with dedication to all married friends

80-year-old beloved husband, father and grandfather is about to die. His whole family surrounds his bed to accompany him in his last moments on earth. His wife, his kids, his grandchildren and even several of his grand-grandchildren. They all look at him with tension waiting for a dreaded moment to come. Then, the old man interrupts the silence:
- I will reveal to you my biggest secret... I never wanted to get married and start the family. I had everything: fast cars, beautiful women, many friends, lots of money on my bank account. But one evening, one of my closest friends said to me: "Get married and start the family, or when you get old and you will be dying there will be nobody standing by your bed to bring you a glass of water when you get thirsty." His words made me change my life. I decided to get married. That meant that I stopped going with my friends for beer to the pub. Instead I was changing your pampers, my dear kids. I also stopped going to the night clubs with beautiful girls. Instead I was watching TV with you, my dear wife. All money from my bank account were used by you my kids and wife. And you know what I think now, when I am dying?
- What? - Everybody asked.
- That now, I am not even thirsty!

Na łożu śmierci leży 80-latek - kochany mąż, ojciec i dziadek. Dookoła zebrała się cała rodzina. Żona, wszystkie dzieci, wnuki oraz kilkoro prawnucząt. Wszyscy w milczeniu wpatrują się w sufit tudzież w podłogę, czekając na zbliżającą się chwilę... Nagle ciszę przerywa dziadek i rzecze:
- Zdradzę wam swój największy sekret... Ja naprawdę nie chciałem się żenić i zakładać rodziny. Miałem wszystko: szybkie samochody, piękne kobiety, sporo przyjaciół i kasę na koncie. Ale pewnego wieczoru znajomy rzekł do mnie:
- "Ożeń się i załóż rodzinę bo nie będzie ci miał, kto podać szklanki wody, kiedy będzie ci się chciało pić na łożu śmierci."
Od tego momentu słowa te nie dawały mi spokoju. Postanowiłem radykalnie zmienić swoje życie i ożenić się. Skończyły się wyskoki z kolegami na piwo. Teraz wyskakiwałem tylko do nocnego po gerberki dla was, dzieci moje. Wieczorne dyskoteki z dziewczynami, zamieniły się w wieczorne oglądanie seriali z żoną... Pieniądze z konta zostały roztrwonione na fundusze inwestycyjne dla was kochane dzieci. Swawolne dni sprzed małżeństwa odeszły jak wiatr... I teraz, kiedy leżę na łożu śmierci ... - wiecie co?
- Co? - wszyscy zdumieni wpatrują się w staruszka.
- Nie chce mi się pić!

bed of death

Hmm, I just wanted to translate another joke that I like a lot, and I got surprised how different meaning certain expressions can have in different languages.
The expression in Polish is "lezec na lozu smierci" which literally means "to lie on the bed of death". It is a commonly used euphemism for "to be dying/to be about to die".
Interestingly, in English "bed of death" is a term for "diminished sexual activity in long term relationship".

Jesus

One night a thief breaks into a very rich house. While he is going through the drawers looking for money and jewelry, he hears somebody saying:
- Jesus sees you...
The thief looks around but he does not see anybody, so he keeps on searching the house. Then again he hears the same voice:
- Jesus sees you...
He looks around again and finally spots a parrot in the cage, which in meantime said again:
- Jesus sees you...
- Who are you? What is your name? - He asks the parrot.
- Moses - Replies the parrot.
- Moses? That's a really stupid name for a parrot! - The thief laughs.
- Not more stupid than Jesus for a rottweiler...


W nocy do mieszkania włamał się złodziej. Świeci latarką, szuka kosztowności i nagle słyszy głos:
-Jezus cię widzi....... - rozgląda się ale nikogo nie zauważył, szuka dalej
a tu znowu ten sam głos:
- Jezus cię widzi...... - facet się wkurzył, rozgląda się porządnie, patrzy, a w klatce siedzi papuga i powtarza:
- Jezus cię widzi....
- A Ty kto?!! Jak się nazywasz? A papuga na to:
- Mojżesz
- Mojżesz? Idiotyczne imię dla papugi!
- Nie gorsze niż Jezus dla rottweilera...

now both in Polish and English :-)

A very attractive blond woman enters a casino and goes straight to the table with the roulette, which is served by two croupiers. She declares that she wants to bet 20’000$ for one number in one bet only. Then she adds:
- I hope that you do not mind if I undress, but usually I get much more lucky if I play naked.
She removed her dress, shoes and underwear, and then she started spinning the wheel of the roulette shouting:
- Mummy needs money to buy new clothes!
Moment later she was shouting:
- Yes! Yes! I won! I won!
She was jumping in ecstasy like a little girl and she was hugging and kissing both croupiers. Then she collected all money, her clothes and she left the casino.
The croupiers a bit confused looked at each other and the one of them asked:
- Do you remember which number she was betting on?
- No idea, I thought that you were checking that… - answered the other one.

The moral: Not all blond girls are stupid, but all guys are just guys…


Dwaj znudzeni krupierzy siedzieli przy stole z ruletką, gdy do kasyna weszła bardzo atrakcyjna blondynka. Podeszła do stołu i zadeklarowała zakład na 20 tys. dolarów na konkretną liczbę.
Zaraz potem dodała:
- Mam nadzieję, że to wam nie będzie przeszkadzać, ale naprawdę szczęśliwe zakłady obstawiam kompletnie nago.
Po czym zrzuciła z siebie suknię, bieliznę i buty, i rozkręciła talerz ruletki z okrzykiem:
- Mamusia potrzebuje pieniążki na nowe ubranko!
Chwilę później już wykrzykiwała:
- Tak! Tak! Wygrałam! Naprawdę wygrałam!
Podskakiwała przy tym jak mała dziewczynka i obejmowała każdego z krupierów. Zaraz potem zebrała wszystkie pieniądze i swoje rzeczy, i prędko opuściła kasyno. Krupierzy nieco zakłopotani popatrzyli na siebie, po czym jeden z nich zapytał drugiego:
- Ty, a co ona właściwie obstawiała?
- Nie mam pojęcia, myślałem, że Ty to sprawdzasz! - odparł tamten.

Morał: Nie wszystkie blondynki są głupie, ale wszyscy faceci są tylko facetami...

murals: Women's Building

Women's Building is located on 18th Street between Guerrero and Valencia. These photos were taken on 3rd of May 2007:

murals: Clarion Alley

What I love about San Francisco is that art abounds on the street. If you just walk around the city (and keep your eyes open), you are bound to find different kinds of art at every other corner.

Apparently, only the Mission District contains around 200 murals. Many of them were painted in the 1970s as part of the public program to provide space for young artist to express themselves. But SF mural art history goes as much back as to the 1930s when President Roosvelt's New Deal program funded series of murals that are now on display inside Coit Tower. SF boasts also three murals by Diego Rivera (located at City College and San Francisco Art Institute) painted in the 1930s and '40s.

Personally, I like a lot Clarion Alley Mural Project located on Clarion Alley, between 17th and 18th Streets, between Mission and Valencia. What is particularly nice about it is that every year they have a "block party" during which some of the old murals get replaced with the new ones.

Here are few pictures from Clarion Alley that I took during the walk with Ania and (the other ;-)) Monika last Monday afternoon (17th of June 2007):

Mauritania's wife-fattening farm

Here is an interesting BBC article about force-feeding little girls with dates and couscous to make them fat. It seems that some Mauritanians still consider being fat to be the symbol of wealth (and therefore also beauty).
Regardless of the fact that it is clearly stupid and cruel practice, the existence of fat people that became fat because of "overdosing" healthy, natural diet gives the possibility to answer the question if being fat is unhealthy per se, or if being fat as a result of eating highly processed food is actually the reason for the many diseases that affect fat people in Western societies.

07/03/07 Update: Also NYT posted an article on that subject. It is even more shocking than the BBC one as here they also say that women take dexamethasone (a steroid) to get fat faster.

Monika

Monika - name derived from Greek "monos" (meaning: the only one, alone, lonely). In Poland used since XV century (also as Mońka, Muńka). Friends and family would often instead of Monika use any of the following: Monia, Moniczka, Monisia, Moniś, Nika, Mona. In my particular case I would be also often called: Moni, Mo, Mon, Monik, Monsu (Jochen's poor spelling attempt of Monisiu), Monischka (Fede's version of Moniczka). Also: Su....ek (especially in the context: Su....ek! Are you crazy?!? or: Su....ek, Behave! or: OMG, Su....ek, What did you do this time? Those all are mostly used by Ann and BB), Ksiezniczko (Princess), Sloneczko (Sunshine), Kochanie (I guess Darling or My Love are the closest to Polish meaning), Moja Ukochana Coreczko (My Beloved Daughter, used by my father in every second sentence), Moje Szczescie Ukochane (My Beloved Happiness, again used by my father several times during each conversation), Ty Zolzo Jedna (I guess the best translation would be: You Bitchy Girl, used by my father whenever he thinks that I tease him too much).

Since I live abroad almost everybody just calls me Monika (or rather Manika). How boring. I also do not get presents anymore for my name day(s). Chlip.

Here is a cute poem about my name written by Ludwik Jerzy Kern:

Maybe she can be a bit wild,
Maybe she can be too vivid -
That's not important!
The important thing is that Monika
When makes others happy,
Makes herself happy too.

Może nawet bywa trochę dzika,
Może nawet nazbyt żywa bywa -
To nieważne!
Ważne, że Monika,
Kiedy uszczęśliwia innych,
Sama jest szczęśliwa.

help paris escape from jail

Escaping Paris

Art is life

Art is life. And the perspective that we have on the life. You can not create art in the vacuum (well, you can, but then it will be empty and meaningless). That's why I have to study, I have to learn all the time new things, I have to be exposed to the world and new ideas. That keeps me moving and helps developing as an artist.
Natalia Szostak, 21st of June, 2007 in Boogaloos, San Francisco

navigare

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
Mark Twain

see you on the other side

Whenever I was deciding where to go for holidays I always did a lot of internet digging to find first-hand reports of like-minded people. In this way I found an internet journal of Kinga and Chopin. These guys started their trip in October 1998 in New York with 600$ in their pockets and with these money they managed to travel throughout both Americas, Australia, Asia and Europe. This trip took them five years. Detailed description of their adventures you can find on their webpage. After they came back to Europe Kinga wrote a book "Led by destiny", which is based on their experiences from all over the world. I haven't had a chance to read it, so I do not know if it is good, but I would be very surprised if it wasn't. After a year break in Europe Kinga decided to travel alone in Africa. I followed first few months of her trip on her new webapage dedicated to this trip. For various reasons I had not visited that webpage for several months and only two months ago I again checked it out. There I learnt that Kinga died a year ago in Ghana from cerebral malaria. I know that it does not make any sense, but I do feel like I lost a friend.

Kinga, see you on the other side:

Buenos Aires

Navigare necesse est, vivere non est necesse. Or as Justyna Steczkowska sings in her interpretation of Maanam song "Buenos Aires" - traveling is divine (almost as divine as Justyna's voice):

Did anybody see it? Does anybody remember? Wasn't she just absolutely stunning? Here is a full version of her performance.

During the course of this week I made an important (and rather difficult) decision, which is that I will not go to Poland for Christmas. Instead I decided to travel somewhere in South or Central America. Now I have to carefully think where I want to go the most.

are there happy poems?

untitled ("When Isolde was dying...")
--------------------------------------------------------------

When Isolde was dying, Tristan would stoop over the hospice
bed and touch her burning forehead with his soft, cool hand.
He would supply his own breath and Isolde drank life from
the breath of her lover. He kept up her falling head, the narrow,
slender back. Her emaciated collarbones lifted frantically
to keep up with her breathing. The heart beat fast, unevenly.
Isolde would tighten her fingers around Tristan's hand.
Talk to me -- she would plead -- I want to hear your voice,
I can still hear -- she would say.
Tristan remained silent and she died, the blind Isolde, mouth
pressed to the hands of her lover.
Which were soft and cool.


***("Kiedy Izolda umierala...")
------------------------------------------------------------------

Kiedy Izolda umierała, Tristan pochylał się nad szpitalnym
łóżkiem, ręką miękką i chłodną dotykał rozpalonego czoła.
Podawał oddech z własnych ust i piła Izolda życie z oddechu
kochanka. Podtrzymywał jej osuwającą się głowę, wąskie,
szczupłe plecy. Obojczyki wychudłe podnosiły się spiesznie,
aby nadążyć za oddechem. Serce biło prędko, nierówno. Izolda
zaciskała palce wokół ręki Tristana.
Przemów do mnie -- prosiła -- chcę słyszeć twój głos, jeszcze
mogę słyszeć -- mówiła.
Milczał Tristan i umarła ślepa Izolda przyciskając usta do
rąk kochanka.
Które miękkie były i chłodne.

Halina Poświatowska
translation by Marek Lugowski

I'm Juliet

untitled ("I am Juliet...")
---------------------------------------------------------

I am Juliet
I am 23 years old
I once touched love
it tasted bitter
like a cup of black coffee
it set my heart
racing
irritated
my alive organism
set my senses swaying

went away

I am Juliet
on a high balcony
dependent
shouting come back
calling come back
staining
bitten lips
with the hue of blood

did not come back

I am Juliet
I am thousand years old
I live --



("Jestem Julia...")
---------------------------------------------------------

Jestem Julią
mam lat 23
dotknęłam kiedyś miłości
miała smak gorzki
jak filiżanka ciemnej kawy
wzmogła
rytm serca
rozdrażniła
mój żywy organizm
rozkołysała zmysły

odeszła

Jestem Julią
na wysokim balkonie
zawisła
krzyczę wróć
wołam wróć
plamię
przygryzione wargi
barwą krwi

nie wróciła
Jestem Julią
mam lat tysiąc
żyję --

Halina Poświatowska
translation by Marek Lugowski