Is This Rapport That I'm Feeling?

Dear Friends,

The Hard Taco song for March is called "XL@XS," which is just a Gen Z way of saying, "Gen X excels at excess and has excellent access to eugenics."

Lauren and I are about to celebrate our 24th anniversary. According to the Census Bureau, the average length of a marriage in the United States is about 20 years. That number takes into account three things:

• Divorce
• Death
• The U.S. Census Bureau is suddenly and inexplicably disbanded, so they stop counting

So, what's the secret to our slightly better than average tenure? Call me corny, but I can sum it up in one word: rapport. 

It was rapport at first sight. A legendary, once-in-a-generation rapport. It conquers all, it makes the world go round, and it is a many-splendored thing. And 24 years later, we make sure to show each other our unconditional rapport in lots of little ways every day.

One way that I express my deep and enduring rapport for my wife is by making her punny Valentine's Day cards. With her permission, you are free to download this INTERACTIVE SLIDESHOW and repurpose these gently used Valentines with your special someone. 

Here's the best way to do it:

1. DOWNLOAD to a computer (not a phone)

2. Open the PowerPoint file from the computer. It works best with native PowerPoint, rather than the online version.

3. Play the Slideshow

4. Click on the image of interest to see the Valentine, and again to see the Valentine message.

5. Try in vain to figure out all 82 puns.

5. Use the red arrows in the bottom right to navigate back to the main menu.

This activity is also an excellent way to pass time with a friend and cultivate a brotherly, platonic rapport.  

With warmest regards,

Zach

The Drawer, Part 2: The Drawer

Dear Friends,

Lauren is a wonderful singer. I think her default mode is 'plaintive musical theatre ingenue,' but she can croon, whisper, scream, rap, and belt. She can sound sultry, earnest, soulful, operatic, or vapid, and do so in almost any accent, if that's what the song requires. Still, sometimes it's nice to let her exist in her natural element, and this month's Hard Taco song, "Impossible," is one of those times.

Okay, now back to The Drawer. To recap last month's digest, my childhood bedroom has a desk and that desk has a drawer. Until recently, that drawer was home to things I wrote, things I drew, letters from friends, and letters from more-than-friends. The earliest dated entry is from when I was twelve... a D&D adventure idea printed in dot-matrix on three continuous, fan-folded pages.

Things slowed down when I left for college, but I always fed The Drawer fresh letters and poems when I came home from my Summers as a camp counselor. By time I was 20, The Drawer had reached its resting state. It was a prehistoric mosquito that had sucked my teenage blood and would spend the next several millennia trapped in amber.

This July, I finally caved in and packed the contents of The Drawer into grocery bags to bring back to Michigan. I put photos into Bag 1, things I wrote into Bag 2, and letters written to me into Bag 3.

The sorting was easy and engaging in the way that organizing a closet can be once you get into it. Bag 1 was particularly delightful. I got a huge kick out of the wallet-sized 8th grade graduation photos of girls in my grade... The fashion choices. The innocence. The feathered edges. The name of the photography studio (Worzella!) in cursive in the bottom right of each picture. It was just wonderful.

I was expecting the same pleasant rush from Bag 2, but getting inside the head of my 17-year-old self turned out to be less comfortable. I saw patterns, hints of who I am now. I recognized threads of fond memories, but they were transfused with an unfamiliar darkness and tension. 17-year-old brain was a confusing place where minor environmental stimuli triggered intense emotions. 17-year-old brain believed it could conquer the galaxy but was paralyzed by microscopic failures.  Logic was recognized but ignored. 17-year-old brain never got sick of Pink Floyd. It was so torn between expression and repression that neither was successful.

Bag 2 had an essay to no one that literally asked, "Why me?" There was the first draft of a letter I would eventually write to break up with someone. And there were dozens of Jaberwocky-esque nonsense poems. 17-year old brain wrote words that were crisp and ominous but came together to mean absolutely nothing.  

"My spattered stools" describes this whole thing rather well, actually.  

Isn't it nice to know that our Spiny Weavers are so cozy with each other?

But Bag 2 wasn't all brooding gibberish. There was some cheerful nonsense, as well, such as this song that was probably inspired by a Life Savers slogan. 

The artist's vision is that you will sing this entire thing exactly twice.

And on to Bag 3: Letters.

When you send an email, a copy of it goes into your outbox, so you're never really giving anything away. One of the reasons I love recording music (as opposed to, say, playing music) is that I end up with a thing that I can share and keep for myself at the same time.  A hand-written letter, however, is a true gift. It is a piece of the author's creative soul, given freely without any hope of finding its way home again.

Bag 3 had a hundred of these gifts, and reading them gave the false sense that these people who I had not seen in years or decades were in my life again. I laughed a little and cringed a lot. I announced to Lauren that we would definitely still be friends with so-and-so if we lived in the same city. I admitted to myself that so-and-so might be the exception.

Perhaps the hardest thing about Bag 3 was that the one-sided nature left me feeling a little voyeuristic. These letters were theirs, not mine. I was plundering other people's DNA from amber-encrusted mosquitos without their permission. 

So I went on Facebook and announced that I cleaned out The Drawer. I tagged people whose letters I had, and volunteered to return or share them. Some of the authors were brave enough to let me post snapshots of their letters sight unseen, while others asked for copies to be shared privately. More than half of the people I tagged didn't respond at all. Maybe they just don't get on Facebook very often. Maybe they already Mari Kondo'd the memory of me from their lives, and don't need the clutter.  Or maybe they just don't want to spend another terrible second in their teenage headspace.

Somehow, we all survived our 17-year-old brains. We weren't crushed to death by self-pity or kicked off the planet for saying too many dumb things. Congratulations, us!

With warmest regards,
Zach

Current Events 1918-2008

Dear Friends,   

The Hard Taco song for April is called "Sloppy." This song will allow you to channel your inner pigeon and bob your head quasi-rhythmically.

I've been spending the weekend with some relatives, so I took the opportunity to outsource this month's Hard Taco Digest to them. Each of them was asked to write a poem about something from the news the year he or she was born. Here are those poems, in reverse chronological order.

2008

by Malcolm London (son)

SpaceX!

SpaceX!

You did it!

Hooray!

You launched Falcon 1 without any delay.

You showed NASA that you can do it yourself

But I hope you find room on your trophy shelf.

2007

by Shaina Wolkenberg (niece)

Walking along the sidewalk

Backwards because the snow

Only made it across one block

Because of the blizzards we all know.

Through Denver and Chicago

Then Kansas gets a blow

From a tornado spinning fastly

2007, here we go. 

2005 Haikus

 by Scarlett London (daughter)

Hurricanes are bad

Katrina was terrible

Lots of people died

Many people fled

They did not want to perish

In the hurricane

It was very sad

Because lots of people died

In the hurricane

Lots of lives were lost

In hurricane Katrina

They were very sad

The hurricane struck

People sprinted for their lives

To escape the storm

It was very sad

When the hurricane happened

Because there was death

Dogs and humans died

In that nasty hurricane

Most everyone's dead

It was very big

It was category five

It was scary, too

Lots of pets perished

The owners were very sad

Then the owners died

Everybody died

In hurricane Katrina

It was quite quite sad

1976

by Lauren London (lead singer)

COD WARS! The conflict scarcely known

Just who could own sweet abalone.

In North Atlantic waters cold,

Did Iceland stalk her coasts, so bold.

But British schooners also claim'd

those famous fisheries untam'd. 

Oh! Fishers brandishing their spears,

Jeering temper'd trawlers' leers.

Thrice the parties met in ire!

With fish a-floppin' to acquire.

Just smell the mighty drying pile

of pescatorial carcass vile.

Thrice did Iceland get its wish

Oh, fate befalling chips and fish!

But peace in '76 returned,

And Celtics each their cod have earned. 

1950

by Nina Schwartz (mother-in-law)

Joseph McCarthy, or "Tail-Gunner Joe"

Demagogue, liar, and everyone's foe

Started the Red Scare by claiming to know

A who's who of commies. It just wasn't so.

He stated the U.S. Department of State

Was harboring pinkos, in fact, quite a spate

Said he had a paper, right there in his hand

And the House forced some good guys to take the stand.

Charlie Chaplin, Helen Keller, Fred Zinnemann, Pete Seeger

All came under their gavel eager

He finally earned censure in 1954

And we thought the the big lie had been killed evermore.

1949

by Bob Schwartz (father-in-law)

78s are breakable

45s are stackable

We make that change

In 1949

Song would have more runtime

But for music, not a fun time

Pop tunes a drag

In 1949

U.S. leaves Korea

Stalin says, "We'll see ya."

The boys come home

In 1949

Mao says, "I rule China."

Gives Chaing Kai Shek a shinah

So he takes Taiwan 

In 1949

Russia tests its big tomato

The U.S.A. and pals form NATO

It's two armed camps

In 1949

Then George Orwell has a vision

Sees the future with precision

Guns kill folks but lies kill even more

His book is his prediction

It isn't only fiction

Suddenly it's 1984.

1948

by Carol Wulfson (aunt-in-law)

The most amazing news

Was the ending of diaspora for all o the Jews

And even though we were celebrating

Different wars were gestating

Why is there never peace?

1948

by Roberta Wine London (mother)

It is post World War Two and and the babies are a boom.

The year is 1948,  and peace can't come too soon.

With the Soviets West Berlin a blockading

And the musical South Pacific Broadwaying

TVs now number over a million sets

Velcro is invented, and 33 rpm records....but not yet cassettes.

Polio is affecting kids more and more

Famous people born thIs year : James Taylor, Andrew Lloyd Weber and Al Gore.

The game of Scrabble is invented by a guy named Brunot

And Porshe is founded...but not Pugeot.

The bikini is finding a body of support hardcore,

And there were earthquakes in Turkmenistan and Ecuador.

The UN is busy with post War insights

Including The World Health Organization and the Declaration of Human Rights.

Soldiers back from the War are making up for lost time

Harry Truman is President during the birth of Roberta Wine.

1918

Thelma Gordon (grandmother-in-law)

Spanish Flu...

I
Hate
You!

With warmest regards,

Zach

Latin Lessons with Garth

Dear Friends,

This month’s Hard Taco song, “19 Something,” is about the year Lauren and I got together. She likes to tell the story that on the day we met, I leapt over a couch to introduce myself. That’s absolutely true, but only because I mistakenly thought she was a talent agent for a parkour-themed sitcom.

Did you know? Iguanas are terrible pets. 

Garth was a prickly, loveless, and stinky part of our family for a couple of years when I was in high school. Iguanas won’t breed in captivity, so Garth was probably captured in Mexico as a hatchling. I’m sure this gave him reptilian PTSD, because whenever I tried to pet him, he would sprint back and forth in his terrarium and smash his face against the glass until he had a nosebleed. But other than these phrenetic bouts of self-mutilation, he never moved a muscle. He just basked on his heat rock, unblinking, like one of those street artists who covers themselves with paint and holds perfectly still until you pay them. 

Let me reiterate that iguanas are terrible pets. They are unpleasant to touch, they’re totally disloyal, and if you let them out for even a second, they will run behind your parents’ 600-pound bookshelf and try as hard as they can to freeze to death.

The iguana, however, is not without its redeeming qualities. The first is that it is the coolest thing you’ve ever seen, assuming you’ve never seen a lizard before, or a picture of a lizard, or a Jurassic Park movie.

The second is that the common green iguana is a trinomial tautonym, a term I can’t wait to define for you. A tautonym is the scientific name of a species that is made up of multiple copies of the same word. For instance, Lynx lynx, also known as the Eurasian lynx, is a binomial tautonym. 

A trinomial tautonym is an extremely rare scientific name in which the genus, species, and subspecies are all the same word. Garth was an Iguana iguana iguana. This put him in the exclusive company of the glorious Bison bison bison. Here’s a picture I took at the Toledo zoo proving the existence of a third trinomial tautonym in Ohio.

While we’re discussing the Latin origins of animal names, let’s take a half-step back and talk about the word animals itself. The correct use is in reference to a specific grouping of eukaryotic organisms. For example: 

“That idiot Amtrak lady didn’t want to let me bring pythons on board, even though they are obviously my Support Animals.”

When referring to the entire biologic kingdom, it is more accurate to use the Latin term Animalia.  

“The Chuck E. Cheese animatronic show features diverse Animalia.” 

This also holds true for the words genitals and genitalia. Genitals are a specific arrangement of private parts, while the term genitalia refers to the entire biological kingdom of reproductive organs. For example, reread the sample quotations above, but sub in genitals and genitalia for animals and Animalia. 

An important difference between animals and genitals is that the latter word is always plural. You can take a selfie with an animal, but you can’t take a selfie with a genital. Even if it existed, who would want photographic evidence that you were in the same room? Genitals are like scissors, tweezers, pliers or pants, in that they are nouns that are found only in the plural form. Why? Because they always come in pairs. 

But hold on. How exactly to genitals come in pairs? As far as I can tell, there is just one. Or perhaps three, depending on the party in question and how conservative your definition of the word is. 

Which brings me back to my iguana. Garth was a healthy wild-caught reptile who had suffered no injuries other than self-inflicted snout bruises. Clearly, this iguana had normal iguana genitals, but if one was to actually count them, they appeared to be zero in number. He had a grand total of zero genitals. 

Perhaps this explains why iguanas don’t breed in captivity. 

So, in conclusion, the numeric range of genitals includes zero, one, and three. Basically, they come in everything but pairs. 

Or maybe I don’t actually know what the word means. 

With warmest regards,

Zach

FALSIES!

Dear Friends,

This month's Hard Taco song, "Catan Catan," was strongly influenced by the Beatles. You could argue that 'strongly influenced' could be replaced with 'directly stolen from.' You could also argue that after 382 consecutive original songs, I have earned the right to dip my ladle into someone else's creative punch bowl and stir up a few bubbles.

Naturally, I was worried about the legal ramifications of borrowing a beloved melody and claiming sole authorship credit. No need! My lawyer-wife assures me that I cannot be sued for musical plagiarism because "[this] song kicks ass compared to the original." To avoid any breach of copyright law, she also recommends that I end this paragraph with the phrase, "Suck it, Sir Paul."

I have learned a good deal about the law by cohabitating with an attorney, even if she is kind of a potty mouth. True story: In reference to a case she was working on, Lauren once said, "It wasn't the helicopter crash that killed them... it was the magma." That was probably the only time I ever thought that being an attorney sounded cool. I really wanted to hear the rest of the story, but at the time, her rate was $300/hour.

Her current job eschews the billable hours system. To take advantage of this, I've asked Lauren to answer some of the Frequently Asked Legal Statutory Inquests on Every Subject:

Is there a sketch artist with colored pencils at every trial?
No. Cameras are not allowed in courtrooms, but they only employ colored-pencil sketch artists for high profile cases. In small claims court, artists must create representations of the defendant with mixed media compositions employing found objects.

What happens when two enemies fill out Form 741-8 in the presence of a notary public and file it at the county courthouse?
They become sworn enemies.

Can a movie reviewer write, "Ethan Hawke and Gwyneth Paltrow sizzle in this timeless tale," even if they didn't especially sizzle?
No.  

Do lawyers really refer to the Supreme Court Rulings Of the United States as SCROTUS?
Yes, we are all potty mouths.

Is flag burning still legal?
On this planet, it is considered Freedom of Speech. This does not hold true vis-à-vis the American flags on the Moon. No oxygen means no burning, and no speech. 

I want to point at strangers and yell "Citizen's arrest!" Is this awesome and advisable or just awesome?
(Mumble mumble. I don't think she did very well in criminal law class.)

What do you call a group of opossums?
If they are your crew, your homies, and they always have your back, then you can call them your oposse. 

Which is more irritating, the word legalese, or the words it describes?
It's very close. I will say both of these out loud and we will make note of the point at which someone punches me in the throat.
1. Legalese.
2. Restrictive provisions hereinafter appearing forthwith comply with said jurisprudence (SWAK! THROAT PUNCH!) negligent civil remedies and promissory estoppel code sections 33, 40, 74T (My God, she's still talking! SWAK! SWAK! DOUBLE THROAT PUNCH!)

With warmest regards,
Zach

Disclaimer: The statements attributed to Lauren London in this document are for entertainment purposes only. No persons are liable for any direct, indirect, incidental, special, consequential, or exemplary damages arising from anything stated above or in any other document. 

A First Look at Virgin Galactic

Dear Friends,

There is a grand tradition of Jewish people writing Christmas music. The best-selling single of all time, White Christmas, was composed by Irving Berlin, whose real name was Israel Isidor Beilin. The list goes on. Winter Wonderland, Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire, Let it Snow, Santa Baby, You're a Mean One Mr. Grinch, and Silver Bells were all written by Jews. José Feliciano, the author of Feliz Navidad, was actually born Mordecai Simchah Gefilte Fishman ben Moishe Saul Cohen-Lowenstein Rabinowitz. True story.

This month, I grapevine in the footsteps of my ancestors with this medley of short Christmas songs. I hope you find them to be the perfect musical milieu for screaming at mall clerks who politely ask to see a receipt for the thing you're trying to return.

My senior year in college was probably the last time I knowingly disseminated Christmas cheer. My five housemates and I held occasional meetings to accuse each other of leaving unwashed dishes in the sink or to complain about the 50 pound bag of rice that was purchased without unanimous consent. That December, we held a house meeting to vote on whether to sublet our extra bedroom to an enigmatic Asian fiddle player. We agreed to do so if two conditions were met: 100% of his rent money would go towards Christmas lighting, and the display would be so garish that it could be seen from space. The electrical nightmare we created stretched well past the point of vulgarity, but unfortunately, there was no easy way to verify that it was visible to astronauts.

At this point, I wiggle my fingers and say, “DOO-da-la-doot, DOO-da-la-doot,” to indicate that we are traveling forwards in time to the present day. This year, overweight rich people will finally be able to journey to edge of the cosmos and look down on earth. 2014 is here, and this will be the year that commercial space travel takes off.

I predict that the industry will be referred to as "Rocketourism" by those who enjoy buzzwordplay, and that you will have heard both of those words here first.

How should you prepare for your first space tour? According to the Virgin Galactic website, you will leave from a spaceport in the New Mexico desert. Please plan to arrive at least 90 minutes in advance for sub-orbital flights, and 2 hours in advance for orbital flights. Bring copies of your passport, and pack light, because it takes 200 pounds of solid fuel to lift that 3 ounce tube of hand cream into space.

Following lift-off, the commercial spacecraft will reach a cruising altitude of 62 miles. Here, you will be treated to the ultimate sightseeing experience. Of course, you have seen the moon before, but few humans have seen it like this! Specifically, it will appear a bit smaller, because you will be a little farther away from it than usual.

While my old house in Providence is no longer visible from space, some claim that The Great Wall of China is. At its thickest point, the Great Wall is only about 30 feet across, the same width as a beach volleyball court. This is probably why the U.S. diverted so much money to the space program during the Cold War... most of the early manned missions were devoted to counting Soviet volleyball courts.

Anyway, a Virgin Galactic ticket includes a 30 minute space flight, unlimited Wi-Fi access and a complimentary copy of their inflight magazine, Thermospheres. This will run you just over $200,000 including bag fees, so keep an eye out for a Groupon offer.

As you glide back to earth, the cars on the interstate will look like tiny little ants scurrying in a line. As you draw closer, they will look more and more like giant, freakish ants. Holy crap… how long were you gone? Come closer still, and you will see that they're just cars. Phew.

Now let's talk about the elephant in the room... SAFETY. (And I'm not referring to Safety the Elephant from that fire department coloring book.) I understand your propensity to perseverate on the Challenger and Columbia disasters. Let's try to keep this in perspective, though. For every space shuttle that exploded, there were 2 space shuttles that didn't explode whatsoever. That already-favorable ratio is even more impressive when you consider NASA's practice of subcontracting all 20,000 spaceship parts to the lowest bidder. Virgin Galactic has much better quality control, because Sir Richard Branson personally inspects all defective O-rings. More importantly, all components are manufactured at a single location by employees of Virgin Industries. As you would imagine, most of them are kraut-rock singers who didn’t read the fine print in their record contracts.

One last piece of advice: Don't waste your time visiting the international space station. That place is a rocketourist trap.

With warmest regards,
Zach

Please Join Our Bridal Party

Dear Friends,

   The Hard Taco song for March is called, "Down at the Berl." The crawfish boil, or "berl," is the classic Louisiana seafood gala. Cajuns cannot pronounce the sound oi, which is why so few of them are Jewish grandmothers. (Er! My daughter could have married that lerer, but her new berfriend is an unemplered ger! Maybe I should person his sermilk?)

The Turquoise Badge of Top Sellerness

Moonspotcollectibles101
(29303 rankings) 
100% positive feedback

Unless you have applied 20 cumulative miles of packing tape to cardboard, you are one of the millions of eBay users who can only sigh wistfully at the unattainable turquoise shooting star.

I've made an eBay bid or two in my time, and I'm happy to say I still have 100% positive feedback. I can't really claim to be proud of this, though, because everyone has 100% positive feedback. There is a bylaw on eBay's Terms and Conditions page that states that real feedback is only permitted when it is quietly sandwiched between screamed compliments.

"Great job great AWESMOE PRODUCT great communication!!!! gene hackman autograph never arrived A+++++++ THANKS!!!"

Seriously, dear friends. The A with seven plus signs after it used to mean something. The only institution with worse grade inflation than eBay is karate class. (See prior rant.)

That's why I renounced online auctioning about 10 years ago. My last serious eBay purchase took place just before my wedding. It is traditional for a groom to give his groomsmen a modest token of gratitude at the rehearsal dinner... either a monogrammed flask or any product made by Victorinox. Rather than saddle my besties with yet another swarm of Swiss Army Ants, I decided to go with autographed pictures of their favorite celebs. 

  

My third groomsman is/was a Harrison Ford fan. He likes to dress like Indiana Jones, insomuch as he always wears his belts diagonally instead of horizontally.

Third best groomsman.
(It's not only okay to rank them, it's necessary.)

I went on eBay and got him this signed 8"x10" glossy, but soon after it arrived, I started having second thoughts about giving it to him. Indy isn't even looking at the camera. Without seeing his face, how could I be sure it was really Harrison Ford?

The enclosed certificate vouches for the authenticity of the autograph,
but it does not say anything about the authenticity of the photograph.

I couldn't fathom why Harrison Ford would sign a fake picture of himself, but it didn't seem right to give a tainted piece of memorabilia to my fourth best groomsman. (Sorry for the demotion, Jeff, but those diagonal belts look really stupid. Tell Brian he's #3 now.) In the end, I found him a nice autographed picture of a Star Wars extra from a "top seller" with 110% positive feedback. The Raiders of the Lost Ark photo stagnated on my desk, and over many months it was sucked into the undertow of deep storage documents.

Then, a couple weeks ago, I was cleaning out a file cabinet and found it. Here's the dilemma... I don't want to keep the photo, but it's too valuable to throw away, and I'm certainly not going to sell it on eBay. I realize just now that the only way for this picture to fulfill its destiny is for us to recruit one more groomsman (or groomsmaid), and give it to him/her!

I would like you to apply to be that groomsman/groomsmaid. To be eligible, all you have to do is write a toast for our wedding. The only details you need are that the bride's name is Lauren and it is March 2001. (Also, everyone is excited because one of the actors from "The Usual Suspects" is hanging out in the hotel lobby, but you don't have to use that.) Feel free to make your toast sappy, funny, or embarrassing... it's your call, Groomsperson!

Send the text of your toast to znlondon@hotmail.com by the end of March, and you may be chosen as the winner. The prize package includes the Harrison Ford autograph, a doctored picture of you with the rest of the bridal party, and a personalized thank you note on original wedding stationery!

You've always been there for me and I just want to say I love you, man/woman,
Zach

The History of Hard Taco

Dear Friends,

   Does anybody know who makes CD liner notes? I want to bring something to their attention. When I buy a CD I want the content of the liner notes to be limited to: 1. Lyrics and 2. Weird gorked out pictures of nothing in particular with defocused song titles stenciled over them chaotically.

   I DO NOT want: 1) A long list of silly promotional thank you's, such as "Ozzy would like to thank Dean Markley Guitar Strings" and 2) Tedious retrospectives about the band. I don't care about which band member joined the band when and how many doughnuts they always seemed to have on the  tour bus. ("I can't give you exact numbers, but it was a lot!").  

   I realize, however, that not everyone shares my views. Therefore, I have prepared this issue of the Hard Taco Digest for the amateur rock historians out there who don't find autobiographical masturbation as offensive as I do. For the rest of you, feel free to skip to the last paragraph.

   The first incarnation of Hard Taco was the environmentalist rock band Savannah, formed in the summer of 1992. We all had eco-centric pseudonyms. I was Logbert and the other founding members were Skybert and Willow. We released one LP, "Love Thy Planet (Like Yourself)" which featured the singles, "The War For Ecopendence" and "If This Bark Could Cry." We broke up after about two years under less than ideal terms. Skybert felt that glass containers should be rinsed before being placed in the recycling bin, while Willow felt that rinsing them was a waste of water. Next thing we knew, Skybert had left us to join The Rock and Roll City Rockers, who later changed their name to Spoon Phed. We put out one Savannah album without him ("Godspeed Johnny Appleseed') but it didn't really take with the fans. Willow broke off to form the Urban-folk Chamber Pop band Orpheus Morpheum. They eventually changed their name to Morpheus Orpheum, and changed their style to Riot Grrrl Surf Revivalist. 

    I spent a few months touring with the San Antonio-based band Thrombosis before we were commissioned to work on the music for the 1996 Winter Olympics. The rest of the band was keen to pick up that torch and run with it, as it were, but I refused to be a part of it. I have always felt that the Olympics are the cruelest, ugliest head of the international corporate hydra. To be fair, they did end up writing a pretty catchy jingle for the 500 meter slalom. In the Spring of '97, we reunited briefly, changed our name to Chain Slaw and put out a controversial live album, "Mister Fantasy." This album was hailed as one of the most influential Blendist Noise Pop Cowpunk recordings of the decade, although personally I think it fell more into the category of East Coast Neo-emo Proto-ambient. Unfortunately, Sam Goody refused to sell "Mister Fantasy" because of the song, "Bet You Can't Murder Your Own Children." It still ticks me off... The people who were boycotting that album never even listened to it. Jerry Falwell was quoted as saying that the song "promoted gambling," and his entourage of loud-mouthed conservative sticks-in-the-mud bullied the distributors into jumping on the boycott bandwagon. Anyway, without the Sam Goody market, we basically folded outright.    

    Secretly, I was relieved that Chain Slaw broke up, because I had spent the previous two years wanting to get back to doing eco-rock. I hooked up with the former members of The Recyclone and formed a  band called The Dian Fossey's. We spent most of our time gigging around Colorado, although we never made it into the studio. We were the headliners at the Green Party convention in '97 and several rallies against timber corporation fraud. We raised almost $4000 for gorilla awareness, I think, but I could tell it wasn't going to turn into a full time gig. 

   I spent a brief stint in the band Vracht! with Kaat and Raf DeMonikle. They were a brother/sister team from Antwerp, and were already Belgium's hottest names in Grindcore Electro-goth. We put out an album of dance songs for sleepover parties, called "Pajama Jams" on their Demeulemeester Label. We were two gigs into our North American tour when Kaat suddently left us for the New Traditionalist Christian Psychobilly band, Jubilation Now. I'll always have fond memories of the DeMonikle twins, but after all these years, I still never found out which one was the brother and which one was the sister. 

  It was about this time I got a call from some ad execs at Chrysler. At first, they wanted some kind of radio spot, but by time we hung up, I had talked them into funding my side project, "Classic Cars! The Musical" It was an upbeat fun-for-all-ages stage show that opened at the State Theater in Detroit in December of 1999.  The cast wore roller skates and dressed up as classic cars, bragging (in song!) about how they had "Four on the floor" and "Pressure Plates a-Burning." The show featured Levi Stubbs from the Four Tops as the '45 Studebaker. Classic Cars was the sleeper success story of Detroit musical theater that winter. It was during preproduction for the show that I met my future wife, Lauren. She had also been cast as a '45 Studebaker (We were only able to secure the rights to impersonate one car, so we had lots of people playing '45 Studebakers.) Once I heard her sing the high harmony in "Posi-Traction Chrome Runner" I knew I would never love another. The show may have lasted longer, but we hadn't taken the appropriate safety measures to insure against the Y2K bug. When the millenium rolled around two weeks later, everything went positively haywire. 

   After the show closed, I recruited Lauren as a vocalist on what would eventually be the first Hard Taco album, "Eight Songs About Five Things." It was really a Kraut Rock Go-Go Fusion Crossover album, but it developed a bit of a cult following in the Indie Urban Cowboy Swamp-Bop circles. 

  A few months after 8SA5T hit the stores, Lauren and I were at the farmer's market, and we saw a great Peruvian PanFlute band called Alpacataquar ("Alpaca Attacker"). I was scouting for some new talent, so I invited the band to Perkins for a slice of pie. Next thing I knew, I had recruited 17 new members for Hard Taco: Jon, Jeff, Thellea, Ty, Russell, Darin, Adam, Aaron, Josh, Marsha, other Zach, David, Tom, Nicole, Dan, Sandy, and Siobhan. Nine albums and TONS of doughnuts later, there have been remarkably few personnel changes. It's been a great ride, and I'd like to thank each and every one of you who helped us along the way, and I think you know who you are. (I'm looking your way, D'Addario guitar strings!)

  If you're in the mood for a sentimental drinking song about lost love and self-pity, the November HT song, "Tonight the Rafters Roar,"  may be just the medicine you need. However, if you are wheezing and short of breath, I would consider albuterol first. You can try the song as second line therapy if the albuterol doesn't work. 

With Warmest Regards,

HT