Claudio and Gloria

These are Claudio and Gloria as I met them in the Galleria d'Italia and the reason they do not look as happy as they used to look is that Claudio just told Gloria he'll leave her for someone else. Gloria keeps asking him when did he even meet or found "someone else" ... like it mattered. He is bored and flustered and ashamed and wants to leave she is clinging and the entire situation is, frankly, embarrassing. As any good Italian Catholics, when they "find themselves in times of trouble", they turned to prayers ... Gloria prayed to Santa Caspetina di Falliubro (patron saint of broken-and-then-mended hearts) asking to be bound to Claudio forever, who in turn asked San Sidonio delle Proscuttini to help him say that he's going to go and let him be away. Major clash of prayers-come-true due to the well-documented animosity between the two above-named Saints: the two lovers though, each got what they asked for (kind of, more like were punished for not making a better effort to get along) ... they are together in a corner of a picture imprisoned in a 38-second repeating Aornis time-loop: it starts with Claudio mumbling his "Adieu" and slowly turning to leave, Gloria gasping and bringing her hand first to her breast and then up to cover her mouth (for her, a habitual gesture, for Claudio, a peasant woman's action) and it ends abruptly by jumping to the beginning. Thing is ... they do not realize "they are just prisoners here, of their own device" until it rewinds and starts all over again. I cannot imagine anything more frustrating. Who would come up with such an idea ... maybe Saints who can afforde to make up mind viruses? 

Aarohi Marjawani

This is Aarohi Marjawani, as I met her a few weeks ago in Florence, she is from Bhubaneshwar and lives now in Berlin. I wish I could, but I cannot say something very nice about her, but neither can I say something very bad. As she told me her story, it turned out it was mostly "just right". She was married to a very talented sculptor who used to beat her badly when he was drunk and used to apologize and promise never to do it again when he was sober. The problem was, of course, he was more often drunk than sober.  Aarohi left him and separated from him legally a few months later. Three things happened another few months later: the artist, to the sorrow but not to the surprise of the art world died, the price of his art shot through the roof, a bunch of creditors, among which the taxman, claimed very large sums of money. The gallery called her saying that all the art in their custody is in her name not as an heir but as an owner (the gallery and the artist were running some tax fraud)  and Aarohi, being legally separated, can tell all creditors to go to hell. She kept a few pieces and sold everything for a surprisingly huge amount. She always wanted long flowing wavy blond hair so she went to had it done, what she got (due to her natural black hair color), was a head of tangled mess of bright orange, which she cut off (the hair, not the head). She had breast enlargement and then had it reversed, then she had breast reduction which she then had also reversed and when she went back to her surgeon he asked if she knew what she wanted, she said she wanted it "just right" ... he told her she just had "just right" and threw her out. Aarohi recently bought an apartment on Dreibärenstraße, in Pankow and is happy.

Chicago

This is Chi-Cago (Italian Domestic Longhair aged five) as we met it in the garden of the Palazzo Pitti, playful, delightful, a perverted predator strolling, laying in the sun during days and hunting small rodents, reptiles, and insects at night. Chi, of course, would just kill, not eat its prey, as caretakers fed all the park's cats twice a day. Chi was very quiet, almost never making a sound, but when it did, it was the sweetest and purest and most melodious a creature could produce. Evidently, there is a story behind the almost-mute Chi: many, many, many, years ago Chi's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, a skilled hunter as well, lived in the small town of Cremona in the household of one Antonio, a luthier by trade. That forefather cat also had the voice of an angel but he used it often to the delight of all. Antonio, a very skilled artisan with a scientific curiosity, obsessed about the origin of the cat sound, decided to examine it further; the investigation was highly invasive and fatal (for the unfortunate cat). He was convinced it must be the intestines, so he cleaned them and cleaned them again and dried them and spun them and used them on his latest creation: a very handsome dark-yellow violin. It was a hit, the sound was amazing, people fainted, violinists fought each other to buy it ... Antonio was beaming, when asked about his secret he would mumble about wood, lacquer, talent, etc. The same night, the female cat of the house ran to the river and jumped on a barge going away to anywhere. Unbeknownst to Chi (although cats know everything), technology evolved and these days, "no animal had to suffer ... " but Chi keeps mostly Stumm just the same.

Carmen and Pietro

These are Carmen and Pietro as I met them the other day at the Galleria d'Italia, in Milan. The story is actually Carmen, Pietro is just the "vittima innocente": when two and a half month ago Pietro was transferred from the Pavia office to Milan and Carmen saw him, she decided she wanted him (in a major way). Grapevine query came back negative (which is positive): straight and single. She had a long (Chardonnay fueled) strategy sessions with her friend Nicolosia and decided to treat Pietro with studied, cold and calculated ignorance and reel him in. It did NOT work at all, he ignored her right back for weeks. After more Chardonnay, they decided on an attacking approach (with escalation): every time she saw him she would smile broadly and cheerfully and say "Ciao Piero" (deliberately using the wrong name to provoke interaction). Promising results: they went from Ciao to short chat ... and then Carmen escalated to all-out offense: anything Pietro said she would giggle and play with her hair, also she would blatantly time her checkout/check-in to match his and catch the same elevator. Eventually, on a Wednesday, Pietro caved: on Friday, he said, he is going to this art opening and would she like to go? Carmen almost fell off the floor but played it cool and said "Yes ... (giggle-giggle) ... that sounds ... (twirl lock with right thumb around pointing finger) ... great!" Chardonnay and Nicolosia decided on the dress ... Carmen's original proposal bright orange very tight and very short was voted down as too slutty. From what I saw, it is wooooor-kiiiing! 

Edna Manghi

This is Edna as I met her many years ago, a totally delightful girl if there ever was one, with a sharp wit and a wonderful sense of humor, she would excel at anything she'd do. After highschool, she opted for a medical career and when she finished the arduous and lengthy training she became a top surgeon respected (and envied) for her knowledge and skills. She decided to leave her native Armenia and settle with her family in the wild, wild west: Texas where she soon found fortune and fame, as she found everywhere her fate took her next. After a great run at the professional life, a well deserved, maybe a little reluctant, retirement beckoned and Edna continued passions she started: painting, pottery, mosaics, travel and such. One early summer evening sitting with a glass of wine looking at those beautiful trees and the rising moon above, an idea that kept going through her mind for a while trying to coalesce, suddenly appeared with the clarity and sharpness of the crystal:  she knew then and there that any choice she'd had  made, any alternate way or road "not taken" would've got her exactly where she is now ... she took a long pull of her drink and sighed ... she happy!

Pia and Andrea

These are Olimpia (Pia) and Andrea as I met them the other day on the steps of the ancient church of Santo Spirito in Florence. They sat there for half an hour, at least, making out energetically, enthusiastically but with sweet tenderness (nevertheless). Little did they know what the day will bring ... but I will tell you what will happen: after a while, they will get up and stroll down via Sant'Agostino towards San Frediano, on the way Andrea will buy a  light-orange, low-cut (front and back) dress for Pia from one of those open stands (because it will cling to her slender hips) and then they will go to Trattoria I'raddi on via D'Ardiglione. They will have a great dinner: they will share the antipasti misti and then Pia, before the primi arrive, will go to the washroom with the plastic bag and will change into her new dress. When she will return to their table, the dining room will hush in awe ... it will look like the dress moves by itself with a naked Pia inside; but in a minute, diners will turn back to their plates, as food cures envy (for ladies) and lust (for men). Pia will have Penne all' arrabbiata and  Andrea will have the Pan-seared gnocchi with Sage. Her main course will be Branzino with Basil, Lime, and Ginger and his, Bistecca Fiorentina (quite rare). They will have three glasses of wine each (Pia - white, Andrea - red) and will share a zucotto and have caffè with Limoncello (she) and with Grappa (he). They will leave the restaurant for the bar down the street for a bottle of Prosecco and live music and then to the bar around the corner, near Ponte Alla Carraia, for scotch (con ghiaccio).  In a while, they will turn to the bridge, she will say something and he will say something and she will slap him and will throw the plastic bag at him and turn and run across the Lungoarno, directly into the path of a taxi traveling at a great rate of speed. There will be a horrible breaking noise and screech of tires but, luckily no BUMP! The taxi will slow down and seeing no harm done, will go on. Andrea will run to Pia sitting on the pavement and hug her (she will hug him back) and kiss her (she will kiss him back) and they will sit there for half an hour, at least, making out energetically, enthusiastically but with sweet tenderness (nevertheless).

Linda Gervais

This is Linda Gervais (19), from Hoheburg, Amberg-Sulzbach in Bavaria, as she was busking (without a license) in Piazza di Santo Stefano, just off Ponte Vecchio, in Florence, the other day. Some of her friends call her "Linda Gaprindashwilli", she is 5'8" (170 cm), weighs exactly 100 pounds (45 kg), makes everything she plays on her guitar sound like bosa nova, wants bigger breasts and until a year ago won every chess tournament she ever entered: school-district, county, Land, and the German Women's National title. We talked about music and art, she likes Mario Sironi and when I said he is an idiot who cannot make up his mind if he wants to be de Chirico or Morandi, Linda threw her beer at me. We started to laugh, kissed and made up and decided to tell each other three things we never told anybody else. Linda told me that (1) I don't have to be beautiful to turn her on, (2) I don't have to be rich to be her girl and (3) there ain't no particular sign I have to be more compatible with. I put this all through the smoke rings of my mind and said to her that (1) her breasts are just fine, (2) eat more carbs, girl and one more thing that I now forgot. We talked until two. And then she said, "It's time for bed".

Jimmie-Joe Johnson

This is Jimmie-Joe Johnson taking a break between takes in the fantastic acoustics of the ancient church of Ognissanti in Florence ... he plays (what else, with such a name?) the trombone. The piece the Indiana State University Brass is recording is "Fanfare pour précéder 'La Péri'" by Paul Dukas and the trombone part was added by a very talented arranger (aunt of J.J.'s especially for J.J.). Florence is the second stop on the European tour (Budapest was the first) and J.J. enjoys it immensely, the first question they always ask is "where you from" J.J. answers proudly "U.S.A.", the second question has to do with Herr Donald the Strumpf and J.J. is embarrassed. Lucky the subject changes quickly to music and musicians for both of which the locals have huge respect ... like the other night, after the session when they went out with local friends, Italian fashion from one bar to another and then another and then another and J.J. woke up in somebody's apartment, in the Santa Croce area, half undressed and with his horne hanging safe and sound from the chandelier. He had a gallon of water directly from the tap in the kitchen and then went into a fortissimo rendition of his favorite: 'Moonglow' trombone solo by his bro Andy Derrick ... 

It was a blast with the neighbors!