Monday non-Sekuitar (#2) (late)

My blind eyes and roving hand found this poem by Jack Gilbert, in a book given me

by Belle Struck. The Poem is called “older women”-

the book is THE GREAT FIRES

Each farmer on the island conceals
his hive far up on the mountain,
knowing it will otherwise be plundered.
When they die or can no longer make
the hard climb, the lost combs year
after year grow heavier with honey.
And the sweetness has more and more
acutely the taste of that wilderness.

I know the heart of this poem well. Yet I don’t want to cheapen it with my thoughts and spungification. How i long for that taste of wilderness. Wilderness.

I hope this monday non-seq coming two days late still takes you in for a moment.

keeps aging even when we forget what we did to it-hoping it stays sweet not sour
keeps aging even when we forget what we did to it-
hoping it stays sweet not sour

Inaugural Monday Non sequitur!


And now for the first time, I,  great zamboni picks out a book from my cobwebbed shelf, open it to random page and faithfully write down here the first sentence I see. Then I will expungulate on it’s significance- remember, like grandma saying, “everything happens for a reason…” ok, here goes nothing. (pause, I am reaching for book with eyes closed… catfish noodling…………… Got one)


  • “I was feeling for the spot when another thought
  • Checked my hand: we would die to a man in that cave,
  • Unable to budge the enormous stone
  • He had placed to block the entrance.”

(the odyssey of Homer, Book 9)

Ah yes, Odysseus is stuck in the cave of the big-ass cyclops who is fattening up the Greeks to eat them soon. It is in the dark hours, before our hero uses his noodle to outsmart the cyclops and free himself and his men from impending doom.

So, what can we learn from this non sequitur? Indeed, for myself it is obvious. Sometimes there seems to be a giant unmovable stone in front of the cave door. A stone that is not and can never be able to be moved. You know this feeling? Yes, me too.

Odysseus, the name means “man of many ways”- so I must assume that there are many ways these situations can go. I also assume that we must be as clever and deep thinking as we possibly can to move this damn stone, or at least figure out how others can help us move it. Moving large stones is hard. Even Jesus who raised Lazarus after he was croaked for 3 days, I think he still needed like Judas and his truck to move the stone.


I hope you enjoyed the first non sequitur from us here at Zamboni Corp- goodnight Tokyo!

New Pope Just Like You and Me!

Q: Hey Zamboni, what do you think of the new Pope?

A: The guy is really down to earth, I mean you wouldn’t believe how down to earth this guy is. I mean like Crocs with socks and Yerba Mate-drinking. Listen to this: he paid his own bill at a hotel! I mean OMG can you believe this guy? I have never done that in my life! I wouldn’t even know how or why to do that or even what you would say to the plebe behind the desk! Me, Zamboni, see I am used to getting cucumber Mexican papaya facials all day long on my private yacht- but this guy, this guy?… So next, are you ready? he lifts up his own suitcase right (I didn’t know that C-shaped thingee was for your hand? holy papal shred!)- and check this out, he carries, as in with his own steam, he carries his suitcase and -hold on to your slippers- he GETS ON A BUS…no no no wait i’m not done-, with OTHER PEOPLE!!!!!!! get it?

Like wow right? It’s amazing, this guy, who is so much more important than any other human being on earth, that he should do all these simple things, wow. There’s a lesson there somewhere.

Tomorrow: Mormons, Jews, and Buddhists decide to make popes too! (Buddhist pope rumored to breathe!) 


Why was Zamboni passed over for Pope?

I know, I was shocked too… I’ll explain it all as soon as I get out of here ( the Vatican). The last 48 hours were hell as we were locked in “conclave” -it was really just a 48 hour  McCauley Caulkin film marathon..I have to go as I am tweeting this onto my phone and homies be lookin’ over your shoulder up in this Sistine..

Talk soon…will reveal all… (the black smoke has no significance, my bad!!- Cardinal Slipovitz from Estonia and I were trying to BBQ some blood sausage!)

Who was the first hipster?

This question was solvable by me great zamboni with a little google and then a flash of inspiration. I had to use the interweb to understand what is meant by hipster because in Estonia this concept has not much truck. What I learned is something like this: hipsters nowa hipster lives in Brooklyn New York and enjoys growing a beard, doing many “artisan” things like brewing his own Gin or making bowties from Amish denim, and doing quite a bit of blogging, as well as printing by antique handpress  quirky papergoods and stuffing everything into a USA made totebag. Pretty cool if you ask me. Many hipsters enjoy going back to nature, bumming through Baja and seem to hunger for authentic experience and authentic Woolrich flannel.

Then it hit me. Over a hundred years ago, in my last incarnation, while wandering in this very same Brooklyn in a horse drawn carriage I met someone who reminded me very much of this new young breed. His name was Walt Whitman, and he had just printed his own book (very artisan!) called Leaves of Grass. It was rebellious, loose around the edges, informal yet studied like a bearded man riding a vintage Triumph motorcycle, sensual and seeking “unchecked energy”. And so, in answer to your question, this man Walt Whitman is the original hipster.

hipster thenThe question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?


That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”      -(W.W.)

That is zamboni’s verse added to today- what is yours?


Years ago, I was at an odd dinner. It was me, my best buddy, my mom and my mom’s then boyfriend, the owner of a hotel that bore his name. We’ll call him “Larry Thompson” so it was the Thompson Hotel. Downtown San Francisco, a modest 7 floor deal.  I guess I was 28, 29. For some reason my dad was there too- wait, I just remembered, it was a birthday dinner for me, thus the collusion of the family members, divorced parents and all.

We were in the first floor restaurant of said hotel. Posh. Had  a nice dinner, service being great, afterall- we sat with the guy who owned the place. We all ordered freely. Wine, salads, entrees. We’re all thinking how nice, he owns the whole joint so none of us will be reaching for wallets later. The waiter comes after the dinner plates have been cleared, delivers the small menus. Larry gets a big toothy grin on, “dessert is on me.”  he says, like it’s a grand old gesture. Dessert.

We all freeze up. Glance around at each other. Joke? Serious. He owns the whole building. Pause. Obviously no joke. My dad breaks the silence.

“I’ll have the chicken.”

I laughed then and still do.

Happy Birthday dad.



Recently a reader, Mike Z,  asked me, “Dear Zamboni, it seems like I am always failing at being a parent, why is this?”

Well, Mike, it might interest you to know, that in the ancient and obsolete -spoken by nobody anymore  except Zamboni and my grandmother- Estonian provincial dialect known as Gershvartz, the word for failure and for parenting is indeed the same, “kornfeldtx”.

Why is this? Because children are very hit and miss. It’s sort of like toasters before the Singing Revolutuion when my Estonia lived under iron fist of USSR. The Russian-made toasters were very inconsistent and unreliable. Some worked, some blew your face off. It is like that with children. Yes we “made” them but really they are gifts given to us for temporary custodianship and what we get is what we get. Smart parents can get a thick-brained nogoodnik- dense parents may get a Nobel prize winner.

Does the environment they are raised in count? Sure, look at me and my identical twin George Clooney. George was raised in the Hollywood mileu and became great actor. I, Zamboni was raised by illiterate cheese farmers and then adopted by a great Baron- see?


My point is this Mike: parenting is a rough road. Your children will have as many problems as you, just different problems. You can’t prevent this. Well maybe some you can, but no one is perfect. My advice to you is this- change the way you think of this concept  of, “failure”. Also, if you aren’t the brightest bulb in the six pack or maybe you wear Crocs with socks- then get your child to be around friends and family who are a little wittier or at least have nice shoes with some style. Your child will always look up to you most and first- but that doesn’t mean they don’t need coaches, cool aunts, cool teachers, and groovy grandparents…

So…. I encourage you to keep failing, keep failing…

Like my old Squash coach used to say at Estonian A&M: “Zamboni, you either learn to fail, or you fail to learn.”