Anti-Szaliczki Manifesto

I just don't understand it. I really really don't. What is it about the Burberry's Classic Novacheck line that makes people go ga-ga for it? Tell me what compels people to fall prey and victim to such utter fashion nonsense. I mean how long has this fashion trend been festering the world over? I say, too damn long! It must stop! Wake up people!

Burberry's IS DEAD! Over! Finito! Koniec tego!

What you see here is the horror that is Burberry's Classic Novacheck taking over people's fashion sensibilities to the point of knock off mayhem. These people shall go by the term Szaliczki:: Scarves because that is where this whole damn mess seems to have started. It also seems to be the most afforrdable option for most people to participate in this madness. They shame themselves and as a result I have preserved their anonymity here by blocking their eyes out.

There only 10 images here, taken during Carnivale in Venice, Italy in 2002, BUT I could have taken so many more. . .  

 



 



 

Don't worry, though, Miss Chrzanka don't judge!

Say co:: what!

A couple of clarifications seem to be in order regarding a post on my blog and the name of my blog itself. There I was blissfully posting away not recognizing that certain individuals reading my blog would not understand some of the allusions I have been making so wantonly. So, lest you think me a complete snob, allow me to first clarify the title of the said post, so unpretentiously titled "When I Had a Fulbright in Warszawa." This term, as you shall see, really belongs in quotes. So, I went ahead and made that essential typographical correction, which automatically turns anyone who uses it into an instant post-modernist, to the original post.

The phrase originates from an overheard conversation a friend of mine encountered at an internet kawiarnia:: cafe off of Krakowskie Przedmiescie near Warsaw's Old Town. Really he was the only one of us so-called "Fulbrighters" to actually hear this bombastic exchange put on so effortlessly by an ex-pat (of course!). But it did not matter that all of us were not able to witness this man make a complete ass out of himself, because his being witnessed by one of us was equivalent to his being witnessed by us all. In fact, his pompousness would affect all of us Varsovian Fulbrighters right down to the core of our very beings for the rest of our stay in Poland and beyond. As my friend so eloquently put it, "that dork kept talking and saying, 'When I was living in ...' " and each time he would make such a statement he would punctuate it by pronouncing the city or country with an exaggerated accent. (Sadly, my friend can no longer remember where this dork had traveled or lived -- but it was quite possibly somewhere in South America). That said/witnessed, the phrase "When I had a Fulbright in Warszawa" became a perfect moniker for our lived realities in good old Polska:: Poland, our little inside joke. A joke, I neglected to fill you in on, thereby embodying the very essence of the dork himself.

Moving right along, clarification # 2 is patiently waiting its turn to be read and understood. So long overdue is this clarification; it irks me that I didn't make it sooner. You may have been keeping tabs on my blog, and you may even have enjoyed it just a bit. Chances are, however, that if you lack familiarity with any sort of Slavic language, that there has been at least one point in your reading the title of my blog during which you strained your vocal chords attempting to pronounce it. All the while thinking, "what the hell does that mean, anyway?!?!?," while simultaneously hacking up tiny specks of spittle onto your computer screen attempting to sound out the syllables. Only to have to, then, wipe the screen squeaky clean before continuing to devour the words that I so narcissisticly offer up to you on a fairly consistent basis. Well, this too, I have to partially credit to my dear friend in the aforementioned clarification #1. You see, it is he who baptized me in the name of chrzan (hrzan):: horseradish as Chrzanka (hrzanka), my Polish punk name. It was, however, my idea to combine my Polish punk pseudonym, with the equally Polish greeting of "halo" (think Hello Kitty). Thereby, naming my blog. Ahhhh, finally, mystery solved and clarification achieved.

It's lewd multi-cultural pun fun time, boys & girls

chrzan beaver fever!

What on earth does a beaver have to do with chrzan:: horseradish?!?!?! I am as stumped as you are.

Making this serendipitous discovery reminded me of a picture I took of a food delivery van in the Czech Republic. Upon spotting the van I was initially shocked at its chosen logo:


hungry for some . . . ?


See, in Polish "cipa" is downright explicit compared to the connotations "beaver" elicits. Shocked I turned to my multi-Slavic-lingual friend (same friend from above), mouth wide open and said, "Can you BELIEVE that!" He quickly pointed out to my naive Slavic mind that "cipa" (food, if I recall correctly) in Czech is not the same as "cipa" (think kitty with a "p") in Polish.

However, we all know both are just as rejuvenating, tasty, and satisfying!

The Skaj is falling, the Skaj is falling...

BUT you can do something about it.

See, Read, Respond, Act, Do, Spread the Word:

Mayday, May Day!!!!

The Crafty Beaver Returns!

I have been as busy as a beaver working on my crafts throughout the weekend. Okay, okay, so some projects were completed a while back, like the aforementioned scarf from a few posts past, and some were works in progress, but to me it doesn't matter because crafty is as crafty does and I sure was crafty! So, as promised let me share with you the fruits o' my labor.

Remember those felt pins I mentioned in "Crafty Beaver?" Well, I finally got around to taking a picture of them. I am pretty proud of them. I have worn the circle one a few times already. However, ever since a friend of mine told me that the fish button one looked like a Girl Scout badge, I have not been as excited about wearing it. And, honestly, I haven't worn it yet. I have never been a Girl Scout and I don't exactly want to walk around looking like I am trying to relive a past that I never even got a chance to experience. But, then again, maybe I should wear it just to show off my pride in their inclusive and open-minded policy to include ALL girls in their organization regardless of their sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, etc (unlike, their intolerant and homophobic brother organization . . . yes, you know the one I am talking about).

Felt Pins

Moving on, I finally completed my first ribbed scarf! I more-or-less followed the instructions in Debbie Stoller's Stitch 'n Bitch. However, I opted for a skein of sportweight yarn (Lion Brand Yarn Co./Wool-Ease/Turquoise 148 - an acrylic wool blend) instead of the recommended bulky kind. I also used a pair of size 8 knitting needles instead of the recommended size 10. That would explain why it took me sooooooooo long to complete this so-called beginner's basic.

Ribbed-for-Her-Pleasure Stretchy Scarf

After I completed the project, I experimented a little with my remaining bits of yarn. Using the ever-simple garter stitch (purl, purl, purl, purling away) I coupled the turquoise sportweight yarn with a white multi worsted weight yarn made by the same company. I liked the end result; combined here as a duo alongside the scarf . . .

Turquoise Knit Scarf/Bracelet Combo

Nevertheless, I decided to play with it some more and I added a little accent to it. Using scraps of red felt and a random button from my container of random buttons I pieced together this double knit (not sure if that is the correct technical term, but I am going to use it anyway) funky flower bracelet:

Before:: Double Knit Bracelet


After:: Double Knit Bracelet Plus!

And finally . . .do you hear the drum roll . . . finally, I purchased my first ever sewing machine this last weekend at That Place That Sells Sewing Machines. It is a fancy-shmancy computerized Baby Lock Crafter's Choice. I hardly know how to use the darn thing, but I spent most of my weekend trying to figure it out. No worries though, I am scheduled to participate in a 3 hour long training class in early August and until that time I will busy myself with the manual and very simple projects like my sock dolls. As you may know, I have a whole line of Polish Punk Princesses coming out (refer to the comments section in Crafty Beaver . . . but if you dare steal my idea I will rip your eyeballs out with my brand new seam ripper and then I'll sue your ass into oblivion! Got that!).

Ahhh, breathe Chrzanka, breathe . . . Oh yes, back to the sewing machine . . .

My Baby Lock Just Cares for Me ;-)

Regardless of the fact that I can't tell the difference between a topstitch and an overlock stitch, I still managed to produce this little drawstring Polka Power Dot Pouch. The picture is deceiving it is actually much smaller than it seems here about 5 inches high and 3 inches across. All in all, the perfect size to hold my glass marble charms. Yet, another work in progress.

Polka Power Dot Pouch

But, that my friends is for another time . . .

Craft out!

"When I had a Fulbright in Warszawa..."

This is a segment I will be posting ever so often as a way of resurrecting and exploring the time I spent in Warszawa, Poland (2001-2002). This is something that I have actively avoided doing since my return to the States over 2 years ago. I am starting this project now because I find it a necessary mental exercise -- a way to help me process and digest my feelings about the entire mess and marvel that was Poland.

Warszawa flags

The stories, blurbs, items, pictures and any and all images posted will come from my Fulbright proposal/essay, my own journal entries, the e-mails sent to my family and friends, a variety of found and collected objects as well as pictures that I took. My observations will not be posted in any particular or chronological order because, like all memories and nostalgic recollections, reconstructions about the past do not occur in any orderly fashion. So, I won't force that artificial order on them either.

That said, allow me to begin at the beginning by posting select fragments from my personal essay - - part of the Fulbright application process.

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I am a Polish-American woman. Or, is it an American-Polish woman? The order of my hyphenated ethnic status may seem trivial to some, but the question of my "Polishness" weaves in and out of my life at a fairly constant pace leading me to ponder its meaning with necessary seriousness. My family emigrated from Poland to the United States in 1979, when I was three years old. As a result, my strongest connections to Poland are sensory. At a very young age, I learned how to unlatch the lock on the prickly green door of our small one bedroom Kosciuszko Street apartment. With my newly acquired skill, I would lead my younger sister on adventures to the cellar that began at the bottom of the stairwell. I remember a musty, stale cellar and the odor of stored coal. My mother worried as we involved ourselves in mischievous fun and youthful escapades. The rest of my memories of Poland are indistinct, colored by my family's retellings of pre-immigrant life and by timeworn black and white photographs.

Besides these memories, it is difficult for me to say what it is that makes me Polish other than I was born in Poland. I attained official United States citizenship in 1994, when I was a freshman at university. My connection to my Polish origins have been limited to family rituals, long distance phone calls to relatives still residing in Poland, attending Saturday Polish school, and taking part in the perfunctory Polish rituals. One of the most memorable traditions that has meaning to me is the Polish Christmas Celebration of Wigilia. This is a time when the bonds of the Polish community are felt through the sharing of stories, food, and oplatek (holy wafer). As newcomers to the United States, we were unaccustomed to and felt alienated from American behavior and society; celebrating Wigilia allowed us to maintain a sense of solidarity and identity in a new environment. Over the years, we have "Americanizied" our approach to Wigilia by tempering some of the religious undertones and dietary guidelines. However, we still celebrate the underlying essence of communal cohesion.

For a long time, my Polish identity was something that I wanted to hide. Poles in Chicago, especially newly arrived immigrants, were frequently taunted as being "stupid Polaks." Growing up it was something I learned to be embarrassed about. I took pride in people's appraisal of me as a Spaniard, Italian, or Grecian because it meant that I did not look and act Polish. However, being a first generation immigrant meant more than superficial adolescent frustrations surrounding peer acceptance. My ethnicity mattered to me but my immigrant status also located me within a specific social stratum of the "upwardly mobile" first generation white immigrant.

The immediacy of establishing stability and security for a family of four in a new country meant that my parents had to quickly gain a foothold in the States. At the time, they did not speak English and their social network was limited to my grandmother, who lived and worked in Chicago. With my grandmother's, help both of my parents found employment as janitors working the swing shift for the past twenty years in Chicago's high-rises. Occasionally, my mother would also take on "domki," that is, she would clean other people's houses on the side for extra income. During the week, exchanges with my parents were limited to a couple of hurried hours between pick up from school and their departure for work. It was only during the weekends when we were able to connect with the reduced frenetic trappings of domestic obligations and differing work schedules.

Our ultimate connections and tensions evolved around negotiating the American public educational system. It was a system that was bewildering to my parents with all of its liberal democratic trappings. After all, what did getting a "free" education mean when it was coupled with mediocre curricula, under funded resources, rundown buildings and concern for physical safety from local gangs? As immigrants, my parents guided and instructed me as best as they could with the linguistic obstacles of speaking a second language and their unawareness of how to participate effectively in my education. It was always the question of "what next" that puzzled us. This became excruciating evident when I approached graduation from high school. The process and politics of registering for standardized tests, researching higher education institutions, and applying for colleges were daunting. Learning to negotiate such an unfamiliar world was difficult, but ultimately proved rewarding.

As I mature and because of my experiences, I yearn to understand and relate to my Polishness on a more intimate level. Moreover, I seek to understand what it means to be a Polish woman in all of its contemporary permutations. After graduating from the Chicago public school system and after completing four years of university study, I have been drawn to the study of ethnicity, immigration, and gender identity across borders and within them. My identification as a first generation Polish immigrant woman growing up in Chicago and attending multiethnic schools has enhanced my own views of social issues. Moreover, it has guided my academic interests.

Sun & Moon:: Degrees of Chrzanka

The following text was taken produced by one of those online horoscope sites. My friend, Spandexa, sent it to me and I thought that I would share it with you here. If you know me,you can make your own assessment about whether it is an accurate description of my personality. As for me, I think that the first and third paragraphs are pretty darn accurate, but the second one not so much. Feel free to post your comments about this as well as any other pseudo-cosmic related matter here.

Chrzanka Z
May 27 1976
12:00 AM Time Zone is CET
Wrzesnia, Poland

***THESE ARE NOT MY WORDS***

Rising Sign is in 29 Degrees Capricorn
You are practical and reserved but very ambitious. An achiever and a hard worker, you respect success. Older looking and very serious as a youth, things lighten up and you relax more as you mature. You have a serious view of the world as being a difficult place to be in. Very envious of those who seem to have an easier life than you have, relaxation and play do not come easily. It is important that you had abundant parental support as a child so that you do not feel lonely and isolated as an adult. Generally, you have a good, earthy sense of humor that can carry you through when times really do get tough. You are purposeful, self-willed, industrious, realistic and responsible.

Sun is in 06 Degrees Gemini
You have a quick, bright and agile mind, but an extremely short attention span. You love the external, kaleidoscopic aspects of life, but you tend to avoid (and even fear) deep, close emotional involvements. As such, you seem to enjoy travel and sightseeing and generally being "on-the-go." You get quite listless when things around you become static and dull, but your excitement returns whenever you are stimulated by a new idea. Chatty, inquisitive and quite playful, you enjoy practical jokes and games in general. Your moods change quickly and often -- you are very restless and constantly in motion. You are known for your versatility and adaptability. Your vivaciousness enlivens any social gathering.

Moon is in 24 Degrees Taurus
Warmth, comfort, security and familiar surroundings are necessary for you to feel at ease. Very loving and affectionate, you prefer a steady, patterned way of life. Patient, calm and steadfast, you are not easily upset. Others look to you for support. You tend to be a slow starter and a slow mover -- others may try to rush you, but they will never succeed. Emotionally, you are quite stubborn -- your attitudes about people and things were firmly set in your youth and will change very little as an adult. You are also very cautious and conservative about spending money. It is not that you are selfish, you just need to feel secure. Beware of a tendency to become overly complacent and too self-satisfied.

Fantabulous Long Weekend O' Fun

Out of the blue one of my best friends, S, (I have many...I am very lucky that way!) e-mailed and said that she would have Monday off and was also able to find a good deal on a ticket from LA to SF. This was wonderful news since we (Y and I) did not have much planned for the weekend outside of resting and completing our ever present chores. I went to bed delighted as could be. Before turning out the lights, I decided to check my Palm and realized that I did have something planned for Saturday after all. I completely forgot that another friend of mine, M, and I bought tickets for Eve Ensler's The Good Body more than a month ago. Realizing my overplanning fiasco, I freaked! Y gave me the bright idea to buy another ticket for the show. I bought two b/c I didn't want my friend to sit alone. Since Y did not want to join us, I sent out an e-mail to a select group of friends hawking the extra ticket on a first come first serve basis.

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Saturday evening was filled with a night at the theater, a late snack at Mason Cafe, and drinks until 1:30ish A.M. at Twin Peaks Tavern, the first gay bar in the Castro with windows that let the sunshine in and visible gayness OUT ;-) -- a fact a Siberian exprisoner, we met at the tavern, did not want to hear from us girls at the bar. You see, toward the end of the night (bar time in SF is 2:00 A.M.) this guy in his mid-30s...(maybe more) demanded that we not only explain the Twin Peaks Tavern to him but also all of American gay culture. He was annoying and obviously wanted to relive his past traumas at the Siberian prison camp, New York city in the 1980s, and his mother's ambassadorial prowess back in the day among other bizarre revelations. The bartender did as much as he could to rescue us from the self-imposing and salivating Slav. He fed us his lover's homemade rice pudding.

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July 4th was spent driving around SF and showing my friend a bit of the sights and sounds of this magical and foggy city. Starving we headed to Yummy Yummy, one of our favorite pho restaurants in the city. Filled with pho and bun we picked up a few items at the grocery store to take to a friend's bbq in Berkeley. We BARTed to the East Bay and spent a lovely and drunken afternoon/evening eating grilled treats and enjoying each other's company.

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Monday passed as quickly as it arrived, but not w/o its share of delights and pleasures. We started the day with a late lunch at Noe Valley's Le Zinc. After filling our bellies we drove up to Twin Peaks to show S yet another view of SF. Unfortunately, the fog and wind made it quite unbearable to endure for more than 5 minutes. I guess that was OK since we had to drive her to the airport anyway. Off she went! Like the day, S also departed as quickly as she arrived. Back at home Y and I had a few hours to spend relaxing before making our reservation at The Slanted Door(a little b-day treat from my co-workers). So, I took the time to complete my first hand knit ribbed (2x2) scarf (pictures will be posted in due time).

The Slanted Door was absolutely delicious! We spent a total of 2 hours there consuming the following:

Appetizers::
daikon rice cakes with shiitake mushrooms and shallots
niman beef carpaccio with rau ram, peanuts and lime juice

Entree::
catfish claypot with cilantro, ginger and thai chilies
grilled Australian free-range lamb rack with potatoes and tamarind sauce
spicy eggplant with green onions and coconut milk
and, of course, rice

Dessert::
Frog Hollow yellow peach and blackberry crisp with buttermilk ice cream

Beverages::
riesling, strub, kabinett, niersteiner, rheinhessen, 2002 (liter) (the cheapest bottle of riesling listed on the menu)

All in all, the experience was lovely and one that we do not get to enjoy too often!
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