With the demise of my favorite website for Pączki Day, which consisted of polka music and a single pączek with red and white light emanating from it that squawked /PUNCH-key/ every time you clicked on it, I’m sorry to say the day is a bit glummer. I celebrated the past 7 years by punching that key dozens of times every Pączki Day morning, and celebrated it by sharing with you. There’s this song, a joyful romp down the main street of Hamtramck, the Polish neighborhood in Detroit, but it just fails to compare. And since I teach on Tuesdays, I can’t even spend the day in mourning by making pączki with my newfound zest for yeasted doughs. Oh well. All good things must come to an end. Buy a donut, Eugene, and poke it for me. Pączki! Pączki! Pączki!