Volker Zauner

This is Volker Zauner (he goes by Van Miller) as I saw him the other day having a drink with current girlfriend Tanya. Van was born in Bad Ischl, Austria into the famous local Zauner family owners and operators of the renowned Konditorei-Kaffee Zauner (since 1832). Van's father, Waldemar, met, fell in love and married Margarete von Schulz against the will of the family. They emigrated to the US when Van was just a toddler and settled in Rochester. Van did badly in school, got into all kinds of trouble and eventually went to Toronto where he found a copywriter job at Q&W Communications. Van had many girlfriends but the relationships never lasted: the women he dated discovered quickly that he is an uninteresting fake with no real opinions: a flake and a waste of time to be with. The initial short-lived attraction was his ability to listen quietly brooding with an air of awkward discomfort that was taken as approving and sympathetic. These young ladies, little did they know that Van creates this artificial impression by wearing women's underwear two sizes too small that make him squirm and cramp in controlled, near agony distress.

Bhubaneshwar Shopping Weekly

These are Gita (5½, right) and Nargita (3½, left) during their weekly trip to the "Reliance Smart" supermarket in  Kharavela Nagar with their father Naresh (not in the picture) and do they ever seem to have a great time. The explanation for their less than usual features for typical Odisha natives is that they are foundlings and here is the story as I heard it from Naresh himself. 

One sunny Sunday, almost three years ago, Naresh was fishing for carp on the banks of the river Kuakhai when he saw a basket float by and getting stuck in some reefs just downstream. He went to look closer, heard whining and discovered that the basket help an infant and another very young child both wrapped in a white and red blanket. He packed up his fishing gear and quickly drove home with the children. Naresh called Dr. Gopal, a pediatrician family friend who, after thorough examination, declared the two girls in good shape, just a little dehydrated. The doctor advised to call the authorities. The formidable Gayathri, mother to Naresh and matriarch in charge of everything, vehemently opposed this course of action as she jumped on the unexpected chance for grand kids she'd otherwise never had (Naresh is gay). 

It took a few meetings and lots of phone calls and some fat envelopes changing hands, but within a month official paper work arrived and the household descended in blissful chaos. True: the girls never warmed up to curry and other kids sometimes made fun of their ugly yellow hair but it was harmless fun and the girls loved lamb chops and fish. 

Naresh still goes Sundays to fish for carp at his favorite spot where he smokes his horrible Bidis and sometimes looks over at the little red and white shrine he built for Parvati, goddess of masculine energy. 

My 16th Day of March

I woke up this morning and I realized two things: (1) that I am just seven hundred and eighty seven days away from having lived in Canada longer than I lived in my native Romania (the score is 13,798 to 13,011) and (2) it is the feast of  St. Sabin of Egypt who lived during the reign of emperor Diocletian. So I brushed my teeth and went to my ”Yoga in the Park” at 7:15. The sky was covered with what seemed to be a thick, gray solid layer of cloud. The class was invigorating at -1° C (according to the weather channel it felt like -9° C). I got home at 8:30 and had a shower and breakfast (cup of coffee and a glass of one third orange juice and two thirds mineral water) and then went to do my shift at the community fridge at Ossington and Dupont. The sky was covered with what seemed to be a thick, white solid layer of cloud. 

On my way home, at Hallam and Delaware, I saw a young girl wearing a white wedding dress and black cowboy boots, on a bike, with a ladder on her right shoulder pedaling relatively fast and very determined going North. I decided to investigate further and make it the subject of a future post in my, this here, blog. 

Berta Kulák

This is Berta Kulák a tenth grader from my neighborhood, we sometimes have coffee at the Progress Bakery and talk. Berta is an excellent student and a talented cellist. Her idol is Jacqueline du Pré and she currently studies Haydn's Concerto No. 2 in D Major. This Sunday morning she is on her way to her classmate and boyfriend Joe who lives at Rains and Lambertlodge Ave, they have sex while Joe's parents are at church. Berta also has sex with Joe's younger brother Max Wednesdays in the afternoon in his car and, on Friday nights, with Pete, a neighbor with three young kids whom Berta babysits. They do it in his woodshed before he goes to his weekly "hockey with buddies". Pete promised Berta a new iPhone if she lets him take close-ups of her vagina. Berta is still thinking about this one ... 

Jon(athan)

This is 7 Melinda Crescent, the home of Jonathan (Jon). I cannot show you his picture or mention his current last-name, as Jon is buried deep in the witness protection program of a friendly neighboring country with vast resources and a long reach. To supplement his already generous allowance and for lack of other creative activity, Jon started making Salvadoran Pupusas, marketed under the brand name Giambasi J Pupusas. To his considerable surprise they sold extremely well in the ethnic stores of South-Central Scarborough. Their taste, texture and flavour of the secret ingredient (nut-meg) propelled them to the top of best sellers (sold out every day before 11:00 AM). Demand went through the roof and clients pressed Jon to expand and increase output even offering to invest in Giambasi J, but Jon, a proud artisan, insisted in limiting production to only as many as he could make perfectly as well as keeping the price at a decently affordable level. So there he lives and works with Betty and Beau (his two spoiled and mean-spirited Yorkshire Terriers) and mother ... Jon's mother not that of the Yorkies. 

Glora Wachsman

It is a well-known fact that only three good things ever came from Burgundy: Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and Glorian Wachsman (seen here walking her dog Nina on Rue des Écoles, in the sixième). Gloria told me, recently playing Toronto's Rex Club, that she is a direct descendedent of La Maison de Valois-Bourgogne and her birth name is Astrid Sophie Victoria Isabelle Chatelle Ines Aveline de Valois. She was born in Beaune in 1987 where sh was baptized at the Collegiate Church of Notre Dame. As a child, she was bouncy, wilful and a rebel in the spirit of the ancient dukes. She ran away from home when she was fourteen, got caught but ran away again at fifteen. She met Francis (Paco) Jones who taught her to play the tenor saxophone and the flute and gave her cocaine. She changed her name to Gloria Wachsman and had their daughter Pica. While playing in clubs, a scout for Dexter Music spotted her and she signed with  the label. Her first album brought some money and some gigs but the second album went platinum. Gloria cleaned up (Paco had overdosed and died by then) and moved with Pica into a nice apartment at Rue Aubriot №6, in the quatrième (her last-name helped). It is conveniently just across from the L'Ecole Française de Yoga where both are permanent members.

A while ago, a lawyer representing a guy with the impressive name of Karl Thomas Robert Maria Franziskus Georg Bahnam von Habsburg, apparently an extremely distant cousin, came to see her and, notwithstanding Salic Law and Agnatic Succession Rules, gave her a stack of documents which Gloria stuffed in a drawer but never bothered to read. One late night, last March, when she came home from playing at the New Morning on Rue des Petites Écuries, in the dixième, Pica (now sixteen) addressed her as Madam la Comtesse and said they own a castle with vineyard near Auxerre. Gloria told her to go back to sleep and went to take a shower.

Theo Balș

This is Theo Balș, most evenings will find him leaning against the handrail at the "The Ghost", a well-known downtown club. Theo is not at all shy and wouldn't have objected to a full frontal shot, but I thought "better not" and show here his best assets (legs and feet). At the club he seeks out a medical person (doctor or nurse) whose partner is an artist (preferably visual arts). Due to the enormous natural charm and innate and complete ruthlessness of the narcissistic psychopath that he is, the courtship is always short and successful and the finale is most violent (although never fatal). Theo takes all or some of the art that the victims own and threatens to come back and cut off their thumbs if they even think of saying anything to anyone. Apparently, none of the prey fought back and, truly, nobody ever knew or suspected. I wouldn't have either if not, one fateful evening, invited to see additions to his collection, hadn't I brought a bottle of Doppel Kümmel. Little did I know, that it had a devastating effect, it was like Theo's Kryptonite: he was totally drunk at the second sip (he, otherwise, could drink any quantity of anything else and remain completely sober). It took him more than two hours to sob and blabber his way through the story of all his deeds; he didn't even notice when I switched my phone to record it. 

I left at about three AM and went to nearest the police station where I played his confession to an astonished and suddenly wide awake duty detective. During the next days, police went to Theo's marks asking them to file complaints, but  all of them stated that he was their most excellent dear friend and they gifted him the art as a token of their undying love and affection. Theo never learned of my secret treason and unsuccessful attempt at justice, so we still smile and nod when we see each other at "The Ghost" or the Yoga studio where we first met.