Renée W

This is Renée as I met her at a theater venue the other day ... she is totally, purely, absolutely and thoroughly authentic (which cannot be said of many). She grew up in a warm and loving family with siblings and many aunts, uncles and cousins. To nobody's surprise she turned out to be clever, talented, hard working and gifted with an inquisitive mind. One day, Renée was about six, at a family reunion, uncle Brett said something that changed her life forever: "Vowels are fried and consonants are boiled". Uncle Brett was known to make up crazy shit like that after he came back from northern Kenya where he helped set up a sanctuary for the Reticulated Giraffe (Giraffa camelopardalis reticulata). Renée took it seriously and started intense research to learn everything she could about vowels. Unavoidably she found "EUNOIA", the famous anthology of univocalics by Canadian poet Christian Bök. [EUNOIA is the shortest English word that contains all the vowels]. When I told her that, in Romanian, I can compose sentences with only vowels, she flipped out (I have the picture) and went onto Duolingo to start learning the language. I smiled and said: "That sheep is hers" and "She takes eggs" and "They take that sheep" and "I take sheep" and "I take her blouse"*. Renée is currently developing an App to play a vowel game ... The New York Times seems to be interested.

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* Romanian sentences made up from vowels only

Kate, Vinicius von Meerschaum and Jake the Snake

This is Kate, I met her the other day at a theatrical venue. We had coffee and I learned her amazing story I feel I just must share.

Kate is a marvelous model, a talented actor, a fantastic singer, a skilled dancer and she is also a poet and a composer. Since she was very young, she knew two things: that she was not like anybody else and that she could smell things others could not (extreme Hyperosmia). What she did not know is that her superb physical body houses three distinct personalities completely unaware of each other in a severe case of Dissociative Identities. Besides the Kate I met, sweetest kid you ever saw, I also met Vinicius von Meerschaum, the best taxidermist in Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil who won the gold medal at the 1894 exhibition for his "Cayman kills Tapir" and Yasha Zmeyanski who is a prep cook at Gogol Club at Stoleshnikov Lane 11, in Moscow. Yasha wears a black T-shirt that reads "Jake the Snake" and, in his spare time, with his uncle Pasha, is an assassin for hire. 

While Kate and I talked about music, art and theatre, her face suddenly changed and in a low voice, in perfect Russian, asked for more carrots and beets for the soup. After about a minute, her eyes turned from brown to green (but not completely). She said that somebody near by has used Bowman's Lavender Scented Soap containing Goat Milk, Olive Oil, Coconut Oil, Palm Oil, Essential Oil and Lye within the last twelve hours. When I asked how she knew, she just made a face and that's when I took her picture.

Mr. A. O. Katz

This is Andrew Otto Katz,  so shy I could only sneak in a picture after our bizarre conversation the other day at "The Corner Bar" on Ossington. When I asked what he wanted to drink he replied:

"Diet Dr. Pepper and Jack,

And Pepperoni sticks, just a small pack"

I asked Mama Cass, at the bar, for my usual and whatever he said (we call her Mama Cass because she weighs 82 lbs. soaking wet, real name Cassia Konarowsky), she asked: "Jack and Diet Coke OK, hon?", to which he:

"Sure, no ice, no slice, 

Would sure be nice"

I commented on his instrument: "Nice Tuba", to which he: 

"The correct name, my friend, is Sousaphone,

Which is like a tuba clone,

That very much likes to be blown"

I thought he may have Emotional Prosody (compulsion to speak in rhyme) and probably a bunch of other related Ds (PD, DepressionD, OCD, PTSD, and such)

Inquiring of  his name I said slyly "I know two Otto Katzes" and he seemed to get it because he replied:

"Feldkurat Otto Katz, my friend, is fictional,

My great-uncle Andrew Simon's use of name, is intentional.

A handsome man, Jewish, Russian spy and gay, 

At least that's what they liked to say.

In Prague, in fifty-to they hang him,

After they all got tired to bang him."

We stared into our half empty glasses for a while and Mama Cass, who hears everything without really listening, came around the bar to hug Otto and sing softly in his ear her version of Koko Taylor's "Come to Mama". We all went outside and I asked if he is any good with his Sousaphone. He looked sad, turned and walked away playing softly a barely recognizable "Eleanor Rigby". 

I said: "There he goes" and Mama Cass said "And so he blows" we turned to each other in terror: "Fawk it's contagious"

Marc Anthony Butcher

I bet, gentle readers, that few, if any, of you remember where you was June 23rd, 1994 at precisely 2:45 PM. I do: in a yellow cab at West 57th and 7th Ave. going to my hotel (Millennium, at 55 Church). In those pre-Uber times NY cabbies only had two subjects: the Mets and poetry. My guy Marc Anthony Butcher (according to his license card) was poetry. Halfway there, about West 14th, we bonded over Bukowski, Edna St. Vincent, Esenin, Dylan Thomas and Mayakovski. A few blocks further south, due to race, creed and general background, we started diverging. 

He to me: "Rhyme, optional at best"

Me to he: "Rhyme, nice to have"

He to me: "I am a published author"

Me to he: "I am neither either"

He to me: "Here's my book for you"

Me to he: "Here's ten bucks for you"

He pulled up and the doorman, George (his real name: Gică Sfetcu and he was the former goalie for Textila Buhuși), hastened with the door: "S-trăiți, dom Miki". I paid and tipped Mr. Butcher five bucks.

He to me: "Thanks brother, I have a cat called Mango and a dog called Tango"

Me to he: "Not at all, man. My mom was Chlöe and my sister was Zöe"

M.A. Butcher's books are still in print by YAMOO PUBLISHERS, Brooklyn  and his Spoken Word is available wherever you gets your podcasts. In 1999 his books were approved by New York City's Board of Education for use as a textbook for grades 6 to 12.

Rachel W.

I met Rachel W. on the green pastures of the University of Toronto. We had lunch and she told me that she is the daughter of Prof. Dr. Friedrich Otto Maria von Büchsenspanner. She was impressed that I knew who he was and that I've read his book "Über die Nichtsnützlichkeit". I knew Büchsenspanner returned to Bochum after his two years at the University of Hakata, Japan but what I did not know is that he had a lover there: Aoi, Rachel's mother. Once back in Germany, he never contacted her again and died not knowing that he had a daughter. Six years ago when Rachel went to visit, Aoi told her who her father was and gave her a large box with his papers and documents. Rachel, a natural polyglot like her dad and fluent in German realized quickly that Büchsenspanner prepared another book: "Über die Vollnützlichkeit". The box contained his research and a first draft and so Rachel decided to complete her father's work. Once contacted, Samen und Sauer Verlag GmbH, Göttingen, publisher of the first book said they were very interested.

For the record: Büchsenspanner's book that caused scandal and sensation in academic circles, describes, details and demonstrates the futility of making people acknowledge, understand, accept and act on ideas different from their own. Apparently his next book describes the step by step process to persuade people to get, acknowledge, understand, welcome, accept and act on ideas different from their own beliefs, convictions, doctrines, opinions and perceptions.

The so determined  look on Rachel's face made me think she may just succeed. I wished her luck and asked her to send me a signed copy.

Lambchop Gitta Stick

I met Gitta in the Wallace-Emmerson park, she had a bunch of seedlings in her hand and a quiet, serene air on her face. 

When she was a little girl (she showed me a picture) they called her Lambchop - she was that sweet. Later, in high school she thought, she became fierce. Recently a passer-by  commented on the shape and size of her hips. Gitta picked up a stick and poked him in the left eye. Her Worship Suzanna Clarkson-Bolz, of the Ontario Court of Justice, in light of first offence and all that, gave her a stern warning and asked her to plant 108 urban pine trees.

She does have spectacular hips (Gitta, not Her Worship)

Twenty-Seven

Many years ago I had a lover. It was an older woman. She was almost twenty-seven. Quite a while later I had another lover. It was a younger woman. She was barely twenty-seven. Our math teacher at Hochwerdershausen Junior High was Frau Zwerg and she was twenty-seven. We learned the the basics of arithmetic. I forgot all my lovers, but I never forget Frau Zwerg, she said that three times seven is twenty-seven!