Babcia Zosia
April 13, 19?? - September 3, 2004
Joseph Patrick Flanagan
April 25, 1976 - February 19, 2005
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
November 1968
Stripped
you're beginning to float free
up through the smoke of brushfires
and incinerators
the unleafed branches won't hold you
nor the radar aerials
You're what the autumn knew would happen
after the last collapse
of primary color
once the last absolutes were torn to pieces
you could begin
How you broke open, what sheathed you
until this moment
I know nothing about it
my ignorance of you amazes me
now that I watch you
starting to give yourself away
to the wind.
Adrienne Rich
From The Will To Change: Poems 1968-1970
2.25.2005
In Memoriam
7.23.2004
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, Ms. Chrzanka don't judge!
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, Ms. Chrzanka don't judge!
7.20.2004
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
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 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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)