“where-what-when does/did the word ‘question’ derive from?”

Thank you Kirk from Hollywoodland and here is your answer from the depths of an Estonian tornado that I call myself, zamboni:

This comes to me by the pool of Bellagio (zamboni not stays there, too $$$,  but my 3rd cousin Grimlanski is jacuzzi cleaner there so he sneak me in) .

The end of a question is not the answer, anymore than the summit of the mountain is the end of the climb. It is a “quest”, a journey.

Zamb?oni is himself more a question than an answer; this is one of the things that make me magnet to fine womens and keeping me youthful, this in addition to repeated injections of African Ginger.  Mostly every time, I am able to supply an answer that is not only mind-bogglingly obtuse and circuitous, but also 100% correct- Hee! Remember, even a broken clock is flat wrong pretty much all day long-but what is time?

Zamboni (and yes my Kirk friend I getting to answer, don’t sleep!) is also broken. Being raised by poor cheese farmers  who fed me on a diet of grubs and pig hair sandwiches goes far to damage a mind, yet here is my point. A question is something broken and incomplete (notice the little break in this hooky thing- ?) and when you find an answer you are healing this break.

The Jewish peoples see life as a mending. We come into this life and see things out of wack, and our task “tikkun olam” is to heal broken things.

But see, an “!” is also broken. That is enthusiasm. What I am saying here is that beauty and excitemnt, life actually is about the broken, the incomplete, the imperfect. Think about it. I see of litter of 11 puppies, but the one I am drawn to is the spotted little runt with one ear and a funny squeak, awwwwwwww (:

And the word “question”?  Well it was the year 1241 when I said to my homie Zarathustra over a cup of Bubonic Plague Vaccine I developed to save our villages, “hey Zarathustra, where do you think the world ends? That would be really fun to bungee jump off.”

And he replies to me, “I don’t know Z-man, I guess that quest’s on you.”

He was fun to hang out with mostly, but when he got really drunk on fermented wheat sludge he'd start yelling at me that he was the original "Z-man" etc..

“What’s a ‘question'” I ask.

He say, “Huh?, no I said that quest is on you to do. Good luck, and this time remember to tie one end to something before you jump.”

And it was that moment that it dawned on me, a question is a search, and it should always have an element of fun in it or it is not a real one. It is desire and when you stop having them my friend, you better get some viagra for the soul.

So, long story short, I invented the word question, and there it is. It’s funny, great zamboni only exists when he has a question.  So feed me Seymour!