how is it goin' man?

picture the following:

i am strolling down the sfu campus. people running to and from the lectures. busy people. really busy people. but i am strolling, enjoying freezing winter air and the whiteness of snow.

from time to time i find a familiar face in this river of people. and so i noticed chelsea, a girl from the 4th floor of my tower. she's wearing her iPod [a central charachter of this story] and generally looking very cool. she is probably listening to her very cool music, perhaps the coolest in the universe, yet she notices me and smiles.

the suspense is coming. i smile back and say: "hello, hello!" she says: "hi, i am pretty good, thanks" and so we pass each other by.

ha?

did you get that? neither did i. until i sat down in the cafeteria and wrote the whole situation down. if you still don't get my conclusion, i shall help you.

the punchline is: never say hello without saying 'how's it goin'?' or a phrase alike. let the people socially and naturally isolated by iPods can actually fit their responses to your intelligent inquiry.

let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

the sfu campus covered with this white thing called snow...

sen

do tej pory nie jest dla mnie jasne skąd się tam wziąłem, ale zostałem zaproszony na egzekucję terrorysty. prawdopodobnie całkiem ważnego terrorysty.

sceneria przypominała amerykańską bazę guantanamo na kubie. dookoła placu, na którym ów terrorysta miał być rozstrzelany zaczęli gromadzić się ludzie. kolejno rozpoznawałem twarze najważniejszych amerykańskich polityków: bush, rumsfeld, rice itd.

czułem się bardzo nieswojo. powtarzam, że nie mam zielonego pojęcia co mnie tam sprowadziło. muszę przyznać, że nawet przyglądałem się widowisku z rosnącym zainteresowaniem i dziwnym podekscytowaniem. dopóki. dopóki nie wrosłem w ziemię.

czterej żołnierze w piaskowych mundurach wprowadzili na środek placu skazanego.
zasalutowali. na prawych ramieniach widniały polskie flagi.

niepokój powrócił w mgnieniu oka. skazany na głowie miał parciany worek. mimo, że ręce i nogi miał skute potężnymi kajdanami, miotał się na wszystkie strony. co chwila jeden z polaków wymierzał skazanemu cios, po czym powracał do posłusznej, wyprężonej postury ‘na baczność’.

okolicę patrolowały trzy helikoptery. wszyscy obecni zostaliśmy kilkakrotnie powiadomieni o nadzwyczajnych środkach bezpieczeństwa. nikomu podczas egzekucji nie mogła nawet zadrżeć powieka, gdyż może tym na siebie ściągnąć podejrzenia i ogień strzelców.

stałem tam jak sparaliżowany: ‘co ja tu do cholery robię?’

zaczęły się przemówienia. ‘musimy z tym skończyć!’ albo ‘chcemy żyć w wolnym kraju’ albo ‘wrogowie, strzeżcie się’. wzdrygnąłem się. braci kaczyńskich na szczęście nie było wśród tłumu, ale czwórka polskich żołnierzy prężyła się i śliniła do amerykańskich brzuchów.

zbliżał się moment egzekucji. jeszcze raz zostaliśmy powiadomieni o nadzwyczajnych środkach bezpieczeństwa, a ja cały czas nie mogłem się ruszyć. cały byłem sparaliżowany, gniewem, strachem, rozpaczą, ludzką głupotą.

i kiedy polscy żołnierze przeładowywali swoje amerykańskie karabiny i cały tłum znieruchomiał na te kilka sekund, coś we mnie tknęło. przełknąłem ślinę i poprawiłem sobie sfatygowany kołnierzyk od koszuli. w tej samej chwili jeden z żołnierzy błyskawicznie odwrócił się i wystrzelił w moją stronę.

czas zwolnił, zupełnie jak w hollywoodzkich filmach. dostałem w lewe ramię. ‘żesz kurwa jego mać!’ wykrzyknąłem po polsku ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ poprawiłem się. ale nikt nawet nie zauważył mojej krwawiącej ręki. egzekucja przebiegła normalnie. minutę później usłyszałem głuchy strzał i grom oklasków. i kolejne przemówienia.

powoli zacząłem tracić przytomność. ciągle byłem niewidzialny. nikt mnie nie słyszał, nikt mnie nie widział.

ostatkiem sił doczołgałem się do baraków i znalazłem lekarza. w chwili gdy lekarz wbił swoje metalowe szczypce w moją ranę, ból był tak przenikliwy, że obudziłem się w moim akademickim łóżku. i od razu napisałem tę historię.

volleyball worldchampionship: scoreboard

17.11.2006

poland - china 3:0 (25:21, 25:20, 25:21)

18.11.2006

argentina - poland 0:3 (21:25, 22:25, 22:25)

19.11.2006

poland - egypt 3:0 (25:13, 25:19, 26:24)

21.11.2006

puerto rico - poland 0:3 (22:25, 22:25, 23:25)

22.11.2006

japan - poland 0:3 (25:18, 25:21, 25:23)

shall i say more? ;-)

next one to be defeated is tunisia...

solipsism

i rarely listen to what the philosophy prof says during the lectures. i rarely listen to her words as they are. my mind, rather, wonders around these words and ideas.

and so it did around searle's 'chinese room' thought experiment. and suddenly my brain was hit with an idea of solipsism.

'ouch'.

'ouch'

it was hit twice, actually.

and so i felt sort of obliged to put my thoughts down. on paper. on screen, i mean. i touch upon this extreme of skepticism, not because i believe it. no. or rather not yet.

do i allow such a possibility then? well. i must say i do. a tiny, little possibility that it is only my mind, which truly exists.

would it make my life simpler? clearer? happier? might do. but, again, not necessarily.

and it is still just a promile of a possibility. a promile.

but there is.

stranger equals danger

"stranger equals danger! don't let anyone you don't know into your residence building."

these posters are all over the place. and yes, they are distributed by the residence administration.

lock your room at all times. even if you go our for a short jog, even if you go to visit your neighbour, even if you only go to pee. this is what we are told. thieves are just waiting for an opportunity!

remember that, at the same time, the community is built upon trust. interesting, ain't it?

well, i miss the community that really is built upon trust. zdbice. le caussanel. lingbo. flekke. eh.

i know that stupidity and greediness are everywhere and even back in flekkeland people steal. but the scale is completely different. the bonds among people are strong enough to really trust...

a job

remember the quote from trainspotting?

"choose life. choose a job. choose a career. choose a family..." and so forth.

i have chosen a job. have i chosen life, though? but from the beginning, for you probably are dying to ask this question: "so what do you do?"

i solicite. i telemarket. i fundraise. i convince people to support and contribute to the project. hahaha. does not matter how you phrase it. it is the same shit dressed up nicely in politically correct words. so i sit on the phone and i dial. and dial. 604-344-2566 or 1-250-876-8912 or 1-613-466-7834. amazing how many combinations one can make only out of 10 digits.

i call alumni of sfu three times a week and apart from 'informing' or 'making them keep in touch' (nicely, phrased again, eh?) i make them donate money for scholarships and bursaries, library endowment or whatever else they feel like donating money for. hahaha. funny.

4 hours on the phone. "hello and good evening may i speak to mr. x please" can't really make a font sound exciting on the blog, but you must be quite positive. voice is everything. you have a boring voice, you lose. "who is calling?" usually comes an unpleasant answer. people are really afraid of other people here. people are paranoid not to be robbed or cheated. they are always alert. and they are especially alert when it comes to soliciting.

then i say: "excuse me, that i haven't introduce myself. my name is grzesiek and i am just a student calling from sfu alumni" notice that i smartly don't mention the actual apeal. how smart. i really can't get over how smart it is. make them feel relaxed. relaxed people usually are willing to donate. tfu, participate, contribute, give, support. we don't like the word donation.

and so whoever picked up the phone get the prospect or it appears that i am already talking to the alumnus himself in disguise. sfu alumni. they are funny too. so many interesting stories i could read from their records. when did they graduate, what degree did they recieve, how much have they given in the past (the program has been running roughly for 20 years) and sometimes they even include comments like: "loves sfu" or "hates sfu" or both. alumni is a weird cast. especially emba alumni (executive master of business and administration).

then obviously i have to do my job. so i go through asking them about their experiences at sfu, how much they loved the university, i tell them about my experience here and how fantastic the place is, then i remind about some of the benefits and services and then, as bakkerud would probably say, i cut the small talk and ask not for a for support. remember, support not donation. we prefer to put them on credit cards.

but don't you think the job itself is easy. nah. not at all, actually. some people hang up. some are completely not interested or broke. but others just give. some out of pure desire to help out, others just so i won't bother them any more. people are funny. but sfu alumni are even funnier. so diverse, i'd say.

also what i have noticed is that so much depends on the faculty they went to. i swear. the scientist were so bloody unresponsive generally, no offence to anyone. business students give a lot, but there is nothing behind that money. and i think that intention is more important than the actual amount. so i much more appreciate 10 bucks from someone who has just lost their job than 1000$ from an emba graduate. it adds up after all.

another funny thing is to listen to the answer machines. how many different styles people develop to record the welcoming message. but as i have said before. those peolpe are sfu alumni. they are extremely funny. as i work i get a lot of answer machines. that is inteteresting, though. i think.

[i got this job in the middle of october. some impressions are from the very beginning, but most of the post was written today. this job is good, though. it makes me more and more convinced that i do want to work on the farm just like my predecessors. or at least i don't want to have an sitting job. i will try to make some more insightful remarks at the end of the calling campaign in the end of the month.]

tuesday

tuesdays are tough. they come too quickly after a weekend and almost free monday. i have acquired this amazing skills of time managment tough, so i can do everything i want to. the plan goes as follows:

7:28 - first alarm clock rings. gets turned off.

7:32 - second alarm clock rings. i get up.

then a little bit of morning stretching, shower, teeth brushing, shaving and breakfast. everything must be done before 8:17.

8:30 - spanish class starts, but usually my mexican teacher comes around 8:36.

9:20 - spanish class ends.

go to the librarian to check whether i am consistent with the apa style throughout my essays. it shall not take longer than 15, up to 20 minutes. run back to the residence, get the essays printed out.

10:30 - psychology lecture starts. it is as interesting as intense.

11:22 - psychology lecture ends.

i go for a lunch with milosh and others. but i usually take it 'to go' because i am in hurry somewhere else.

11:56 - meeting with my psychology study group. our presentation is tommorow and it is not fully done. holy shit!

12:35 - spanish conversation club meeting. if the psychology thing goes for too long i think i might skip it this time.

13:30 - communications lecture begins. roman onufrijchuk is going to talk to us in greek and latin again. but shouldn't be too boring. usually isn't.

14:27 - a break. always get a coffee or something to survive the second part of the lecture. i emphasize it is not because it is boring, but because i am so so tired by this time.

15:18 - the lecture ends.

20 minutes of free time. i can do whatever i feel like.

then go back to residence, drop by stuff, clean a room a little bit and off i go. work.

17:00 - work. "hello it's grzesiek speaking from sfu alumni ... would like to contribute to our scholarships and bursaries fund?" and so on for 4 hours with a short break in between.

21:00 - usually they release us at that time. usually. if we reach "the goal of the night". X thousand dollars.

then two more essay revisions. teeth brushing and going to bed. maybe looking through news. we have provincial elections in poland going on. or perhaps it's not worth it. and tommorow? tommorow, the first alarm clock will also ring at 7:28...

i am not complaining. i just wish the monks hadn't invented the clock back in 13th century...

realizations that have made me sad

I. realization that i don't live in the paradise. i was around 12 and i was a witness and at the same time a victim of my parents' divorce.

II. realization that i can't read all the books that has ever been written. i was in junior high and having had read eco's name of the rose i looked at the shelf in the library.

III. realization that i will never meet all the people in the world. that was on my first lpc camp and later on at uwc. i always meet a small sample out of 6 billion.

and the most recent one:

IV. realization that brain is nothing but a machine. this is here, at sfu. most of it came out of the course readings on metaphysics, psychology and communications. consider this:

"could the machines think?"
"the answer is, obviously, yes. we are precisely such machines." (john searle)

terrible, isn't it? this triggers thinking: do i really want to know? do i want to further realize? realization kills enchantment. enchantment is the most essential part of my life. killing enchantment practically equals a suicide.

however, there is always hope. i just can't find a scientific explanation to this hypothesis.

studying techniques

camilla always shrugged her shoulders when i sat next to her during history classes with oberfuhrer erik pedersen and instead of taking notes i did art. well, first it helped me not to fall asleep, second transfer information from STM to LTM and third i spotted ALL erik's jokes on the margin... ask ivan.

in studying techniques nothing changed here. i still do art instead of studying for real. it makes the process longer, yet far more enjoyable and how effective! this is what took me through ib without going mad... hopefully it will take me through university...

historia nieprawdopodobnie zwyczajna. historia zwyczajnie nieprawdopodobna.

podobnie jak w filmowych kreacjach pedra almódovara moja dzisiejsza historia jest tak zwyczajna że aż nieprawdopodobna. ale od początku...

wszystko zaczęło się 23 sierpnia w samolocie linii lotniczych british airways lecącym z krakowskich balic do londynu-gatwick. moje miejsce miało numer 16F, a rząd obok mnie siedziała cała amerykańska rodzina - małżeństwo z dwójką dzieci. przez cały lot czytałem marka świetlickiego i sączyłem czerwone wino w miarę jak oddalałem się od kraju nad wisłą. w połowie lotu, pewnie gdzieś nad francją, musiałem zagościć w tej malutkiej samolotowej toalecie. (ech, czerwone wina!) do toalety była całkiem spora kolejka, więc i ja posłusznie w niej stanąłem. za mną ustawił się ten amerykanin, który cały czas siedział obok i zabawiał swoją córeczkę. jak to mam w zwyczaju - zagadałem. i pogadaliśmy. najpierw po angielsku, a potem, kiedy amerykanin okazał się krakusem, po polsku. człowiek ten przedstawił się jako adam bentkowski i wyemigrował do stanów zjednoczonych w latach 80 gdzie osiedlił się i ożenił. ja opowiedziałem mu o uwc i stypendium na sfu w vancouver. pan adam na to: "mam przyjaciela w vancouver. geologa".

i tak się zaczęło. po skorzystaniu z toaelty, wypiliśmy jeszcze jedno czerwone wino, wymieniliśmy adresy elektroniczne (bo prawdziwych adresów się w dzisiejszych czasach nie wymienia) i rozeszliśmy się na ruchliwym lotnisku w gatwick. tak się zaczęło i tutaj też mogło się skończyć. ale się nie skończyło.

jak tylko dostałem się do vancouver i w miarę osiedliłem w pokoju numer B2053 napisałem do pana adama z prośbą o kontakt do geologa. po tygodniu odpisał mi, że najpierw musi otrzymać jego zgodę na udostępnienie danych (dokąd świat zmierza, cholera jasna?), a po dwóch dostałem adres (elektroniczny, rzecz najjaśniejsza) geologa. geolog nazywa się piotr lutyński.

podekscytowany napisałem do pana piotra jak najszybciej i po kilku dniach dostałem odpowiedź. słowem trzy zdania. przykro mi grzegorz, jestem teraz w peru na ekspedycji, ale chętnie się z tobą spotkam po 25 października, bo wtedy wracam. numer telefonu. piotr lutyński. ani słowa więcej, ani słowa mniej.

nic, pomyślałem, na tym pewnie się skończy. ale nie! po 25tym skontaktowałem się z piotrem i zostałem zaproszony na kolację i tzw. 'kawowanie'. no to co? no to pojechałem. autobus 145 - żółta nitka skytrain - aUtobus 22 i jestem na sherbrooke street gdzie mieszka piotr lutyński (jak tylko jest w vancouver) wraz z rodziną.

dom piotra jest stary, ale magiczny. cały drewniany. w domu paliły się świece. pełno było obrazów i atmosfera była trochę tak jak u witkacego w zakopanem. słowo. nawet piotr kupił na jednej ze swoich niezliczonych podróży w argentynie orginał obrazu witkacego...

pogadaliśmy. pojedliśmy. pokawowaliśmy. było przepmile. i tak sobie myślę, że tylko dla tych nieprawdopodobnie zwyczajnych albo zwyczajnie nieprawdopodobnych chwil i znajomości warto oddychać.

the illusion of saturated fats

"if anybody tells you that you can't make a change to this world, tell them that they are full of shit. because they are."

roman onufrijchuk

now probably you wonder who roman onufrijchuk is. try google or wikipedia. but i am not quite sure you'll find him there, cause he ain't a celebrity. roman is my communications professor. incredibly outspoken and eloquent. probably the most outspoken and eloquent of all my professors here. no wonder for his roots are back in eastern europe.

i am actually collecting his quotes but the one above touched me to the deepest and made my neurotransmitters fire like hell. about different issues. but since the context of the quote was abandoning saturated fats in canada (long and a little bit arbitrary story) it made me primarily think of saturated fats.

i assume that through abandoning saturated fats canadians want to fight the syndrome x, the fastest growing disease in north america - obesity.

bravo! but.

but as usually here they don't address the problem. this won't stop canadians growing fat in a terribly fast pace (neurotransmitters fired and thoughts appeared on somewhere on my cerebral cortex).

what they should do instead is abandoning corporate fast food restaurants and office jobs for these are two places where people are simply fed shit. i don't really have to go into mcdonalds issue, but it is worthwhile touching upon 'deskjobs'. people are treated there with chocholate all the time. i mean it, i am experiencing it and it seems (and looks) like a pigpen. the tall and slim secretary is a myth! but these people eating in fast food places is not...

now i realize they will never ban fast food restaurants or office jobs. why? because these two run their economies and hence they cannot afford it! they prefer keep people up with an illusion of abandoning saturated fats and continue serving shit hamburgers (though perhaps without saturated fats).

and yet again i am asking myself: is this really the continent of the free? is this a really individualistic and literate societies we are talking about? in such conflicts the government has a choice between the state and the individual, the individual still loses. always.

and the only hope that is left now is enclosed in roman's quote: "if anybody tells you that you can't make a change to this world, tell them that they are full of shit. because they are."

ps. excuse me for oversimplifications and generalizations.

orales de español

tommorow i have oral exams in spanish. here is one minute presentation i was supposed to prepared (i dont really know why do i share it on the blog. perhaps i am just a bit proud of it??? :-) ):

voy a hablar sobre venezuela. venezuela es un país tropical situado al norte de américa del sur. su nombre significa "pequeña venecia" porque a los conquistadores las construcciones indígenas recordoban las construcciones de venecia.

la capital de venezuela es caracas, un puerto importante del mar caribe. también es una ciudad de contrastes - el lujo y la pobreza. pero el presidente de venezuela - hugo chávez - trabaja por una cambia.

en venezuela los ritmos de la salsa y del joropo son muy populares. la salsa es famosa en todo el mundo. pero el libro no tiene razón cuando dice "nueva york y miami son los principales centros de la salsa". es una perspectiva parcializada y muy, muy norteamericana. el verdadero centro de la salsa, su corazón es cuba, repúbilca dominicana y puerto rico.