“where-what-when does/did the word ‘question’ derive from?”

Thank you Kirk from Hollywoodland and here is your answer from the depths of an Estonian tornado that I call myself, zamboni:

This comes to me by the pool of Bellagio (zamboni not stays there, too $$$,  but my 3rd cousin Grimlanski is jacuzzi cleaner there so he sneak me in) .

The end of a question is not the answer, anymore than the summit of the mountain is the end of the climb. It is a “quest”, a journey.

Zamb?oni is himself more a question than an answer; this is one of the things that make me magnet to fine womens and keeping me youthful, this in addition to repeated injections of African Ginger.  Mostly every time, I am able to supply an answer that is not only mind-bogglingly obtuse and circuitous, but also 100% correct- Hee! Remember, even a broken clock is flat wrong pretty much all day long-but what is time?

Zamboni (and yes my Kirk friend I getting to answer, don’t sleep!) is also broken. Being raised by poor cheese farmers  who fed me on a diet of grubs and pig hair sandwiches goes far to damage a mind, yet here is my point. A question is something broken and incomplete (notice the little break in this hooky thing- ?) and when you find an answer you are healing this break.

The Jewish peoples see life as a mending. We come into this life and see things out of wack, and our task “tikkun olam” is to heal broken things.

But see, an “!” is also broken. That is enthusiasm. What I am saying here is that beauty and excitemnt, life actually is about the broken, the incomplete, the imperfect. Think about it. I see of litter of 11 puppies, but the one I am drawn to is the spotted little runt with one ear and a funny squeak, awwwwwwww (:

And the word “question”?  Well it was the year 1241 when I said to my homie Zarathustra over a cup of Bubonic Plague Vaccine I developed to save our villages, “hey Zarathustra, where do you think the world ends? That would be really fun to bungee jump off.”

And he replies to me, “I don’t know Z-man, I guess that quest’s on you.”

He was fun to hang out with mostly, but when he got really drunk on fermented wheat sludge he'd start yelling at me that he was the original "Z-man" etc..

“What’s a ‘question'” I ask.

He say, “Huh?, no I said that quest is on you to do. Good luck, and this time remember to tie one end to something before you jump.”

And it was that moment that it dawned on me, a question is a search, and it should always have an element of fun in it or it is not a real one. It is desire and when you stop having them my friend, you better get some viagra for the soul.

So, long story short, I invented the word question, and there it is. It’s funny, great zamboni only exists when he has a question.  So feed me Seymour!

Thank you patience.

I have questions for you-

Did you know that everywhere you go there are people you have nothing in common with who are just like you?

Did you know the best place to be is sometimes right under your nose?

Did you know there are two Super 8Motels in Vegas and one has a pool and jacuzzi and one definitely does not have either of those but on Priceline they look pretty much the same?

where's the pool? here

Amber teaches me this, and Vegas.

Zamboni returns, 1o pounds heavier and not an ounce wiser- how could I be? Can George Clooney be any more like George Clooney? Is a wax horse going to melt in an oven?

Tomorrow the answer to the question question.

and I was here..but also right next door was a dive bar, swinging sharpies, sam cook, lindy and swing- in this place I have one of the most amazing nights of my life- if it glitters, it could be gold idiot!


A Great Question

This very meta question comes to Zamboni tonight from the one they call quizzically “K.Dub” from Hollister Ca.

“where-what-when does/did the word ‘question’ derive from?”

In order for me to answer this not only truthfully but correctly, I must go on a quest myself. To that end, I will be in Las Vegas for 72 hours hunting lizards and reading the way  the wind sifts through the sand.

In this I plainly read, "you will get lucky with a swarthy Brazilian named Consuela, and bet it all on Red 26" See?

When I return- you will have not only your answer- but a whole new way of living  life. Some things are better with waiting.

Zamboni better than google- Real!

What Does Zamboni think about While Peeing?

This nosy yet intriguing question comes from Fortuitous Kronkite, a sheepherder from Duluth whose name is somewhat far to fetch.

Here is an exact inner monologue I experienced during a pee last night in a quiet alley outside of an eating establishment in Minsk:

It’s colder than a tit of a witch out here. Ack.. I wish the line for inside had not been so long..  Did I get my 1040 from Langley?

I can live without that Jeep, that ICW watch, those Gucci loafers with the little bamboo clasp, without ever visiting Japan or that little  quaint town somewhere in Michigan with the  sunsets and the cute little independent bookstore. I can live without ever knowing what  a Kardashian may be, or where Wall Drug is or what the hell the Winchester Mystery house is.

What is that crawling over my shoe? And what is a Chai Tea- is it tea or Chai? What’s a Channing Tatum?

And what about love- can I live without that?

Ahck! I’ve dribbled on my pants again… 

This can help you with stage fright...

I hope this was elucidating to you my friend. They say the Roman orator Esplennius would create whole orations in his mind while he drained his lizard. Anytime we let anything go, it can be good.

Stonehenge was a bus stop

Dear Zamboni-

What exactly was the purpose of the great wonder of the world Stonehenge?

-Cordly from Grand Rapids

Dear Cordly, it is a very good question that you ask, what the heck was that Stonehenge built for, and yes, as my title spews forth, it was in fact a bus stop.

Now I know this may be dissapponting for many of you as you like mysteries wrapped in enigmas and perhaps you are hoping I would say it was some wiccan sun temple, or virgin sacrifice altar built by aliens; but sometimes the truth is just a whole lot simpler. Like my friend the Footbal Coach is fond of saying “its not rocket surgery for fucks sake.”

As I was floating through time back then in ancient jolly England, I remember what some peoples said when the structure was built. A man named Nigel -who made shoes for priests out of goat bladders- told me over a bubbling goblet of barleywine in  O’Leary’s Pub, “it looks a pile of ‘fecking dinosaur turds it does!”

See the snack stand there, on the left? Next to Termial B Express to Glandonshiresberyy Isleskye

It is a good lesson for us. The past was just like today so it best not to romanticise it by painting it with a glowing sunset color.



Dear Zamboni-

I think I met the love of my life- the problem is she’s half my age. Plus she lives three thousand miles away. It’s electric when we are together, it’s like I think I’m over it but then it’s this crazy gravitational pull when I see her again and I feel like i’m falling, and I want both to let myself fall but also to stop myself. The sound of her voice, everything- Zamboni, oy- Am I crazy- What should I do?

-Harry Fonda

Dear Harry – did I miss something- you have no problem! You met a girl that makes you crazy- think you’re the first? So she’s half your age- you think the gods do things for no reason?

Here’s my advice: don’t give her up. I don’t mean you two have to nuptualize things- just don’t give her up. Once Zamboni fell in love with my office intern -she was 22 I was 42- did it work out? No, of course not, she Twittered and I still write with a quill and milk my goat every morning- but I tell you one thing- not a week goes by I don’t see her face in my dreams, and that my friend is everything.

Like Boogy said, “you don’t have good dreams Bagel, you got nightmares.”

Kiss her face when you can, and when you can’t…well, read a good book.

Trust in Zamboni!

Moonshine Revelation #11 Butterscotch Pudding

This is now continuing in the nuggets of wisdom revealed to me by the Pontiac Indian hood ornament Spirit:

“Butterscotch Pudding”

Ahhhh…. This aphorism is not hard to fathom. There simply is no dessert more like crawling into your mothers lap than this butterscotch pudding.

I wish I had some right now. It is burnt, yet sweet. Golden like skin, soft like a boob. Boob is a strange word you use in America for breast yes? I hope.

Always in great zamboni’s travels, I find myself in restaurants with all sorts of strange things: pannacottas, profiteroles, fondant, budino, mousse, and yet always I am longing for the real and simple butterscotch pudding. I must make for myself.

why add words?

The real, and the simple, is the most comforting, and the hardest to find. Oy! Oi! Buna Zoi!

May the spirits guide you as you try recipe.



Mitt Romney is Don Draper -Zamboni sees

"Who is Don Draper?"

Mitt Romney will be the next president thus predicts Zamboni- he is there to the left- looking with much sameness like Don Draper of Mad Men, below. Even listen to friend of Mitt and he could be saying this about both mercurial wealth-creating secretive impresarios:

“He’s very engaging and charming in a small group of friends  he’s comfortable with.. when he’s with people he doesn’t know he gets more formal… he has a mask.”

As you may know, this one is all masks. Zamboni does not endorse, but I see this strange sign that this Romney will charm all, the way Don does... I board plane tonite for White House to advise.