Where is my new boyfriend? I need him!!!

The above question comes from this professor of dance from the eastern seaboard, C.Fisher… She also adds the appendage to this query, “he better be good, like Benedict Cumberbatch”.

Dear C. Fisher- Your boyfriend is also waiting for you.

He’s actually in the Dunkin’ Donuts off Highway 95 in Newburyport, Mass right at this moment as we speak. He has just ordered a French Cruller (yet he pronounced it “crullah”) and a regular coffee. Unfortunately he will only be there for 5 minutes more- then he will go back out to his Ford F-150 and drive North (“Noth”) to York Beach Maine where he currently lives. He is a fireman by the way, is forty-five years old, has just begun wearing reading glasses in public, and knows how to make spaghetti for 10 people in under 19 minutes. He works out everyday and has a Masters Degree in French Literature (specializing in Camus and Verlaine) which he is only 8 units away from finishing and will get back to when he does early retirement at the age of 55.

Actually has terrible morning breath
Actually has terrible morning breath

He often spends long minutes gazing out the firehouse window thinking about you, only a sort of blurry and vague you because he has not met you yet of course. He looks and talks nothing like Benedict Cumberbatch but greatly enjoys the latter’s Sherlock Holmes  and will curl up in bed with you and watch all those episodes on Netflix with you as the rain beats down on the roof.

I can’t tell you his name. I know it of course,  I don’t want to make things too easy for you.

Now, the real question is, will you go after this love of your life, or will you stay in the dream world of the make-believe Cumberbatches? You see this is the quandry we all face with love. It is too tempting and easy to stare out the window creating the perfect mate in our mind’s eye. It gets so hard and messy, so to speak, when we get out there and search, and date, and meet, and fail fail fail. Oy.

Your boyfriend is out there. In fact, great zamboni has proven that there is not just ONE soul mate for each of us, but in fact 108.5 perfect soul mates we could groove with well..Here’s hoping you find a whole one and not the .8

Be well, do what you love, and above all trust Zamboni*

(*also use online Dating- I just saw the fireman go on OK cupid on his  i phone)

Reply to “great/not great play” post

Dear Tennessee-

Here is the answer which you asked about your play. It is in fact a total failure. How will you get a bear on stage that is dead, and why would people want to watch you eat oatmeal?

And yet it is at the same time a raging success- and this is why. What we need more in life is not merely failure, but BIG FAILURE, BIG OFFENSIVE STUPID NEON-COLORED failure like yours.

Too often in our theatre today we have nice. We have cute. And then the bane of all art, we have the CLEVER! Ack! Cleverness about smart things, clones, cute parallels with classic plays, add some sleek costumes and pretty music and people leave entertained but the next day they have forgotten all they saw.

Your play they would not forget. They would have to take a side on your play. There would be no fence sit. Sadly, I  great Zamboni must take on some of the guilt of helping to create this Bourgeois Narcotics Factory as my old friend Bertolt Brecht used to call it. I have been in the theatre business for quite some time.

But I am hopeful. People are starting to say “where’s the excitement?” “Where’s the childlike awe?  the open mouth gasping at what you see on stage saying ‘can they really do this?'” ?

More plays with bears and oatmeal? More plays with people hurling things at the audience so we have to duck! Let us do something!


Everyone, FAIL TODAY! But BIG! It just might be amazing. (like Forced Entertainment, from Scotland, above)

Like Zamboni always say, if you are hunting for Moby Dick, make sure to take a long the tartar sauce..

Zamboni, what do you think of my play?

Dear Zamboni, I have written a new play which I think will save the Theatre which has become moribund, boring, non-risk taking and very much like a bourgeois narcotics factory.

Can you give me some critique on this? Thanks..

Jack Terry, Paris tennessee.

Great New Play

(Two men, A and B enter from stage left dragging a Bear. B sets up a hot plate and begins to make Oatmeal while A covers the bear with a blanket. After waiting for the water to boil and preparing the Oatmeal, A and B eat the Oatmeal.

Silently. The bear makes a few faint groans and grunts. B casually puts down his Oatmeal and retrieves a gun and shoots the bear an extra time. The bear is pretty silent. B returns to his Oatmeal.

After finishing their Oatmeal, A and B break their plates, flip the “bird” to the audience and exit wherever they like. Leaving the bear. After a moment, nothing really changes. Then the Sound of riotous deafening applause comes over the loud speakers, making the audience unnecessary.)

The End

When did the 80’s really end?

Great question, from T. Boone, Newton Iowa.

Truly, the 80’s, the essence of that last gasp of culture, the last decade with it’s own look and unique feel, ended not just Dec 31st 1989, but the last gasp of that decade of over-symphonic emotion, and Romantic-emotionalism is music, hair, clothes and art, was the movie DAYS of THUNDER-

An underrated classic that sits proudly with Top Gun- plus John C. Reilly’s presence in the movie forsages his wondrous, Talladega Nights. And though the latter is an hysterical send up and satire of all things racing- recently seeing Days of Thunder for the first time made me miss a decade before irony. Before snark. When songs could have lyrics like “you must be my lucky star, cuz you shine for me wherever you are” and no one smirked. They danced.

So there is the moment when it all ended T. Boone. Let us hope our own kids get at least some of the sentiment (different from sentimentality)  we did back then.

from Aldous Huxley

“Pity made him a knight errant. Love, he had then believed (for he was only twenty-two at the time, ardently pure, with the adolescent purity of sexual desires turned inside out , just down from Oxford and stuffed with poetry and the lubrications of philosophers and mystics), love was talk, love was spiritual communion and companionship. That was real love. The sexual business was only an irrelevancy- unavoidable…

from Point Counter Point

Good writing, perhaps this is an answer for a question of some kind- or just another Monday Non-Sequitar. Makes one think of being young, or rather the absolute impossibility of remembering what it was really like to be young.

mirror magritte

(for 10 zamboni-points, can anyone name the  movie in which the main character is a professor teaching this book?)