Can men and women be friends?

This questions comes to zamboni from Pyrex Thrombosis (obviously fake!) who claims to be from a place called PooPootie Louisiana. Though his identitty seems questionable it  is  a frequent question which I the Zamboni field very much.


It’s really like an elephant befriending a rhino. At first of course it is exciting, “wow, you’re so much shorter than me and your johnson is three feet long, and you have armor plates on your ass!” And the rhino thinking, “wow, you can give yourself a shower! and your floppy ears are so totes lol!”

But soon the novelty starts to wear thin. Common interests, feelings, and experiences just aren’t there. Ultimately, it is our differences that attract us, but our similarities that make us stick. It starts to be like, “hey you’re so short, I can’t see you, what did you say?” and , “is that trunk sanitary, and is it a nose or a mouth?”

So truly Pyrex, the answer to your question, is No*.

They can be many things, man and woa-man: copains, compatriots, colleagues, co-conspirators, but not really friends.

hey, are things like.. weird between us?

*and yet, that 1 in 100 exception can be stronger than anything else. The exception proves the fool, as they say the saying goes.

Alternatives to “fine”

Try one of these next time:


Rockin’ like a hurricane



Riddled with doubt

nauseous, how are you?

don’t touch me cuz i’m close to the edge

short on funds

hanging a little to the left

“just a black man trying’ to keep my  &*&^$$%  in this cold cruel world”


Diversified, thanks for asking

Thirsty, you buyin?

Who wants to know?


what are you the KGB?

before the black swallows the red

moonshine revelation #13

“Politics Are Boring”

Harry Truman once said to me, “Zamboni, its amazing how much you can get done if you don’t care who gets the credit.” He was explaining how power-hungy politicians are and how much the ego gets involved.

Lets face it people, if someone actually wanted to be a politician, that instantly makes them the kind of person you should run from. I used to be on the third squad Estonian ice-fishing team, and one of our more agressive coaches was named Porklandia. His favorite motivational nugget to use while we were running ice-hole cutting drills and speed-rigging our poles was, “shut the hell up and do it again!” so always if we said “but the ice was too slippery there” or, “I can’t lug a two ton sea elephant through a two foot hole in the ice”, always his response was “shut the hell up and stop making excuses!”.

One day, while we were resting and snacking on restorative slices of seal blubber, I asked Porklandia where he aquired his no- nonsense philosophy. He told me that his coach used to say, “your actions speak so loud I can’t hear your words.”

Which brings us back to Politics. Politics relies on words, promises, and slogans. Yes often things get done, but mostly because the people get fed up and finally those in power make something happen not because they want to but because they have to, to prevent uprising.

(Yet I have to admit, that me great zamboni being a libertarian/progressive-radical Republican, I do often find enjoyment talking to my liberal big government friends and destroying their ridiculous positions…)

Anyhoos- this is how I interpret the 13th mumbling of the great Pontiac Spirit. Judging by his grave profile, it is easy to see he likes to discuss things of greater import.

It's easy...
It's easy, anytime you get the urge to have a political "discussion" talk about sex instead...

“How you Do One Thing is how you Do Everything”

What more can I say- great Zamboni who is me finds myself saying this to many people over a course of a day.

Is true, no? The way you scramble an egg is the way you are a husband is the way you use a chainsaw is the way you clean the bathroom.

Take my mom-


No seriuously, the mother of Zamboni has 14 kids in all but you know when we needed a new pair of pants, she would crank up her shuttle loom, load it with hemp thread and start to weave, moving the warp and woof with the fourteen footpedals of  this strange contraption- and seven hours later we had a new tanktop or briefs, trousers or if we did our chores and cleaning the goat urine pails very thoroughly, she might make us an ascot, even.

And she is like this in life, always slow patient and deliberate with everything. It makes drivers following her crazy with the honking of the horn, but it also was a blassing as she would do very many things that required lots of patience like making homemade yogurt or rustic bread that had to rise many days before being baked.

So the next time you do something small, think about what it says about how you are doing the Big.

Enjoy and I am Zamboni saying, WTF< TGIF!

Thomas Sterling, New Orleans

“Would you believe I’ve been up since 5 this morning paddling this boat?” Sterling asked.

Shirtless and tattooed, with one cigarette in his mouth and a spare on his ear, Sterling said he has been running a freelance maritime rescue operation since Hurricane Katrina sent water crashing through doors and windows.

“I ain’t never seen so many dead people, and I ain’t never saved so many people,” Sterling said. “I must have rescued over 200 people.”

As with much storytelling in New Orleans, it’s hard to know where truth tires out and imagination takes up the slack. But as we floated slowly through the ruined neighborhood, there was no denying the floating corpse that bobbed against the front of a faded blue duplex at 1728 Desire St.

It looked like a man. He was face-down, wearing a blue shirt, black pants and rubber boots. Sterling suspected he’d know him if he could see his face.

The former dockworker, 53, on disability with a nerve condition, had never given a thought to evacuating.

“I knew I would survive, so I wanted to stay here and help other people who wouldn’t leave or couldn’t get out,” said Sterling, whose chest tattoo says, “All Eyes on Me, Me Against the World.”

-LA Times, 9/6/05

i met the subject of that article. he was sitting, falling asleep, chin resting on his cane, in a little homemade park at the corner of mystery and esplanade, in new orleans three days ago. i’m jetlagged and falling asleep at this keyboard now, can’t be bothered to capitalize- but i want to tell you, if you ever lose hope for the human spirit or think we’ve lost our soul in 2012, you aint been to new orleans.

he said “how you doing sir, could i talk to you fo a second.. this here article is about me from the l.a.times” and to verify he showed me is photo i.d..

“and i’m trying to collect 90 dollars so i can pay my electric bill..” ever weary of a scam, but i stopped anyway, i read the article, and because he seemed soul-weary not drunk or desperate I believed him. I sat down with him. he told me about the floating bodies.. he told me how it came to be that he stayed-

“that morning i was shaving , and after I shaved I rubbed my eyes  and face with a towel, you know, like you do,  and as I did that” he told me slowly,”i had a vision from god and he said that if I stayed behind he would not let anything happen to me, and so i stayed, my momma said ‘boy you better get ready, we leaving’ but I stayed behind”

we sat in silence for as while as i did some reading, he dozed and continued to ask passerby for help. he never complained once, never said the city or anyone else owed him anything, didn’t guilt anyone and was very p0lite. I noticed sores of circular scars covered both arms, “what happened there?”I asked.  he said he had chicken pox as a kid.

We spoke more, then he said he was going elsewhere “i’ll see you mr. jordan, i’ll see you later”

I said my goodbye but wished we’d spoken more. and this morning at 6am we said our goodbye to N.O. and it broke my heart, for so many reasons. yes we had beignets and po boys and saw the Mississippi, and canoed right past some gators and all- but a city’s worth  is its people, and the kind of person it makes you when you’re there- and New Orleans is what an american city is supposed to be-

old, weathered, building, soulful, and above all about the future…

thanks to ed and susan for showing it to me-

(Zamboni I lost at the Voodoo museum but i expect he’ll turn up soon)