Choosing between things- How To Do It!

@jordanwiner Question for Zamboni: When it rains it pours. How do you choose when you have more than one good offer?

This above question was twittered to me via the computer box.

My uncle Snorblatt had a saying. He was a master cheesemaker, but also an excellent hang glider. In his early twenties, he hanglided across Transylvania and was on the verge of a profitable career in professional  gliding when he was struck down by a Tasmanian virus. Sweating and convulsing on a his deathbed, he had a vision. In his vision, a giant sword hung over his head and a goat the size of Godzilla wielded the sword with ferocity. Behind the gargantuan goat, a smiling rabbit did cartwheels spraying rainbow dust out of its ass. These seemingly incongruous things continued in his dream, until Dick Cavett appeared and said , “Ladies and, uh,  gentleman, please welcome, Norman Mailer!”

When Snorblatt’s fever broke, he recalled the dream down to the last detail. Carl Jung came all the way from Bavaria to decipher this dream using all his archtypes and oneric knowledge. His verdict? Snorblatt was fucking crazy.

What does this have to do with your question? ha! I am teaching you this. The point is, never ask someone for advice when making decisions- why? because no one can make a decision for anyone else without making it for themself.

Like Ayn Rand demonstrated,  people are -and should be- selfish. If you ask me to help you find your decision, I will naturally make the one that happens to serve me, not you.

My child asks where to go to college- naturally I will say Transyllvania A & M because I was kicked out due to a stunt involving several abandoned toilets, and wish to make my revenge on them. But this is decision best for me– not my child.

So when you have more than one good offer- always make the decision that you will not regret when you lie on the deathbed- which could be any time…

And be selfish- you owe it to the world.

And that’s the double truth, Ruth


The Trad asks Zamboni

Todays question: I don’t know whether to set up my insurance captive in Bermuda or the Virgin Islands. Both countries allow me to keep the $ offshore at no tax but Bermuda is nicer and USVI is a shit hole. I like saying USVI. Is sounds like a drug from the late ’70s. I’m so confused.

The Trad
(Serious Insurance Professional)

Dear esteemed bloggiste and life chronicler Mr. Trad: I, Zambonesman, of course have answer for you, as well as bad drug flashback story. Please stop saying USVI ever to me again.

“USVI” was indeed a drug developed by Timothy Leary in the 6o’s before he perfected his formula for LSD. I was part of the first trial of USVI and I still have a missing big toe and the fangmarks of a bear on my left ass cheek to prove it. So your question sends me shivers of memory of a long forgotten forest rampage in Northern California and leads me to answer you with:Bermuda. Emphatic and how.

and they allow dogs on beach- very rare

Bermuda has certain obvious advantages. The first being shorts. The second being pink sand. It is also closer to New York, the city in which you dwell, and when the world ends on May 21st,  it will be a shorter helicopter ride to get your “captive,” whoever that is. The third reason is the best Bay Rhum Cologne is coming from there.

As poor young man trying to attract women in Estonian college, we make our own with Everclear and roots that grow in sidewalk crack.

Need I say more? especially to you Sip. I once worked in the stables of a deposed Estonian tyrant who traded a  resevoir and three tanks for a case of this tingling head-wash.

So, my friend The Trad, as in all things, tradition serves us well here. Bermuda is truer heirloom place of preppy goodness- after all, they paint their houses pink. Add the green of golf course- you get the picture. In USVI is too many Americans- why travel to see them when they are outside door? And in case your question is of fiscal nature and  not a kidnapping, you must always “diversify”, whatever this means.  Peace and dividends of happiness to you.

And speaking of insurance, why not every single person who live in flood country buy flood insurance? This make Zamboni sad. What say you SIP?

From USVI. Bottle is even plastic, only use as Crab deterrent.

How to be Rich!

Todays question comes from Jerome  in Cincinnati, Ohio., age ten,  and the boy asks, “How rich will I be in the future.” Yes, ten.

You know Jerome, this is not the first time I have heard this question from an American young boy. As the years have gone by, I get less “what will I be when I grow up,” and more of the question you ask. Show me the money, like this Jerry McGuire in american movie, yes?

In my village growing up, I was the orphan child of poor cheese farmers. We had little. When their biological children got an apple,  the core fell to me for gnawing. If the cats brought in a squirrel, after it was cooked in sour beer I was given the feet to suck. But my parents always made sure I was warm, fed, and without fleas. They went without so that I might have the books I craved to read and a luck charm around my neck made of walrus teeth.  Did I crave money and material things? Of course. I once lured a neighbor into a bear trap to take his Sony Walkman, I know what is this desire for riches.

Jerome my young friend, you may or may not be rich, but this won’t have much to do with your happiness. I don’t know if a ten year old reads science journals, but Zamboni does and I recently saw an interesting study. This study asked people about their levels of happiness that they felt, and they found something strange. People who were poor and struggling, or simply had very little, did not report lower levels of happy-feeling. Yes it was stressful if someone just lost their job, but overall, people who simply had less, seemed more content than those with higher incomes. Instead of poor and miserable- it was poor and happy. So to ask Zamboni how rich you will be is sort of like saying “How many bumps will be on the nose of the grandmother of my true love?” What does it matter?

A Latvian card shark I knew once was fond of saying, “rich or poor, your farts still smell the same.” I cannot say I totally agree since this man lived on nothing but canned sardines and plum brandy and hence his flatulence smelled like indescribable horror, But I understand the metaphor all the same.

This being said; there is nothing wrong with money,  and if you want to keep as much of it as you can, follow this advice:

Never use credit cards.

Don’t buy lattes.

Diversify investments.

And most important of all, remember these two words: Compound Interest.

It takes a while, but you will be a millionaire.


“Mel, Kiss my Grits” is Meaning of Life

Many people ask the Zambonesman a trite, yet important question: “what is the meaning of life.” Normally they ask this to avoid a real quandry they have, such as, “how can I get my daughter to do her homework?” or “why doesn’t that guy I slept with call me the next day?” I try to urge people to ask these more practical questions, but still they are persisting. As we say in Estonia, “if a Sunami comes at you, it’s not time to play ping-pong”, so I will  answer this “big” question for you my people.

Ah, life is funny. Though now in my castle in Belgravia I have Dishfinity TV with 6,987 channels, as a child on the cheese farm life was much harder. We had a six inch TV that we jimmyrigged from glass milk bottle and disarmed landmine. With our antenna made from rusty clotheshanger, we got only dim fragments of TV, and one of those shows was the landmark American sitcom, Alice.

On this program was the sassy waitress Flo, who, whenever becoming annoyed would explain, “kiss my grits!”. Much of my childhood was spent with my brothers trying to decipher and translate what this mean. What are grits? Why kiss them? What for? Is to be kissing grits good or bad? One day years later at American college, cafeteria lady slop white stuff on my plate  and I freeze.

In broken English I ask,”What this substance please tell me”.

“Grits. Move down the line please.”

“Ah…” I finally get it. In dorm we watch reruns of Alice and always Flo yells, “Kiss my Grits.” The Diner cook, Mel, yell, “Flo, stop chattin’ up that trucker and pick up these eggs!”

“Kiss my grits!”

Alice says to this Flo something or other, Flo yell, “you can kiss my grits.”

Later in life, when I become Great Zamboni, it occurs to me the wisdom of this grit-kissing. Flo never bows to anyone in this show. Though she is only a waitress at a diner, she is like queen who takes no poop from anyone. If anyone try and complain of her in anyway and try to stop her from being who she is, she tell to kiss  grits.

In this way, she is much like the Roman stoic philospher Seneca, who say, “A happy life is one which is in accordance with its own nature.” Both Flo and Seneca see that the meaning of life is to dare to really be oneself. Flo’s nature is to be sassy and ornery, that is how she thrive. She say to the world, “this is me with my giant hairdo and too much lipstick and if you don’t like it, well….” you know the rest.

Kiss my grits. It was her mantra, her credo, her personal motto, her “carpe diem”. What is yours?

Seneca at his death, we know what he probably whispering to guy trying to comfort.

Zambonesman is asked How To Sell Out Every Show

Dear Great Zamboni:

How do we sell out every show? I know from experience that crowds of people will push against each other and even riot to see you in person. How can my theatre company achieve some measure of the same level of success?

This comes from Melissa H, in the northern of California.

Dear you, this is a very good question, but be careful what you wish for. Once before a Zamboni Show in Ipswich Mass., a group of Lobstermen were fighting over the one scalper ticket left. After a melee in which not only epithets about their mothers were flying, but also fists and finally severed limbs, four of them were carted away in ambulance while one dissapperaed into clam bog screaming never to be seen again. The show was great, I nailed it, but still, do you want such craziness in front of your theatre each night?

Since time immemorable, man and wo-man have been fascinated with watching the same few things: girl on girl action, babies being juggled, violence of most kinds, sex, cute romantic comedy, and war stories. Basically, every majorly successful form of entertainment falls into one of these.

Football: War

The View: Girl on Girl.

Bones and or The Office: Cute Romantic (yes I know Michael and Dwight are funny, but we keep watching year after year until Pam and Jim make nasty)

Medea: Babies juggled. Well, killed, but you see my point.

Great Zamboni: All combined plus abs of steel.

So you want to sell out every show? Your choice is either to pander incessently to these base yet indomitable hungers (the Roman Gladiator shows sold always quite well) Or you can sell your soul to the Devil like I did. This last option working out for me so far, since I am able to do what my life calling is, help people with my wisdom all over Earth, but of course one day this fiend will collect my soul and then sucks to be me. So I assume you’ll take the former notion.

Pander! As the saying goes, man needs only two things, bread and circus games. Give him the circus games! Cirque de Soleil has discovered way to sell out every of their 569 simultaneous shows in every corner of globe: small women who tie themselves in knots, clown who show us our fears, and giants who just look funny. They find every genius who can make us laugh, sigh and gasp, then work them to death in Las Vegas. Is not pretty business, but as the song says, “there’s no business….

But your words say you wish to achieve “some measure” of same success. What is “some”? Can you be “some” pregnant? Either you wish or no, eh? My Estonian grandfather had a saying, “you want a goose for dinner, don’t hunt for meerkat”.  First you must really ask yourself if what you want is to please and sell tickets, or make Art you believe in. Can you do both? Well, the Romans believed in  having men fight to the death, three shows daily. Do you?

The greatest theatres of this millenia, Shakespeare’s The Kings men, Moscow Art, The Group, none lasted more than a decade or two in peak power. And yours is greater than these? Perhaps. The question is not “can I” sell out, but “should I?” Ruminate over this at length, and if, after long ponderbation, you answer yourself with “YES!” Then I suggest you find two very pretty girls, photo nude for publicity, and have an ending where true love overcomes obstacles, such as war, and your test audience makes  sounds at end like, “no..ahhhh!...awwww.”

I know right! This episode have bar full of rowdy Estonians silent as melted cheese.


Texting Woman Falls in Fountain: Zamboni Can Help!

I, Zambonesman, can find beauty anywhere. In the leavings of a cow, the dying groan of a giant squid, in face of a toothless hag on cold night, or even in advertising.

Before last wednesday, my favorite short poem was:

Raid kills bugs dead.

No longer, since seeing this short poem from the CNN scribes which sums up all this zeitgeist of whole world in this new century from Estonia to Boise:

Texting woman falls in fountain, sues.

As you might imagine, this woman is upset that 2 million people laugh at her over and over on You Tube (you must open new window, go there, put magic poem in box of search – laughter is healthy) but that is the real tragedy. Is not that she falls, is that she not make something good from. I help.

Dear Woman Who Was Captured Texting Your Way into Fountain in Mall in Which You Yourself Works:

This has happened to Zamboni several times! Your mistake was not oblivious text walking. Your real fault is not to bust gut laughing at yourself doing this! And not to parlay this your 15 minutes of fame into something good. Make a T-Shirt and bumper sticker of your falling face, with “woops!” or “who moved the fountain?” and couple this with surveillance camera graphic  and “SPLASH!”then you may land in a million dollars and maybe a slot on So You Think You Can Dance? Open Pay Pal account now! Don’t you think if you call The Price is Right RIGHT NOW and say, “hey,  I’m the one fall in the fountain, put me on your game show!” they say yes? For their publicity. Right this minute you could be winning a boat and a new refridgerator, perhaps.

So please, woman who fell, turn this lemons to lemonade, because in one week, your spotlight will move on to other absurd thing. One way or another, all accomplishments and goofups fade from memory. But what matters is what we make of them.

Sic Transit Gloria... do you know this guys name? NO! No one will remember your hysterical splash in a year!

I say you still have two days to take this action, Woman Who Splashed (even change your name to that, like Native American!) Good luck.

And by the way, Zambonesman spent much time criss crossing country in bus with Neal Cassidy and other Beats, in order to “dig” long hallucination of American night. There was a beat poet named Lew Welch. It was he who write the ad copy above for Raid. One day he seek to dig too much and set off wandering into forest and never come back. Is too bad, he would have liked the CNN line. He probably would not have guessed that his immortality would be this four words. We never know at what moment the genius of our life may appear. Be ready.

Glory and stupid You Tube videos do fade, beauty does not.

Zamboni is asked about Fundraising

Today’s question comes from Actor, Karaoke Star, Director and theatrical impresario, Norman Gee, who asks how he can raise millions of dollars for the non-profit arts company he works for.

The real question here is how to separate people, from their money, right? Once I was stowed away  on the Orient Express, hiding in the luggage car, and enjoying the scenery as we were passing through Bucharest, and I couldn’t help notice how fancy were these trunks that I was sandwiched between, quite uncomfortably. As I ate my daily meal of grey snow scraped from the roof of the train car, I pondered over the alligator skin trunk with gold buckles in which I slept at night, nestled in a pile of silk underwear and mink. I thought of Montaigne’s line, “even those highest among us, still must sit upon their ass.” It was funny to me that both myself and the owner of this trunk were similar.  Though I was poor and she was rich, we were essentially the same.

Perhaps this seems obvious, but we spend much time brewing and stewing over our differences. We think the young different than the old, and the poor to be altogether different from the rich. We assume the famous to be never lonely or sad, and the child to know less than the adult. It is rarely like this. Each of us wants to belong. Each needs love. Bread. Laughter.

Norman, a quick look on the “interweb” shows you there is much money out there being spent on very silly things, watches the size of plates, life-size robotic ponies, and these inventions of the Devil that are called Jeggings. The last being a diabolical and putrid mix of “jeans” and “leggings.”

What sort animal has this legs in your country?

Now, to get people to give you their money, whether you are raising money for kids to learn fire-eating or trying to sell them blanket snugglies, the following requirements must be met:

-They must be led to believe it is their privilege to give, not their duty.  (Only limited supply left!)

-They must be flattered. No one is immune to flattery. Remember Sally Field, “You like me!” etc.

-They must be convinced that giving will get them something they want or need. No one gives selflessly. Even when I give to charity, I like little rush of happy it give me when I give dollar to someone on street. I think some karma coming to me. And science prove that giving to others result in endorphin rush for giver. Use this drug.

-Free food. You would be surprised how generous people get with a cheeseplate and some free wine. They start to feel rich and it lube up the checkbook. I used to work in catering, and when I work the Estonian Opera opening dinner, where one plate cost 5000.00 Kroons, the glow on the faces of these patrons was like cocaine enema. They were fleeced but happy. To them, they feel they make the show. They belong, see?

-Invest. It takes money to make money. See Wine and Cheese above.

-Network network network. Greeting someone you met once a year ago by their first name is impressive. Ask also about their wife Patty and they will sign over house to you.

So Norman, whether a person can give one dollar or a million, do not approach like beggar. Approach like a King who is deigning to give them permission to give you money.

Think about this, if the King of Estonia came up to you, adressed you by name and asked about your wife, then said he needed 500$  for circus tickets for the poor, you would give. Why? Because it is giving you a role to play.

So give them a role, put their name on a chair or on a toilet seat, whatever it takes. ABC:

Always Be Closing.

Good luck Norman, and yes I will talk to you about The Great Zamboni Soap Dispenser in lobby bathroom, if you wish. But I drive hard bargain too.

I’d wish you good luck, if I believed in it.

Zambones is asked about Missing Knock and Eminen

Today’s question comes from my faithful and slightly frantic reader, “Snow Queen” somewhere in snowbounded New England. Like her, it is somewhat convoluted, passionate, and confusing. But not for me. Here it is:

“I decided to pop on my shiny new Christmas I-pod. You know-it-all Gnomes, I TOO will whistle while I work. A fiesty, young gentleman who goes by the name “slim shady” was yelling in my ear. He seemed a little angry his words were: “You get one shot”….” The opportunity knocks once in a life time” I was struck with sadness. Could it be true these things he says??seems so self assured…. Dear God, did I miss the knock? I knew immediatly this was a question for The Great Zamboni.”

So Snow Queen, you want to know if you missed this knock.

First, I am glad you clear up for me the lyrics of that song. On my Bulgarian bootleg of this small disk, it sounds like he is talking about booze in your shaols, not lose control.. To know more what I’m talking of, I consulted here the internet:

Though this video is fascinating, it seems to be not the song you have mentioned. (The other I could not find, and the donkey powering my 1998 Thinkpad is tiring out so I want to continue) But! Then I say to myself, Zambones, remember what your grandmother from Odessa always used to say, “everything happens for a reason”. Now I realize, this misdirection of failed YouTube search, and my malnourished donkey, leads me your answer!

Do we get only this One Chance in life? Is opportunity like the much longed for Publishers Clearing House knock that comes but once, or even worse, and perhaps this is your real question…maybe never? Or maybe while you are in the shower? I Zamboni, have won this PCH Sweepstakes four times, but I realize this is rare and a result of strange magnetic waves I give off from my home taxidermy workshop.

It is Eminem who answers your question. You want opportunity to knock. Opportunity will not knock. It does not know how to. Look at Eminem. He takes on many personas in this video and in his life. Even in this four minutes he is many people. Why? Because he chooses to be.

You Snow Queen, have it backasswards. Open your door right now, go. Take your fancy ipod with you and open door. You see anything but snow? You see nice golden opportunity? No. Now close door, to save on heat bill.

This Eminem is known in even tiniest village in Estonian Bog. Why? Because he natural talent? Because he look like Rap Star? No. He look like kid you don’t trust hanging out in Walmart parking lot. He make to the top from passion, hard  work and taking chance. Thats it. And even when he screw things up, he make second chance by hugging Elton John at Grammies.

So if someone knock on your door, and you say, “who is it?” And they reply, “oh, hellooo, I am wonderful uup, smily smiley…” Call 911 immediately or get rifle, because they may be sexual predator or Jehovas Witness.

Then sit down, lose yourself in dreams, come back, write down what you want to happen, yell from moving car window,  knock on your own head, and then:

DO. Like a rat without a tail, do and do and do.

It just make dramatic song lyrics to say it knock once. It knock as many times as you like.

But will you take?

Yes. I think you will.