What if there was a ridiculously good looking guy and wise acre named the Great Zamboni from Estonia that knew everything google does not? That's me. Ask me anything you'd really like to know- email@example.com
Ahhh yes. The eternal question. You don’t want to fall into the cliche trap of candy boxes and roses, but you don’t want to ignore it and risk the wrath of your beloved. In Estonia we call this being caught between a rock and another rock.
It reminds me of a lover I had once in my youth. You may know Madeline Albright as the esteemed politician, I knew her, in her rosy youth, as Pixie. Flaxen afternoons we spent, browsing bookstores, hand in hand, slurping oysters out of ashtrays, blindfold tennis, all the good romantic things. Then Valentines day came. We had been dating for 3 months.
That morning I woke her up as usual, hanging from the ceiling in my unitard… as she yawned I left the tent to prepare our usual gruel and Sherpa Tea…but when I came back into the love nest I noticed she was unhappy.
“Is this it?” she asked.
“Excuse me my love?”
“Is this all you have planned?”
“Well..yes in fact, I thought after the gruel we might make lots of sexy time and do good snuggling..after all Valentines Day is just a manufactured bourgeois Hallmark holliday, as you described it yesterday yourself.”
As I inhaled the exhaust of her car as she sped off, I realized that you skip Valentines day at your peril, indeed.
Yes my friends, I know many of you have merely contacted me, the Great Zamboni, over the ethernet, or perhaps you have touched my garments through a security barrier- or bought a pair of my sweaty running shorts on a Japanese website- but all that can come to an end now.
Zamboni is performing live this very month in Berkeley Ca.
Thursdays, two of them. Feb 12th, 19th , at the Monkeyhouse in Berkeley.
Don’t sleep on this friends, take the hookah out of your mouth, pause Netflix, don’t go toward the light- buy these tickets now online or else you might miss it. The Monkeyhouse only fits 53 peeps, so don’t get left in the cold like a Dickensian street urchin, wandering the foggy street with chimeny dust stuck to your face begging starngers for a cup a ‘ tay.