming)
Dziadek: Dziadek loves you Tomek. He loves you!
(Janek returns to consciousness, and begins to stroke Tomek's leg and look at him lovingly)
Janek: (in broken english) You a good dog. Yes. You a good dog.
Tomek: Ok, I gotta catch my bus!
(Tomek sprints out the door laughing out loud)

The end.

Fat Tuesday

2006-03-06T13:12:00.000+01:00

Yay. It was Fat Tuesday, which means all of Poland eats lots of donuts. I went to the store to buy some milk in the morning and there was a huge line for donuts. There were donuts everywhere and everyone was eating a donut! Yay Polish Donuts! I ate 3 Polish Donuts, which is about the average. How many did you eat?

That's right Gramps. I'm buying all the fucking donuts. No donuts for you, angry old Polish man. Don't look so shocked, you survived the holocaust, you've seen worse.

1 donut can't hurt, I'll just it it on the go!

What happened? Two donuts later and I'm a monster! I've got donut fever. Hide the children!

Phew! Healing medical donuts. Everything's gonna be ok! Thank god for vitamin donut.

Meteoras

2006-03-06T12:13:00.000+01:00

The nicest thing I saw on this trip was Meteoras. On the very pinnacle of these bizarre massive volcanic rock formations surrounding the tiny city of Kalabakas, are 6 monastaries, built by monks in the middle ages to escape from people and to protect themsleves from the Turks, who were not tolerant of their religion. The only way to access them was by cages hoisted up by ropes. I asked how did they know when it was time to change the rope, and they said God would let them know by letting the rope snap. Now, the only way to access them is by overpaying for a taxi.

The volcanic formations in the background of Kalabaka.

They built these monastaries to escape us for peace and quiet, and now that very idea has attracted swarms of tourists. If only they knew that all they needed to do was place a giant sign on their monastery, "Greek Monks: horny and ready for love."

The nuns lived here. Countless cages of down were hoisted up here in medieval times for their
sexy nightly pillow fights.

Monks that coughed during vows of silence.

Jimmy Smits and I having dinner in Athens. This day just kept getting more spectacular.

The Oracle of Delphi

2006-03-04T23:01:00.000+01:00

While in Athens, I decided to make an important pilgrimage to the Oracle of Delphi. There, for many thousands of years, the god Apollo would fortell the future through a priestess to the many visitors who made the journey, seeking advice. The oracle exerted a great influence, determening the course of marriages, wars, founding of colonies. It was visited by such famous people as Alexander the Great, Herod, and was the site of famous prediction in Oedipus Rex.

I myself was travelling to the Oracle with an important question. For many years, my maturity has been called into question. I never seem to be able to act like an adult, although I desperately want to be treated like one.

So, my question: "Oracle, will I ever finally grow up and amount to something?"

The answer to this question was quite shocking, and I invite you to read further!

As I entered the ruins, astounded by the variety of multi-sized rocks around me, I noticed that snow began to fall. You can imagine my shock, as we all know Greece is a tropical and warm country and snowfall should be impossible. This could only mean that something truly unusual and incredible was about to happen.

I hurried into the remains of the Temple of Apollo itself, and there, found a marble sign, shaped like a podium, indicating that these sacred rocks were not to be touched. I had a premonition, that here, in this holy place, something incredible would happen, when...

Lo and behold! Apollo himself suddenly appeared before me. Momentarily stunned by his good looks and perfect body, I was finally able to come to my senses and ask my question. Apollo, I asked, will I ever act like an adult and become something in this world? "Great Fame Awaits You As a Writer. You Will Write the First Greek Tragedy Sequel and Do For Greek Tragedy What Has Been Done For Police Academy Films" This sounded great, but I wanted to test whether this was really an omniscient being before me, so I quickly asked him what 999 times 999 was, to which he correctly replied 998,001. That did it for me. I quickly ran off with this good news and got drunk in the only bar in town.

I really overdid it in the bar, drinking Ouzo to the point that I actually went blind. Thankfully, a beautiful Greek woman in the bar took care of me and eventually took me home. I had the hottest, wild sex of my life. Until morning, when I woke up and saw this...

Disgusted, I ran to the hotel feeling filthy and used. However, during my 4 hour shower, I was suddenly struck with the idea for a new book. All the details of my day came together, Oedipus Rex 2: Boning Babcia, or maybe, Oedipus GrandRex: Two Wrongs Feel so Right.

Yes, it seemed my trip to the Oracle was indeed a success. That is until I got home, and had a closer look at the pictures and noticed this. Yes, Apollo was wearing a calculator watch. His amazing math abilities were a ruze. So, in the end, did I meet a Greek god, or was it all a clever trick organized by an undersexed Greek widow? We'll never know....unless I ask my magic 8 ball...

No, magic 8 ball, I don't believe I will. Some blog stories are best left a mystery.

Modern Greek Myths

2006-02-24T12:16:00.000+01:00

Myth #1: Greece is always warm.

Myth #2. The great empires of history were Greek, then Roman, then Tim Horton's.

Myth #3: Polish people are welcome here. Unable to legally keep Poles out due to E.U. legislation, Greeks have found much more subtle ways of discouraging Poles from staying in Greece. How can potatoes really cost more than oranges?

Myth #4: Eating oranges from the street trees will kill you. No, I only wished I was dead. Thanks for nothing, "Rough Guide to Athens", I know I'm not the first that could have used this warning.

Myth #5: I am not an ancient Greek statue.

Greece Rocks!!!

2006-02-24T11:12:00.000+01:00

For those of us with imaginations, an interest in history and an academic personality, the ruins of Ancient Greece open a world before our eyes. We are instantly transported to the birthplace of democracy, the origins of philosophy and Western thinking. For the rest of us, me included, we see piles of rubble.

Greece. What a dump.

Who's ready to go look at some rocks!?!? I am! I've got my 12 Euros ready!

There they are! Big rocks, little rocks and even a medium sized rock! Who knew this could be so fun!

What's this?!?!?! It's almost a structure! Uh oh...this is gonna cost me extra!

The nearer rock is ok to touch. But the other rock is on the other side of the barrier and is a special rock and is off limits. Who can explain this and other mysteries of Ancient Greece...?

Move over Elvis. It's the Acropolis, the real King of Rock.

Ahhh..the end of a long day of rock-seeing and the sun goes down over beautiful Athens. Time to go find some rock that's really worth paying for!!
Now that's some good rock!

Berlin II: Back for Brunhilda

2006-02-22T07:49:00.000+01:00

Before I left for Greece, I spent a few days again in Berlin and I realize now that I love this city. Everything that Toronto does, Berlin does a bit better.
Cool little shops? Cooler!
Beer? Cheaper!
Donairs? Spicier!
Brunhildas? Bigger!

And, everyone speaks English with a very fashionable German accent. Marry me Berlin.

A sudden impromptu breakdancing battle with the Berlin bear. I didn't even have time to take off my backpack before he was handstanding and doing backflips. Not only this, but afterwards he drank me under the table. I lost a lot of street cred this day.

For a moment I thought it was Rudolph. Only too late did I realize the eyes were glowing red, not the nose. This is the evil reindeer that brings infidels their Christmas presents (ie. HIV, smallpox, flies, famine, beer guts - but no beer).

A monster in an alley. Berlin, you're so cool.

Having a coffee at the '9/11 Conspiracy Bar.' The theme of this bar was conspiracy theories having to do with 9/11: videos, posters, tshirts, websites. I don't really know his this can work, but the coffee was cheap and I got an earful. The bar was located on the former site of the 'Moon Landing Dance Club', the 'JFK Taco Hut', and finally, 'The Jewish Hand is in My Pocket Credit Bureau'.

The road beckons...

2006-01-31T11:22:00.000+01:00

I had perhaps a few too many drinks that night. I drifted off to sleep, my head spinning, only to woken up by her an hour later...

I felt her hand on my chest, her forehead snuggle into my shoulder. Then she ran her leg up against mine and purred.

Yes. Agnes had had too much to drink that night too, and the look of wide eyed terror on my face meant that no matter what horrors might be waiting for me on the open road, it was time to go.

ps: Agnes insisted that I make it clear that she was unconscious while this happened, but I have no way of confirming that. believe what you will. you've all seen the way she looks at me.

Prague

2006-01-30T11:12:00.000+01:00

Our trip to Prague. Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhh it was so cold. I apologize for the lack of spectacular photos, but you try walking around and taking pictures when it's -10.

Prague is spectacular. But even in the middle of January, there was no mistaking that this was a big tourist spot. Everything was in English, drunken foreigners littered the streets and bars. fuck the beaten path, it's overrated, crowded and expensive.

Beer cheese and sardines. While it looks like vomit, it was delicious and cheap.

Eastern European fashion. The cowprint, the horns and the even the plastic udders are excusable. It's the fanny pack that's wrong.

Huddling for warmth. We walked in this position the entire day in order to not die. While easy for Laurence, urination was difficult for me since I wasn't on the end and had no hands free. Someone had to hold it. Someone.

Two hours into our ice walk, Laurence suddenly asks if anyone has seen his testicles, but clearly Kim doesn't know. He never found them. We think it was the gypsies.

I have personally been to 'THE SHADOW' myself once while travelling in Middle Earth, and I'm telling you straight up, I wouldn't wish that upon any travel agent!

Foot Modelling 2005

2006-01-30T10:24:00.000+01:00

Caption time!

A)

B)

C)

D)

Fact 3/15

2006-01-30T09:49:00.000+01:00

"The guy behind you. I dare you to arm wrestle him."

He was a middle aged Polish businessman, wearing a tie, sporting a big thick Polish moustache, smoking tiny, slim cigarettes and drinking tiny glasses of beer. Two others in nice suits were also sitting at the table, obviously having some kind of informal business meeting with him.
My price for doing it, a kebab for my poor unemployed ass, and since I didn't have my camera, someone had to draw a live sketch of the match to remember it by.

I was sure that victory and the kebab were mine if I could only convince him to do it. I doubted it though, because these people seemed like they were in the midst of some serious business and arm wrestling some drunk goof probably didn't fit into the atmosphere of their evening. I approached and told them that I had a bet going that if I could beat someone at their table in an arm wrestle and I'd get a free beer. The two guys in suits instantly told me to go away and find someone else, but before I was able to walk away, the Moustache quietly raised his hand and sushed them. The alpha-stache wanted to speak.

His simple question,"Why us?"

What I didn't say: "Because you have a big, fat gay moustache, you're smoking cigarettes marketed for chubby 13 year old girls, you're wearing a dressshirt and tie, and I'm pretty sure you're drinking beer out a teacup."

What I did say: "Because you guys look like you're up to it."

His next question, "And what do I get if I win."

I fought my chuckle into submission and told him he'd get a beer.

He agreed and we sat down. Everyone around stopped what they were doing and began to watch the arm wrestle between the middle aged business man and the guy in a hoodie wearing a toque.

My arm hurt for three days and the doctors say the emotional scars will last a lifetime. Seeing certain kinds of brooms now triggers his memory and causes me to wet myself. He didn't just beat me, he humiliated me. At some point, he was letting me hold him an inch from the table while he lit up another slim cigarette and talked about profits and losses. Then he put the cigarette down, asked if I was ready, and slammed my hand into the table.
Then he did it all over again with my left arm.

Not only did he get a beer from me, but I'm convinced that after he crushed and humilitated me in front of the entire bar and his clients, he probably closed a million dollar deal.

What did I learn? That any man that smokes girl cigarettes proudly in public is a man to be reckoned with. This is a man with nothing to fear and who wants to show it. This was the Polish man named Sue.

Hubert

2006-01-25T09:13:00.000+01:00

We met him on my birthday. Really drunk, I grabbed a random guy and brought him over to my friends and said, "Hey guys, this is my cousin, Jacek." Everyone started to greet him when he put up his hand and stopped them. "No. I Hubert." These simple words would mean so much to us. I also believe they are the only words he knows in the English language. "No. I Hubert."

For the rest of the night Hubert hung out with us. He didn't speak at all, I don't think he understood anything either, but he just sat there and nodded his head and smiled when we looked at him. It felt very natural and right.

The next day we were unsure whether we had imagined Hubert or whether he was real. We scanned the photos of my birthday and sure enough found the unmistakable buzz/bowl cut of our friend. We thought that Hubert had touched our life once and we'd never see him again. Until...

The Halloween party. Like some sort of gift from the pagan gods, the unmistakable haircut of Hubert shot past us and we called him over. He sat with us for the rest of the night, 3 hours. Again, not speaking a word of English and just smiling and nodding. I'm not sure what he was doing in that bar or whether he had any plans that night, but he was either really cool or really lonely.

We learned two things about him that night.
a) he's a builder
b) he's a chess champion

The rest remained shrouded in mystery.

And really, "I am a builder" doesn't mean much either, does it?

We got his phone number that night and I vowed to invite him to all good parties. Hubert would be our 'living furniture.' Every time there'd be a lull in the party, I'd look over and smile at Hubert and he'd smile back and we'd enjoy a moment that went beyond words and language. Plus, he really seemed to enjoy it too. It was a win-win situation for everybody.

Or was it?

So when we did the century club, I invited Hubert. He came, with a bag full of WARKA STRONG 7% beer and I thought maybe he didn't understand the game. But sure enough, he went well past 100 and it didn't phase him. Hubert plays by his own rules. But alas, this was the night we learned the third thing about Hubert. Yes, he was a builder. Yes, he was a chess champion. But it turns out he was also a champion of perversion. Stealthily, beyond the perception of any man present, Hubert would throw winks and kisses at all the girls and we were told that our living furniture, was in fact just that, a perverted love seat waiting for a girl to sit on his face. Hubert was officially banned from our lives by every girl we know.

This one goes out to you Hubert. Wherever you are.

HUBERT: Oct-Dec 2006. SIT AND NOD IN PEACE.

Hubert found using the latest computer technology. It wasn't just a dream.

-"No. I Hubert"

- "No. I Hubert."

-"I love you Hubert! Smile for the camera."
-"No. I Hubert."

- "Get away from me Hubert!"
- "No. I Hubert."

Ready, Aim, Fired

2006-01-17T22:43:00.000+01:00

Friday the 13th. Ominous.

I knew bad shit was going down. 2 months ago, our entire group of teachers in Wrocław had decided to refuse to go to Gliwice, a shithole city that our friend who had trained with us was forced to work in. He told the boss of the company after training that he wanted to return to Wroclaw or he'd quit. He wans't going to spend a year of his life in Poland's own answer to Brampton. He was reassured and promised a spot here in Wroclaw within a month. A month passed, with no spot for him. Two months of promises passed, and still no work in Wroclaw. One day, the former head teacher of his school told him the truth, that he was never going to be transferred and they were just lying to him in hopes he'd grow roots in Gliwice. Finally realizing that he was being lied to and screwed over, he quit his job one payday and moved here to find work. The boss, an angry, overly macho pig of a man was furious. His whole life, he was used to screwing people over and being screwed over himself didn't sit well with him. With a shortage of teachers now in shithole Gliwice all the teachers here in Wroclaw were asked to work there for a week one at a time to cover for our friend. As a group, we all refused on principle. The boss found this out while on one of his many skiing trips to Austria and was livid.

Then this week, signs became obvious that shit was going down. A new teacher suddenly showed up. Another to come in a month. Then I was told that I had a meeting with the owner of the school on Friday. Mysteriously, next week's schedule, always up on Wednesdays, was not to be seen. Was I fired? I thought so, but everyone told me I was paranoid. I know the crazy redneck owner of the company hated me and two months ago I remember he had vowed to fire people for ruining his skiing trip in Austra with the news that nobody was going to work in Gliwice.

I called the owner, asking if I was fired, and he refused to tell me. From this, I knew I was canned. This fucker had insulted me personally each time I'd met him, telling me 5 minutes after asking what my blue collar parents and family do, that anyone that works with their hands is a moron. When he fired the last teacher, he tore a strip out of her for half an hour, degraded her, and the suddenly told her she was finished and to pack her things. I promised myself that although he would fire me, he wouldn't get a chance to degrade me first.

We met, and right away I was told I was fired and for nonsense reasons. I knew I had nothing to lose, so I tore a strip out of him. I refused to speak in Polish, because I knew the owner spoke broken English and was ashamed of it. Every time he spoke English, I pretended I didn't understand him and asked his wife to explain. Midway through his sentences I yawned and asked him what his point was, because I wasn't intereseted. Then, at the end, I pulled out my camera and took a picture of me getting fired. "I'm getting paid in two days right? Ok, everyone smile, me getting fired, 2006" He was furious. He was even angrier when told him the first picture didn't turn out and I wanted one with just the two of us. He told me if he ever sees this picture I'm getting sued.

Yes. I took a picture of myself getting fired, and I took it to show all of you, and to ensure my boss lost sleep.

Good night to all, save him.

Photo #1. This was taken 5 minutes after them accusing me of not taking my job seriously and me heatedly denying it. What bullshit.

The head teacher is seen here with hands crossed praying to God to help him grow a spine.

The bosses wife. She's upset here because she knows she's going to get beaten tonight for this. Halfway through sex my goofy face will pop into the owner's head and she'll end up with a shiner and a sore bum.

He took my job. But my camera took his soul. If you're looking for a job teaching English in Poland ask to see the top of your bosses head. If it looks like this, it's him - find another school quick!

Me one hour and 3 beers after I got fired. At this point I called back to the school to ask Zbig if I could get a reference. Notice Mike doing his Zbig impression on the right.

******Well, it's now been 4 days since I was fired. I'm writing all of this from my uncle's place, full of sausage and Warka Strong beer. What do I think of it all? I'm upset, but my overwhelming feeling is that for once in my life, I didn't get bullied even if I was done wrong. The owner of this school talks to people like dirt, and probably has his whole life. When I picked up my paycheque today the head secretary said the boss was fuming, yelling "It's my face. How can he take my picture", the whole time. So for all the times that some big kid stole my cheetos in grade school, for all the times some huge gino cut Suzuka off, and for all the shitty bosses in this world, I have this memory to hold on to.

And what now? Well, I didn't come here to work like a dog and I remember that now. This job was boring, and I remember that too. I'm going to buy an interrail pass this week and take a train to Istanbul and stop everywhere along the way. And when I get back, I'll do whatever I want. I was scared to quit my job and leave my life to come here. But that was just the first step. Now I'm packing a bag and stepping on a train with no plan, a pocket full of money, and I'm going to Turkey to find out what kebabs really taste like. (they come from Turkey, right?)

New Years

2006-01-14T01:27:00.000+01:00

60,000 people in the Rynek. 100,000 surrounding the Rynek. A crowd so full, and so Polish, that when I tried to push to the front I didn't get more than 10 feet before some babcia elbowed me in the gut. The view you see is from the window of my friend, who has an apartment right inside the Rynek. All night, we saw ourselves on television when the angle was right and after I get really drunk, we ended up throwing pickled herring (a Polish new years staple) at random people in the crowd who looked up in surprise and thanked god for the miracle of free fish. The lady in a huge fur coat, who got all the fish water left in the jar was particularly thankful.

Frozen Wrocław, aka Fro-Claw

2006-01-12T18:05:00.000+01:00

The weather was very mild here for the last few weeks, around zero, with a lot of rain, then suddenly the temperature dropped to -15 and a gorgeous fog came over the city and the tree tops all froze. Here are some pictures.

Polish 101

2005-12-22T09:53:00.000+01:00

Well, it's been four months now and I still can't speak a lick of Polish. But I don't feel stupid, and here's why. Here are several simple sentences in English translated into Polish. Look what happens. It's crazy. This language is crazy and impossible. What were these Slavs thinking?

This is a cat. To jest KOT.
There is no cat. Nie ma KOTA.
I'm going with the cat. Idę z KOTEM.
I'm talking about the cat. Mowię o KOCIE.

Why can't it just stay 'cat'? Why does it have to change depending on what we're talking about? Every single noun and adjective in the language has six different cases it can be used in, and the rules are crazy and make no sense. Why?

Here is a simple breakdown, have a look if you have time. http://lightning.prohosting.com/~popolsku/

Here are some words that Polish people throw in your face to remind you that you're stupid. Try pronouncing them yourself.

beetle: CHRZĄSZCZ
worm: DŻDŻOWNICA
sorry: PRZEPRASZAM

You know what I say? Fuck it. If 'sorry' is so hard to say then I'd rather be rude.

Good luck students!

Roszkowski's List

2005-12-09T12:59:00.000+01:00

a) Upscale New England Neighbourhood
b) Trendy Condo Development
c) Jew Death Camp

If you guessed 'c', you're absolutely right. Genocide had a surprisingly pretty face. Beautiful brick buildings on little avenues lined with old trees not too far from a pretty little town by the name of Oswiecim.
A starbucks and a Mongolian Grill wouldn't have looked too out of place, but unfortunately, while they did a lot of cooking here, they never quite got around to Mongolians.
While a lot of what I saw was disturbing: the room containing 1,800kg of women's hair which the Nazis used to make textiles, the baby's clothing piled up in mounds, the 1m x 1m standing cells in which 4 prisoners were kept for weeks on end and the rooms in which medical experiments were carried out by Nazi doctors, I left quite unaffected by it all. Maybe it's because I'm callous, irreverant, insensitive, but a lifetime of horror stories, a lifetime of being primed that this was the most sinister and horrific place on earth left me confused when I stepped over the gates and wasn't smacked in the face by a palpable wave of evil. Shouldn't I have shuddered when I crossed the gates? Why didn't I get the goosebumps? Instead, I saw the sun setting on what could have easily been a pretty little neighbourhood of historic buildings anywhere in the world.
I wasn't about to be coerced into manufacturing regret and sorrow I wasn't really feeling, so I left Auschwitz, passing the souvenir hut and the hot dog stand ready to go home and contemplate my reaction, when Laurence insisted that we go to Birkenau, a.k.a. Auschwitz II which was 3km away. Birkenau was a death camp on a much larger scale, it was where all the exterminations really happened. When we got there, I witnessed a sight so stark, so lifeless and so massive that I was overwhelmed. It stretched nearly as far as we could see on each side. Bleak, cold and endless. A manifestation of an archetypal nightmare. Everything fell into place for this to affect me deeply. The sun was setting, I wasn't dressed for this occasion, I was too cold and hungry for a walk through this camp. This wasn't a musuem, this was a ruin and we were nearly alone. Standing over the rubble that was once the gas chambers, my feet no more than a meter away from where nearly 1.5 million people were murdered was a bizarre feeling that I didn't experience in a moment, but something i've experienced over the last few days. My interpretation of it has continued to develop, grow and change in my mind. This was a murder factory. The photos of prisoners who died in Auschwitz all looked the same. Shaved head, hollow face, dead eyes. All looked exactly the same. These weren’t people.
As we walked back, it was becoming very dark and we snuck through the barbed wire fences and walked around the remains of the hundreds of barracks which contained desperate prisoners years ago, those that weren't gassed right away and instead were worked, frozen and starved to death.
One thing was certain. It was time for a kebab.

"Work Makes You Free". Who could have known that my life philosophy could be twisted in this way.

Good fences make good neighbours.

Irony.

1800kg of fine Auschwitz hair. It's eco-conscious, but that does make it right?

Break dancing for extra bread rations. The baby freeze saved my life.

Tunnel of death in bunker 11. This was where prisoners were often killed, tortured and experimented on.

For the homeboys that didn't make it. I'll always remember you, Jewish 50 cent.

Freedom. Not all of us made it out. Thank god for my Aryian good looks.

Birkenau sunset.

Gas chamber and crematorium 1. The germans destroyed it in the final weeks of the camp to hide the evidence.

Final view of Birkenau's specially made train tracks leading to the gas chambers.

The kebabs that could have saved so many. The tzatziki alone could have saved hundreds.

Andrzejki!

2005-12-01T11:47:00.000+01:00

Yesterday was Andrzejki, one of the biggest party days of the year in Poland.

Here's the scoop. Every day of the year has a few names associated with it. These 'name days' or more important than your birthday and you always celebrate it. For example, 'Tomek', because it's so popular, falls on three days of the year, but the one I celebrate is the one that follows my birthday, so it's December 29th. All Tomeks have a party that day. My sister will have hers January 21st. All Agnieszkas, which in Poland extends beyond 87 year old cranky grandmas named 'Agnes' will get together and drink too much and tell their brothers that they love them, then probably punch them on the chin.

Yesterday was Andrzejki, or Andrew's name day. It was also the last day before Advent. During Advent, good Catholic girls aren't allowed to dance, go to parties, so traditionally this is the last huge party of the year before Christmas. However, in modern times, people drink and dance anyways, so this is just a huge excuse to go over the top.

Anyone named Andrzej is basically required to bring cake and cookies for everyone at work or school and to throw a big party.

All the bars were having Andrzejki parties last night and the one we went to had a little table set up for fortune telling. A custom on Andrzejki is for young women to have their future told to them by pouring wax through an old key into a pot of cold water. The wax is then backlit onto a wall and the shape is interpreted.

We did this last night and discovered that
- I will be in love, happily married, have a kid and live in the Carribbean, because my piece of wax looked like a seahorse.
- Agnieszka will die a miserable lonely death and her life will be full of pain and solitude. All this was clearly visible on her piece of wax, including a very detailed picture of the tractor accident that will finally kill her.

That's all. No pictures, I forgot the camera and I also forgot my piece of wax. Damned beer.

Check your name days on this list and decide on the Polish equivalent of your name and celebrate it at home. Find everyone you know with this same name and include them in the party. Post what you've found and when so I can send you an email. Deep, good luck picking your new name. Go nuts.

http://www.rootsweb.com/~polwgw/namelist.html#T
http://www.behindthename.com/namedays/lists/pol.php

Brunhilde! Berlin

2005-11-22T19:37:00.000+01:00

On our last night in Berlin we were taken by Danilo and his group of really cool friends to a local part of the city. The beer was cheap, the bars were amazing, and it was really nice to be in a big city again and just name the style of music we were in the mood for and be able to find a bar playing it live.

On this night, I also vowed to fulfill the goal I had set out for myself two years ago when I first met Danilo, which was to meet a powerful woman named Brunhilde in Germany and win her heart and marry her and spend the rest of our lives watching her plow my fields and manhandle me when her urges took over.

After a few drinks in the bar, I revealed this plan to all of Danilo's friends and forced them to help me write a list of phrases that would help me capture Brunhilde's massive oxen heart forever. In the end I had three questions that were my litmus test for Brunhilde's love and one romantic request. They wrote out the phonetic version of what I was trying to say as my German was still quite rusty and any mistake in my come on lines could be fatal. As I became louder and drunker, I began to change into that charming (obnoxious) person that is loved so dearly all over the world. One German, actually turned to my sister very early on in the evening and told her in an admiring way, "Your brother is REALLY offensive". I had found my way into the heart of these people.

One girl, whose command of English was weaker than the rest, was incredibly worried that her friends were having their fun with me and were translating innocent phrases into this nonsense. She just couldn't make any logical sense of what was happening. She kept trying desperately to warn me that they were making a fool of me and I kept trying to explain to her tonight I was hoping a woman would first wrestle me, then love me, which only confused her more. Overall, the entire group began to worry for my safety and kept warning me to make sure I didn't say these things to any girl:
1) with a boyfriend
2) who really did look like a Brunhilde

My sister was secretly translating her own phrase in order to protect my life in case it approached danger, but kept this from me until the next day.

Unfortunately, by night's end, I had found no Brunhilde and no trouble either. The only girl that I managed to express my German too turned out to be Greek and had no idea what I was talking about. Alas, I've returned from Germany the same way I came, in one big, lonely, (but in tact) piece.

Overall, the night was still fantastic. We went into one punk rock bar which was an "Illegal", which meant it wasn't an offical bar at all. The entrance was through a hole in the sidewalk and the interior had a 6 foot high ceiling and was full of puddles and dripping water. The whole thing smelled dank and looked like a homeless squat. I also couldn't get over the fact that it was completely legal to carry beer anywhere in Germany. After every bar we just took our last beer with us to the next one, and finally for kebabs. I couldn't stop hiding my beer and feeling like I was doing something wrong.

Was it human vomit or the shit from a dinosaur? We just don't know.

The 'illegal' punk rock bar. The hole used to enter the bar posed no fire hazard because the bar was so dank that it was actually dripping filthy rain (or was it crying punk rock tears?) from the ceiling.

Agnieszka. The dirtier the bar, the more beautiful it is to her. Her ideal European architecture? Fuck the eiffel tower. Give her a bombed out hospital from the second world war now on the verge of collapsing and covered in shit and fungus, now serving as half crackhouse, half Euro-squat and half concert venue.

Me and a man whose name I cannot remember, but can only assume to be 'Deiter', the most German looking man ever born. He was actually studying to be a pastor and explained his heavy drinking and smoking to me as the need to understand the problems of the common man.

Befriending Berlin

2005-11-22T11:43:00.000+01:00

Liz, this one is for you. It was wondeful to see Danilo again. It's amazing to think that really, we only knew this person for a couple of weeks during our Cuba trip two and a half years ago, but within 5 minutes of seeing him it was back to the same dynamic again. The same crazy german with his bizarre sense of humor and incredibly good nature! It was fantastic and I hope that he comes to visit me soon.

On a side note, I was expecting the standard of living to be much higher in Germany than in Poland, so it was to my surprise that I discovered what a cheap flat in the former GDR is like. A coal burning oven to heat only the bedroom. A shower that gives 7 minutes of warm water and needs to be warmed up for 30 minutes to use. And a bathroom in the hallway with no heat, the same temperature inside as the winter day outside. Needless to say I didn't shower for the 4 days I was there and I smelled like a mixture of wet cat and kurrywurst by the end of it.

Yes, it's true. Germans love chocolate.

Beautiful Berlin

2005-11-22T11:22:00.000+01:00

Agnieszka and I visited Berlin this weekend. It's a wild city and surprisingly, fairly cheap for Western Europe. In fact, it was noticeably cheaper to go out in Berlin than in Toronto. What was nice was that both Agnieszka and I became homesick for Wroclaw. We missed the convenience and charm of our smaller place, which although lacked the advantages of a large cosmopolitan city, is more accessible. All big cities have something in common that is a bit intimidating and unattractive, something cold and informal. We felt this the first day in Berlin, before we went into town the next day with friends who live there and discovered more local neighbourhoods. I think from now on, I won't visit a large city unless I do so with someone who knows it well or I have an excellent guide to reveal the charming parts to me. I can only imagine what it must be like to visit Toronto, seeing only the parts that I myself always tried to avoid and coming away from this thinking I got to know the city.

Here are the pictures from our first touristy day in Berlin. And yes Liz, I ate Kurrywurst.

All Saints Day

2005-11-10T09:06:00.000+01:00

Instead of Halloween in Poland, the holiday is more like the Day of the Dead in Mexico. Called All Saints Day, it's the day that everyone visits the cemetery to pay tribute to family members that have passed away.

Special trams and buses that go to cemeteries ran all day and we made it to the cemetery be evening. Unfortunately, we arrived to late to see the gypsies. While for Poles this holiday is very somber, for gypsies it's a celebration, and they visit the mausoleums of their dead and bring food and sing and dance. This is in a nice contrast to the Poles, who are lighting candles and praying 10 feet away.

It was quite a sight, the entire massive Wroclaw cemetary was alight with multi colored candles and full of people walking around in the evening. There was one giant cross, which represents the graves of those who are too far away to visit for people living in the city. It was particularly spectacular because it was lit up with thousands of candles in tribute to family living in other parts of Poland.

The magic of photography catches the image of two ghosts haunting the cemetary, rumored to be spinsters who died here many years ago, alone, desperate and without the love of any man.

Dance you Russian Bear!

2005-11-05T14:24:00.000+01:00

A trip to the Wroclaw zoo allowed us to see what a high quality Eastern European Zoo looks like. Very little security allowing you to touch most of the animals, most of which appeared to be mentally ill and malnourished. Overall, I liked it much more than the Toronto Zoo, which has a policy of putting the animals first.

Unfortunately, I didn't see any bears wearing toutous dancing ballet with a cattle prod in their backside, but I suppose this is the price of progress. Next time I go I hope to ride a giraffe and teach some chimpanzees how to breakdance.

This emu, nicknamed 'Surly', had just downed a half litre of vodka and had a go at my sister. This photo was in no way staged.

The indigenous 'Polus Custodius'. Notice his large bushy moustache used to lure females into exotic mating rituals involving chest pounding and large quantities of cabbage.

Close encounter with a Siberian Tiger. Thankfully, reading the Life of Pi had prepared me to dominate this wild beast. You can see me here in a roar and staredown contest with Samba.

Samba obeying my feline roar and preparing to destroy the emu that had earlier attacked my sister.

28

2005-11-03T11:26:00.000+01:00

For my 28th birthday, we made a reservation at the beer table in Spiz. 20 litres of beer for 150 zloty, 2kg of pure pig lard, two loaves of bread to spread it on, and a massive bowl of dill pickles. I took a picture of myself after every beer that I poured, from 1-10. Here are some photos from that night in sequential order. I offer no explanation for these photos but I hope you enjoy this photo essay of my downward spiral.

Homos and Haters Find Common Ground

2005-10-21T15:12:00.000+02:00

On opposite sides of Świdnicka street, two classic opposing forces in Polish society met for a showdown so intense that it made the cold war seem like a lover's tiff. The two sides in this conflict were Wrocław's 4 openly gay citizens squared up against a much larger and more vocal group of gayhaters eager to send the gays to that mythical island crammed full of prancing gay men and one ticking nuclear bomb.
Tension was high and fists and teeth were tightly clenched on both sides, as were also the ass muscles of only these highest grade homophobes brought in for this special occasion. So anti-gay were these men, that every single hair on their freshly buzz cutted coiffes stood up completely straight in defiance of these abominations.

I saw more police than the day before, so I immediately surmised that a Polish 'bomb threat' isn't nearly as dangerous as a Polish 'bum threat' in the eyes of the law. Someone told me that things were going rather well, because when Kraków's gay community tried to promote gay marriage they were pelted with fruits. It seems Irony pairs well with Intolerance.

About 5 minutes into this demonstration, the anti-gay contingent began to chant loudly in unison at the gays, "Zbocznecy! Zboczency! Zboczency!" which translates to "You Sick Pervs! You Sick Pervs!". The gays didn't respond back with any chants of their own, so I can only assume that these 4 really did like it dirty.

However, despite all this conflict, there was agreement between the two sides today over an issue that extended beyond the petty differences of gays and straights. One that both sides agreed was more important than anything else and they could unite on.

The anti-gay group was displaying this poster here, which as far as I understand means "No not giving a reach around." It seems that even these homophobes understood that if you're going to bend over and take it in the rear, the least someone can do is finish you off.

The Thin Red & White Line

2005-10-07T12:45:00.000+02:00

So, I'm heading back home to my apartment after visiting a friend. I get to my street and find that it's blocked off with police tape and three cops are standing there wearing full body gear, helmets and carrying uzis. I asked what was going on, but Polish cops don't talk. I did see the cop turn away an old lady and an angry businessman on his way to an appointment. Nobody was allowed to pass.

I decided to go around and try another way, but it seemed that every single entrance to my street was swarming with cops holding uzis, turning everyone away. They meant business and weren't telling anyone what was going on.

Somehow I told one cop that I had to quickly get home, so he let me through and I walked through the little park behind my house towards my door, noticing the hustle and bustle of lots of cops in the park behind my apartment, all carrying uzis and walking around.

I quickly ran upstairs, got some money, and then ran back down. Now, all the cops were hiding behind cars with their guns at the ready. Some old man was standing next to me at the doorway, and I asked him what's going on. He had no idea. I told him I had to get to work, but he said they likely wouldn't let me pass. I kept looking at one cop behind a car and made motions like I was about to start walking, but he kept waving me back. I ingored him and started to make my way out of the street, and he yelled at me "Hurry up, go now, go!"

I began walking faster when suddenly the sound of machine gun fire filled the air. My killer instinct kicked in and I dove behind a car next to one of the cops with a gun and covered my head. Another day in Poland was starting off right.

I looked to the cop next to me for guidance, but found none. He was busy readying himself for who knows what and he looked at me with no sympathy. Here was a row of tough Polish cops holding uzis decked out in helmets and full gear, with one Polish teacher in the middle holding a purse and wearing a professor's jacket.

Suddenly, a door opened right behind me. It was the back door to the bookstore which opened up on the other side of the street. A curious old lady had opened it up to see what all the noise was. This was my chance to get the hell out of there. I made to go towards the door, but the cop yelled at the old lady to close it and hide, which she promptly did. I was stuck.

Now, for most of the day, my decision making part of my brain was troubled with such questions as, "Do I have McDonalds today or do I eat pierogi?", or perhaps my real difficult decision, "Do I shit now before work, or wait until after?". Now suddenly, the decision at hand, with the panic button firmly depressed and the "Grip on Reality" meter hovering around zero, was: do I crawl on my belly through the dirt towards that door and try knocking and hope someone lets me in, or do I stay hidden behind the Fiat while well armed people shoot machine guns at each other. My previous big decision of the day, 'when do I shit?', was on the verge of being made for me.

I decided to stay put. I intermittently poked my head up and peered through the car windows to see what was happening, but saw nothing except cops hiding. I then heard another round of machine gun fire, followed by a huge explosion, which shook the buldings around me and set off every single car alarm in the neighbourhood. This scene was now very familiar to me: cops hiding behind cars, guns firing, bombs exploding and the sound of car alarms. I was the innocent bystander in a bad action film.

This nerd wasn't ready to die. I ducked back down and clutched my purse, my lifeblood. I took inventory, hoping something in my purse might be of help.
1. Chapstick - check
2. Notebook - check
3. Cell Phone - check
4. Polish-English dictionary - check
5. Sub machine gun - nope

No. It seemed I was shit out luck. Only the Polish-English dictionary was useful, and I couldn't find the phrase I was looking for, "When the fuck did my day turn into Polish 'Die Hard'?"

I poked my head out again and saw a car race around the corner, tires screeching, followed by another. More gun fire. I stayed down for a bit longer, purse in 'shield mode', until after a few minutes of silence, the cop told me to get out of there.

I bolted from the park and ran through a huge crowd of people who had gathered by the next street, wondering what all the noise was. Nobody seemed to have any answer. When I got to work and told the story, of course, nobody believed me.

Do you?

I've asked everyone what happened to me yesterday, and I've heard everything from police training, film shoot, to a crazy guy blew himself up.

Whatever happened, Poland...I love you. This was the best day ever!

The Gauntlet Has Been Thrown

2005-10-03T11:16:00.000+02:00

Listen up you little punk. Intensive training has begun. There's no way you're arriving here speaking better Polish than me. I just finished reading "Ms. Tittle Mouse" in Polish and next is "Tomek the Kitten". Punk! I think, sleep and dream in Polish. Pan Tadeusz? Light reading that sits near my toilet. You're going down faster than the Battleship Potemkin!

Po przyjeździe do Polski moja edukacja w zakresie tego wspaniałego języka idzie ciągle do przodu. No ba ! Idzie tak do przodu (jestem niemal pewien) ,że mówię już lepiej od mojej kochanej siostrzyczki Agnieszki .W związku z tym chciałem ogłosić skromny rodzinny pojedynek ! Niedługo będę mógł posługiwać się tak piękna polszczyzną jak Rysiu z Klanu! Myślę ,że mam bliżej do tego niż dalej ! Oj coś czuje ,że Agnieszce żal dupcie ściśnie jak zobaczy moje władanie polskim ! Ha ! A ja cieszę michę , bo wymiatam i tyle !A teraz nie będę zamulał i przystąpię do rzeczy jasno !Sprawa przedstawia się tak : robimy pojedynek : Ziomek Tomek kontra Agnieszka ; zwycięzca ? Chyba nie muszę tego pisać Zwycięzcę wyłoni specjalna polska komisja sędziowska (skład zostanie ustalony w najbliższym czasie ).Nagroda ?Hm...Satysfakcja !Myślę ,że ja napisałem już dość wiele i popisałem się co nieco . A teraz czekam na rewanż ze strony siostrzyczki w postaci komentarza ! Pamiętaj Agnieszka ! Komisja czyta i Patrzy :D !

Bar Miś

2005-09-30T13:23:00.000+02:00

MMmmm...Bar Miś. The milk bar, a remnant of communism, was a subsidized 'fast food' restaurant that offered Polish home cooking at a marginal price. I've found the best one in Wroclaw, and I've vowed to eat the entire menu. I'm pretty sure that this will offically kill any chance I have at eating 70kg of pierogi, because eating here is cheaper than cooking at home.

Bar Miś, I love you. Sure, you have the atmosphere of a hospital cafeteria; sure, some angry old man always buds in front of me in line; and sure enough, 5 minutes later, I end up having to share a table with that same angry, old man. But look what my two dollars got me today...

ps: My students tell me that there is a joke, that in Bar Mis you better eat your food quickly, before all the worms in it walk it out the door.

pps: Could this explain the month long, low grade diahhrea that I've been experiencing?

Wrocław Medieval Flogging Pillar Reopens After 150 Year Closure!

2005-09-24T13:48:00.000+02:00

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

On Thas Daye, thee 28th of Septaembere, wae sentence one Tomasz Roszkowski, to a publick floegging of 20 lashes across his backsyde, to be aedminestered by the officyal towne Flogger, for the cryme of.... ???

As I remember...

2005-09-23T18:59:00.000+02:00

This long exposure at night had no chance, but with toying around and luck, it's more like what I remember than it otherwise could have been. It's also nice because you can barely tell that all of Europe is really covered in scaffolding.

Most of my memories are this blurry, because I've been drunk for 40 straight days...

Pretty (embarassed) in Pink

2005-09-21T10:40:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I woke up and got ready for an early morning shift of work. I opened my closet and found on top of the pile, my brand new pink dress shirt, which I had bought right before leaving.

My reasoning was simple. I'd need a nice euro-Pink dress shirt to go with my euro-purse.

It still had all the tags on it, and although I noticed it's soft cottony feel, although the scissors were only 2m (6 feet) away, and although I could hear my mother's voice, firmly planted in my superego, yelling at me not to do it, I grabbed the tags and gave them a solid pull.

Oddly enough, I noticed the last plastic ring was still completely in tact, but I had somehow successfully removed the tag from my shirt. However, there was no miracle responsible for this. The only miracle in this story is that I only managed to tear one hole out of my new dress shirt, not three.

At work, my Polish students, who ironically enough, happened to be an entire class full of middle aged women all resembling my mother, told me to go to a sewing shop behind the Rynek to buy some thread to fix it.

I made my way into the tiny shop full of babcias, and found a squat, older woman behind the counter. I whipped out my best Polish, which loosely translated sounded like this:

Hello. Me put on shirt today. It new shirt. Me (exaggerated pulling gesture) tag. Me make hole. Me very stupid.

To which she replied.

Oh dear sir. You nice, nice man. Here is some thread for your shirt. Oh, you poor, poor boy. Here are some directions to another babcia, who can repair your shirt. (3 minutes of unintelligible directions)

To which I made this face.

To which she replied.

Oh your poor, poor, poor boy. Let me fix your shirt for you here, just buy the thread.

Me: I go home? Bring shirt back you?

Her: No. Just take off your shirt.

Me: Me naked here? But it's cold. And many babcias.

Her: Oh get over it. Take off your clothes. And while you're at it. Thread the needle, I can't see well anymore.

So I took off my shirt, and sat topless in a corner, with my dress pants and farmer's tan, trying to thread the needle for her. Thankfully, the extreme embarassment that I was feeling was slowing turning my body a uniform shame of red as more and more babcias came into the store staring at me.

My embarassment was made worse because:
1) the lady noticed I was embarassed and half naked, and pointed it out to everyone that walked in the store, ensuring everyone noticed me there. Thankfully I had my head buried deep in my hands so I didn't see all of this.
2) she started yelling at me for not being able to thread the needle, and looked at my nerd glasses, and yelled that I must be at least as blind as her, then grabbed the thread and needle and did it herself.

Well, eventually she fixed my shirt, overcharged me for the thread, and gave me back my shirt. Finally, as I was putting it back on, thinking it was all finally over, a cute girl came into the store and she of course told her "You should have been here a minute ago. He had his shirt off you know" All Polish and any wit I may possess left me at this point and I could only nod my head and smile like an idiot.

I left the store to her yelling at me "Do you have an iron? No?!! Then go buy an iron. Everyone needs an iron. And stop pulling on those tags!" I ran, but if I poke my head out the window, I can still hear her.

The morale of the story is this: Don't pull the fucking tag.

It's best to think of it as an emergency ripcord to an instant shaming. "Pull here to release babcia and extinguish all dignity within 4-6 feet."

Backpacking monks score all the girls...

2005-09-15T11:03:00.000+02:00

50 points for whoever can tell me what this hipster, 20 something, backpacking Euro-monk is saying to these girls...

Are you worth your weight in Pierogi?

2005-09-13T10:44:00.000+02:00

Today, hungry and poor, I noticed that for the price of one small square of pizza from Pizza Hut, I can buy myself 1kg of pierogi. The pizza won't even rid me of my temporary hunger, but 1kg of pierogi will sustain my Polish metabolism with delicious cheese and potato for days. It's time to rid myself of my North American diet. Pizza, chips and burgers are all undeserving luxury items here.

So I've decided then to live off of pierogi, and use the money I save to drink beer and to travel.

My goal? To eat my own weight in pierogi by year's end. 70kg.

I'll become a connasseiur of pierogi, I'll know each flavour, each way to cook them, and try each of the many brands of pierogi available here. I'll write love poems about pierogi, I'll become a leading world expert on them; CNN will contact me when a story about pierogi breaks, and perhaps, one day, I may even shit out a nice shiny golden pierog like some twisted Polish fairytale.

Wish me luck, not scurvy.

The pierogi chart. 1 kg down, 69 to go.

Night time...

2005-09-08T13:48:00.000+02:00

I finally ventured out the Rynek with my camera and found an area of Wrocław far more beautiful, reducing the Rynek in my mind to nothing more than a European stripmall.
These are some photos along the way to Ostrów Tumski and then back at the Rynek afterwards.

The most handsome man in Poland.

The Odra River from one of the 102 bridges in Wrocław.

The University. Suck on that, York. Vari Hall my ass!

A church in Ostrów Tumski.

Ratusz at night.

More Pretty Rynek

2005-09-08T11:31:00.000+02:00

My favourite building in the Rynek.

St. Elizabeth's Church.

Dance like a negroe & the birth of "Superfag"

2005-09-07T10:55:00.000+02:00

Look at that photo. Yes, it was 'Family Holiday' in the Rynek this weekend. It was a celebration of all that is good about the family and it was truly wholesome in all the ways we know wholesome to look like; a daughter up on a father's shoulders, children running around and dancing, face painting, candy, and music.

Yet for any lucky person in the audience who could understand Polish and English, this was a family day full of good ol' wholesome racism and sex.

A music group came on stage, dressed as big puffy fruits and vegetables, and instead of Baa Baa Black Sheep like I expected, I heard a song called "Dance like a negroe!". When I heard the first line, "Little Blacky lives in the jungle and loves to dance with the monkeys." I knew I was in for a treat. "1, 2, 3! Dance like blacky! I said Dance!!!"

Next, this group of 10 year old girls in pink jumped on stage dancing like hookers in a Polish Jay Z video, grinding their bright, pink, preteen asses to a full on assault of explicit R&B blaring over these now sinful speakers, while their babcias cheered them on in the audience, wondering what "Swing that dirty ass, bitch!" meant, and maybe even singing along. But irony was not lost today, for these R&B babcias had at least as much gold on their teeth as the hardest gangbangers this side of Compton, so all was good in the world....or was it?

The icing on the fruitcake was this poor kid here. Surrounded by his entourage of tweenage supertramps, this 10 year old boy's only thought was how good he'd look if he had access to even more sequins. This doomed child, living in the most catholic and intolerant country on earth, is so gay that he's best likened to a Gay Neo in the gayhating Matrix of Poland. He is the One the prophecies spoke of.

Moderation...Polish Style

2005-09-04T10:38:00.000+02:00

In the basement of the old city hall, there is a very old brewpub. Beers are available in half litre and four litre sizes. The four litre beer comes in a glass with its own tap. There is also one table in the bar, which has taps and a 20 litre keg built into it, which you buy for about 60 dollars. Rumor has it that in medieval times this is where the 'Century Club' was invented by Teutonic Knights.

Breakfast

2005-09-02T11:24:00.000+02:00

Is this even normal here, or is my aunt just fucking with me? Nobody else got a smoked herring for breakfast.

Wrocław Massive

2005-09-01T01:29:00.000+02:00

Here is my Wrocław crew having beer in the Rynek. Notice the fear and admiration we garner from the native Poles, who are unfamiliar with our loud, obnoxious voices and our gang symbols.

A new gang symbol for Wrocław was invented by Wrocław gangbanger Craig, who enjoys dressing and acting like me. This gang symbol consists of the 'W' and the Polish "ł" with a diagonal line through it.

Poland tastes its first babyfreeze. Notice the look of complete disinterest on the faces of these Polish wiggers. Later on when I told them that my best friend in grade 3 was actually black, I won their respect.

25th Anniversary of Solidarnosc meets 10th Anniversary of My Irreverance

2005-08-31T11:04:00.000+02:00

This Friday was the 25th anniversary of the Solidarity Movement in Poland. In order to commemorate this event, a massive stage was erected in the Rynek and music and other performances went on all night. Also, several old Soviet military vehicles were displayed, including an armoured 'people plow' for breaking up riots.

I paid homage to those events in 1980, by this piece of performance art, which was not appreciated by many babcias present, but was very much appreciated by a crazy old polish man with a huge beard, who said to me in broken english, "Light up a bottle of vodka and throw it at that tank...I did!" And I believed him!

Homebase

2005-08-30T10:58:00.000+02:00

Here are some photos of my homebase in Wroclaw. I really do enjoy the Eastern European fairy tale style of architecture.

False Alarm!

2005-08-30T10:50:00.000+02:00

False Alarm!

I am entirely to blame for the error in judgement that resulted in the last post. In actuality, that was just my Uncle "Grizzly" after he finished the bottle of vodka I brought him from the airport and challenged me and my cousin to numerous arm wrestling matches.

However, I have come away wiser from this experience. With the way that he manhandled me that night, I've come to realize that my ultimate goal will be very difficult to realize and I'll probably need much stronger steroids.

Putski Has Been Found!

2005-08-29T10:42:00.000+02:00

Alert Alert! Alert Alert! Alert Alert!
In a shocking turn of events, I found Ivan Pustki today and challenged him to a contest of strength. I was decisively defeated by this powerhouse of a man. Below are the photos.
I, myself, am shocked by how quickly this has happened and am unsure of what to do for the rest of this trip! My mission is already a failure.

Putski mimics flatulence to further shame me after my defeat.

My Mission

2005-08-28T10:34:00.000+02:00

This blog will chronicle my one year mission in Poland, to find Ivan Putski and to challenge him to a wrestling match. All other notable accomplishments and information will be posted along the way.

In the event that Putski is dead or I run out of steroids before I find him, my backup goal will be to grow the world's biggest Polish moustache.

VS.