Blue Tattoo The TU expects PhD students to produce results, and Jacek and Ania Wojdel certainly have: a made in Delft baby boy named Oskar. When not learning how to be parents, the two Polish PhD students develop virtual reality technology.
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Comfortably tucked away in a neat little Ikea-styled apartment in a neat little Delft neighborhood, the Wojdel’s are up to their necks in Dutch burgerlijkheid. But not for long: once they’ve completed their PhD studies at Information Technology and Systems (Mediamatics) % a department stocked with clever foreigners % these two twenty-somethings plan to reverse the brain drain, returning to work in their beloved Poland and bucking the current, ethically dubious, that sees western countries luring away talented professionals from developing countries. “I feel I’ll be acting responsibly in returning to Poland,” Jacek says. “It feels right, and besides, who’s exploiting whom? I’m getting a good education here and am taking it with me when I go.”
The Wojdel’s, who studied together at the Technical University of Lodz, in Poland, are both working on projects involving natural human-computer interaction. Jacek’s subject is automatic lip reading, while Ania works on generating facial expressions graphically on a computer, for use in, for example, facial animation for virtual reality newsreaders, such as Ananova (ananova.com). Does that mean those plastic-faced CNN newsreaders are actually computer-generated automatons? “No, not yet, but soon” Ania predicts. “Computer-generated newsreaders will one day look and speak exactly like real people.” Or at least like CNN people.
Life at the TU and in Holland generally suits the Wojdel’s; they like the ease, comfort, and organisation, but it’s not home. They miss Polish food and close, warm relationships. “Here we have good acquaintances,” Ania says, “but Poland is still where our best friends are.” The couple also longs for Poland’s mountains, although, ironically, it’s here in pancake flat Holland where they first learned to climb.
Before being allowed to procreate, all married couples should first have to pass the ‘Wojdel test’, for Ania and Jacek spend virtually every minute of every day together, 24/7, with no respite necessary, even sharing a faculty office. “Being together all the time is only difficult at Christmas, when we need to buy each other presents,” Jacek says.
At work, they are each other’s trusted confidante and colleague. “If I have problems, Jacek’s the first person I talk to,” Ania says. That they have very different characters also seems to contribute to their marital bliss: he’s talkative and lazy, she’s quiet and driven, the one complementing the other. “We like the same music, jazz and blues, and books, and hate the same movies, like ‘There’s Something About Mary’,” Jacek adds.
With the birth of their TU baby Oskar, the Wojdel’s life has suddenly grown more complicated. How to bring up baby, study, work, and make ends meet on modest PhD stipends? They won’t be turning their faculty office into a part-time nursery, however. “It wouldn’t be nice for Oskar,” Jacek says, “so we’ll work in shifts, taking turns staying home.” Although Oskar won’t be making it to the TU as an infant, would his parents like for him to study at the TU when he grows up? “Sure,” Jacek exclaims, “I’ll still know people here and they’ll keep an eye on him for me, make sure he doesn’t go out partying until he’s a least 30 years old.” Like those expectant parents who say boy or girl doesn’t matter as long as it’s healthy, Jacek has only one wish for Oskar’s future: “I don’t care what Oscar does, as long as he’s happy. He could even come here to work in the Blue Tattoo [a Delft tattoo shop].” Noble words%and ones a rebellious teenager might make his Dad regret some day
The TU expects PhD students to produce results, and Jacek and Ania Wojdel certainly have: a made in Delft baby boy named Oskar. When not learning how to be parents, the two Polish PhD students develop virtual reality technology.
Comfortably tucked away in a neat little Ikea-styled apartment in a neat little Delft neighborhood, the Wojdel’s are up to their necks in Dutch burgerlijkheid. But not for long: once they’ve completed their PhD studies at Information Technology and Systems (Mediamatics) % a department stocked with clever foreigners % these two twenty-somethings plan to reverse the brain drain, returning to work in their beloved Poland and bucking the current, ethically dubious, that sees western countries luring away talented professionals from developing countries. “I feel I’ll be acting responsibly in returning to Poland,” Jacek says. “It feels right, and besides, who’s exploiting whom? I’m getting a good education here and am taking it with me when I go.”
The Wojdel’s, who studied together at the Technical University of Lodz, in Poland, are both working on projects involving natural human-computer interaction. Jacek’s subject is automatic lip reading, while Ania works on generating facial expressions graphically on a computer, for use in, for example, facial animation for virtual reality newsreaders, such as Ananova (ananova.com). Does that mean those plastic-faced CNN newsreaders are actually computer-generated automatons? “No, not yet, but soon” Ania predicts. “Computer-generated newsreaders will one day look and speak exactly like real people.” Or at least like CNN people.
Life at the TU and in Holland generally suits the Wojdel’s; they like the ease, comfort, and organisation, but it’s not home. They miss Polish food and close, warm relationships. “Here we have good acquaintances,” Ania says, “but Poland is still where our best friends are.” The couple also longs for Poland’s mountains, although, ironically, it’s here in pancake flat Holland where they first learned to climb.
Before being allowed to procreate, all married couples should first have to pass the ‘Wojdel test’, for Ania and Jacek spend virtually every minute of every day together, 24/7, with no respite necessary, even sharing a faculty office. “Being together all the time is only difficult at Christmas, when we need to buy each other presents,” Jacek says.
At work, they are each other’s trusted confidante and colleague. “If I have problems, Jacek’s the first person I talk to,” Ania says. That they have very different characters also seems to contribute to their marital bliss: he’s talkative and lazy, she’s quiet and driven, the one complementing the other. “We like the same music, jazz and blues, and books, and hate the same movies, like ‘There’s Something About Mary’,” Jacek adds.
With the birth of their TU baby Oskar, the Wojdel’s life has suddenly grown more complicated. How to bring up baby, study, work, and make ends meet on modest PhD stipends? They won’t be turning their faculty office into a part-time nursery, however. “It wouldn’t be nice for Oskar,” Jacek says, “so we’ll work in shifts, taking turns staying home.” Although Oskar won’t be making it to the TU as an infant, would his parents like for him to study at the TU when he grows up? “Sure,” Jacek exclaims, “I’ll still know people here and they’ll keep an eye on him for me, make sure he doesn’t go out partying until he’s a least 30 years old.” Like those expectant parents who say boy or girl doesn’t matter as long as it’s healthy, Jacek has only one wish for Oskar’s future: “I don’t care what Oscar does, as long as he’s happy. He could even come here to work in the Blue Tattoo [a Delft tattoo shop].” Noble words%and ones a rebellious teenager might make his Dad regret some day
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