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

Dear American Baby

Dear Friends,

It's time to crack open a bottle of Lemon Pledge...  Hard Taco is 20 years old! Multiply 20 x 12, and that's very close to the number of opportunities you've had to ignore the song of the month and scan the rest of the digest for pictures of politically subversive onesies. Shall we find out if you still have what it takes to pull this off? Okay, here's the new song, "Animal Feet." It's a fun, frenetic folk-rock ditty that sort of reminds me --

Oh! You're on to the next paragraph. Amazing! 20 years and you've still got it.

Throughout my childhood, publishers sent my dad free magazine subscriptions, hoping he would display them in his office. Most of these were mailed to the office address, but for some reason, American Baby came to our house. Maybe it was because Bush Sr. was in the White House, but there was just something about that magazine title that filled me with nationalistic pride. I had to give it a quick look, and soon I was hooked.

 

Would you like to purchase a subscription to Un-American Baby for just three easy installments of your freedom?

According to their own market research, 100% of American Baby's 6.1 million readers are adults, and over 90% of them are women. Nevertheless, when I was 13, I was obsessed with this magazine, and it had nothing to do with the cute babies. Frankly, I've always found homely babies more interesting, because their personal narratives are so real. What drew me to American Baby, however, was the advertisements. I knew it was wrong, even then, but I used to get a strange sense of nostalgia when I read ad copy about toys that nurtured infant development.

This brightly colored fabric bag is full of surprises that will stimulate cognitive development. Set of 9 musical rings are textured for a richer stacking experience!

Lump in throat.

The cheeky frog-shaped blocks are made of German beech wood and provide fun sensory stimulation that promotes the two most important forms of early exploration: grasping and probing.  Now she can grasp and probe throughout those crucial first 0-6 months and beyond!

Tears welling up. I know it's just an ad, but that baby's brain is growing so fast, and this toy is filling her little mind with so much wonder! Waaah!

The other highlight of American Baby, of course, was the sex column by Dr. Pepper Schwartz.

Time out. Let's just agree that Pepper Schwartz's graduate degree was not just a career move. Fate has a way of driving people with certain first names to seek doctorates. That is why medical school admissions committees have such a hard time turning away any applicant whose first name is Jay, Dre, Who, Doom, No, Evil, Octopus, Feelgood, or Assisted Suicide.

Time in. As much as I loved her name, Dr. Pepper penned the least sexy sex column ever. After all, her target demographic was the readership of American Baby magazine, and we've already established that only one of the magazine's regular readers was a 13-year-old boy. The other 6.1 million felt that the best way to address the topic of sex was shhhhhh, the sound of your footsteps is disrupting my baby's sleep-wake cycle and I can't shut up about what happens if he's 10 minutes late for his nap.

A classic reader question for Pepper Schwartz was, "Dear American Baby, My body is so different and I'm too tired for intimacy. What should I do?" There was also,  "Dear American Baby, My wife is always tired and thinks she is overweight, but I still find her attractive. What should I do?" Every now and then, a reader would simply write, "Please, please, please let me go to sleep. I promise I'll read your column tomorrow if you just let me go to bed now."

Her stock answer to all of these questions was cuddle a lot and be patient with each other. Nice, proper advice. Fast forward two decades and let's find out where Dr. Pepper Schwartz is now. Yep, she's writing a sex blog on the AARP website, and this new demographic expects a much smuttier dialogue.  "Dear AARP, I never imagined anything like this would happen to me..."

With warmest regards,
Zach

The Tourist's Secret Window to the Magic Kingdom

Dear Friends,

  The premier Hard Taco song for 2013 is called, "September Wedding." This song has words, but strangely, they are not rhyming words. Writing a song without rhyming lyrics is like setting a teacup on a saucer without an opulent paper doily. It's a little risky, because the guests are more likely to storm out of the house and say, "Why, I never!" But if the tea is good enough, patrons may view the absence of the doily as charmingly droll.

  Last Fall, we took a family trip to Orlando, and spent a couple days at "the happiest place on earth." That's my nickname for The National Vietnam War Museum. I knew the kids would love it, but the lines were terrible! Just to leave at the end of the day, we had to contend with this:

Next time I go to the Vietnam War Museum, I'm getting Fast Pass tickets.

  We also managed to squeeze in a brief visit to Disney World. I discovered that there are two types of attractions at the Magic Kingdom: those based on Johnny Depp movies, and those not yet based on Johnny Depp movies. Here is my guide to the former.

Johnny Depp movie: Pirates of the Caribbean
Attraction: Pirates of the Caribbean
Come see some of the saltiest dogs who ever sacked the Spanish Main! This ride is not yet available at Tokyo Disneyland, but they do have a refreshment stand that claims to serve some of the saltiest dog.

Johnny Depp movie: Finding Neverland
Attraction: Peter Pan's Flight
There is also Peter Pan's Beer Flight, which you can order during the monorail pub crawl.

Johnny Depp movie: Alice in Wonderland
Attraction: The Mad Tea Party
Learn from my oversight of judgment... if you must go on this spinning tea cup ride, do so before drinking Peter Pan's Beer Flight.

Johnny Depp movie:  Sleepy Hollow
Attraction: Sleepy Hollow Refreshments
This is in the part of the park formerly called Liberty Square, which will soon be renamed The Libertine Square.

The upstairs offices are leased by Ichabod Craniofacial Surgeons

Johnny Depp movie: Public Enemies
Attraction: The Hall of Presidents 
Ooh snap! But seriously, Walt was an anarchist.

Johnny Depp movie: The Ninth Gate
Attraction: The entrance to the Magic Kingdom parking lot

The gate on the far right, the ninth one, is usually not that crowded. 

Johnny Depp movie: From Hell
Attraction: It's a Small World
There must be some kind of arcane invocation that will send them back.

Johnny Depp movie: Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street 
Attraction: Mr. Todd's Wild Ride
There is also the Harmony Barber Shop in the Main Street U.S.A. area. Apparently, they actually cut hair there, but that doesn't explain why the building has a smoke stack.

Johnny Depp movie:  Once Upon a Time in Mexico
Attraction: Cinderella's Castle
My kids waited in line to have this picture taken with Seen-dare-AY-yah.

Hola, princesa. Me llamo Malcolm. Eres tan hermosa como la puesta de sol.

Johnny Depp movie: The Corpse Bride
Attraction: The Haunted Mansion

Possibly also based on The Astronaut's Wife.

A large area of Fantasyland was blocked off when we were there, because they were building new rides and exhibits which should open later this year. Here are my predictions!

Johnny Depp movie: 21 Jumpstreet
Attraction: One Hundred and One Jumpstreets

Johnny Depp movie: What's Eating Gilbert Grape

Attraction: What's Eating Gilbert Gottfried, Who Played the Cranky Loud-Mouthed Parrot from Aladdin.

Johnny Depp movie: Blow

Attraction: Dopey the Dwarf's Rock Bottom Plunge

Johnny Depp movie: Don Juan DeMarco

Attraction: Mulan Juan DeMarco

Johnny Depp movie: Benny and Joon

Attraction: Benny and Jonas Brothers

Johnny Depp movie: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Attraction: Wreck-it (The Hotel Room) Ralph

Sincerely,

Zach

Hooray Luuuuucifer

Dear Friends,

My fellow miracles, there is a new Hard Taco album out today, and it is called Vainglorious.

This is an album of nice wholesome songs. What makes them wholesome? The BPM (beats per minute) is considerably larger than the FBPM (F-bombs per minute.) 60 FBPM, or one F-bomb every second, is really the upper limit of good taste. After that, listeners may become desensitized to high-frequency rhythmic cursing.

I've played this album in public on a few occasions, and each time I sensed energetic disapproval from the people around me. Were they actually booing? Maybe. Or maybe they were watching football games on their phones and cheering for a player with an "oo" sound in his name. John Kuhn, Isaac Bruce, Deuce McAllister, Victor Cruz... Maybe somewhere, one of those guys scored a touchdown. That would certainly make more sense than hundreds of people booing my CD, which as I mentioned, is both nice and wholesome.

And yet, if I took anything away from my freshman world history class, it's that you have to be very careful about how you interpret crowds of people going, "ooooo." Perhaps one of the more egregiously misleading statements ever made was, "Your Majesty, they're not booing.... they're cheering Looooooouis the 16th! You should just keep doing your thing. It's working!"

And Louis XVI was not the only historical figure who failed, because of the vowels in his name, to realize he was being booed. There's John Wilkes Booth, Mussolini, Shaka Zulu, Caligula, and Tupac Shakur, to name a few. Most likely, none of these men knew how terribly unpopular they were until they were being executed or assassinated.

Seriously! Stop shooting me! Wait, does that mean that all this time you guys were saying Boooo and not Raspuuuuutin?

So if you play this new album and immediately hear 100's of decibels of sibilance, be sure to ask the crowd: Are you hissing or just saying Vaingloriousssss?

Finally, I should mention that there is a new song this month, and it's called, "If I Wanted Your Opinion (I Would Beat it Out of You.)" You love yachting, so I know you'll find that this song to be a perfect companion to a quiet afternoon kicking back on your 115 foot yacht. You can close your eyes, let the music wash over you, and feel smooth and satisfied like you're kicking back on a 220 foot superyacht.

What other song can promise to double the length of your luxury watercraft?

With warmest regards,
Zach

Hard Taco homepage: http://hardtaco.org/

Child Piercing. Pros. Cons.

Dear Friends,

The Hard Taco song for November is called, "Pale Mama Jones." The goal here was to make a tune that would work with a slow-motion action sequence in a Resident Evil movie.
A Place to Put Your Decorative Baubles
Last month, I came home and found a sign taped to the door handle. "Girls Rule, Boys Drule, except when dads let there daughters get there ears pearced."

I recognize that a young daughter who wants pierced ears is not high in the canon of fatherhood tribulations. It's not like she's smoking grapefruit peels or dating a nerd. She just wants to wear earrings. So why is this so hard for me? Part of it is that I've never set foot inside a tattoo parlor or piercing joint, and when I try to imagine what goes on in there, every scenario frightens me.

Scenario 1: A woman with a Mohawk and ripped fatigues presses the end of a coat hanger into her cigar until the metal glows, and then thrusts it into your earlobe, screaming, "Just wiggle your finger when you can't hear me anymore!"

Scenario 2: A misunderstood teenager with eyeliner that is so thick that it forms a contiguous black smear between her eyes sneers at you for thirty straight minutes, but you can't tell, because her face is droopy and expressionless.

Scenario 3: A witch doctor with a bone through his nose blows smoke rings into your face until you hallucinate that a big-eyed hyena is beckoning you to follow it to a white tree. You suddenly wake up from this spirit quest three days later when someone says the code word, "monkeyshines," and find yourself standing above the corpse of a foreign dignitary, holding a bloody twig.

Maybe my kid would have a different experience, but there's simply no denying that ear piercing is a barbaric custom.  If you were a Martian comparative sociology major, and you learned that the dominant organism on Earth condoned poking hooks through the earlobes of their children, what would you think? You would be shocked at the brutality of this primitive ritual... almost as shocked as you would be by the fact that these creatures have earlobes, rather than regular old burrowing insectoid soul matrix-lobes.

I've heard all the arguments against circumcision, but let's be honest here. Ear piercing serves no purpose other than fashion.  Circumcision, well, that's the double threat... it's for health and for fashion! As far as I can tell, the only other difference is that distant relatives don't usually inquire about a boy's circumcision status when choosing him a birthday gift.

I talked about this with some of the soccer moms last week, and apparently none of them get the same icky JonBenet Ramsey vibe from child-piercing that I do. In fact, one of them said that it's better to get girls pierced when they are just a few months old, because they don't have the motor control to reach their earlobes and pick at the holes! That makes sense, I guess, but then when is a good time for children to get their breast implants? My babies were able to touch their chests from day one, and I really don't want them to get infected. Should we pin their elbows in inflexible casts while the breast implants heal, or is it better just to remove the arms all together?

For a few minutes after that comment, everyone seemed really interested in watching the soccer game again.

Then one of the moms mentioned that she was going to take her daughter to a kiosk at the department store where they can pierce both ears at the exact same time. I like that idea, because it reminds me of dining at a fancy restaurant, where a whole parade of waitstaff sets down your entrées in unison. Maybe at the Piercing Pagoda, nine cosmetologists rappel down the walls, ninja-style, and shoot needle guns at your earlobes, nostrils, nipples, navel, eyebrows, and everything else, all at the same moment. Bammity, bam, bam! Now just hold still for a few more seconds while we connect them all with chains. Zippity, zip, zip! All done! Would you like a sucker?

It's a lot to think about, and I'd appreciate any advice, especially advice with the word "clip-ons" in it. The problem is that if I say no, there will be all kinds of fallout. Then next thing you know it's my fault that Boys Drule.

With warmest regards,
Zach

Fire Rolls Down the Line

Dear Pardners,

Every cow puncher that rides through these parts has a yarn to tell. Now me, I like the man that keeps it neath his hat. I reckon them flannelmouths who play to the gallery will fetch themselves a punch in the nose every time.

But if you're fixing to rustle cattle in Culberson County, Son, maybe you'd better bend an elbow and pay mind to a ditty I've got for you. This here tune is about our ace high lawman, goes by the name of Oatmeal. Now there's a man you can ride the river with.

Oatmeal. Now, that's a powerful strange thing to call a man, you might say, and you'd be right. But should you ever cross trails with Oatmeal, why you'd best not speak those words to his face. Not lessin' you're hot to wind up on the business end of an Arkansas toothpick.

Oatmeal's brought in more desperadoes than a whorehouse on nickel night. The scuttlebutt is that he keeps his Black Eyed Susan with five beans in the wheel, so that he gets to kill one outlaw in six with his bare hands.

I saw him once with my own two eyebones, down at the Buckhorn Saloon. Some saddlebum by the name of Fess Dalton got roostered on the coffin varnish and started looking for a dog to kick. Oatmeal saunters up to him, slow and easy-like and says, "Fire rolls down the line, Son." That's all he ever says, I reckon, and no one really knows what it means. He just lowers his hat and utters, "Fire rolls down the line." Well, Fess and his four brothers come flying at Oatmeal all horns and rattles but faster than you can say 'cream gravy,' Oatmeal is unshucked and fires three times. Three shots, and all five boys bite the ground directly.

Now I swear that story is as true as the hawse between my knees. There may be some rubbings down and chippings off as might happen in the passing from mouth to mouth, but if you think that's all a bunch of burro's milk, you should try asking one of the other banditos or Bunko artists that Oatmeal put in the bone orchard...

Rusty Buck Judson, Beauregard Booker, Chick Shackleford, Duke "Curly Pete" Willbarger, Hiram "Burly Pete" Hayes, Jethro "Man Boobs" Haskell, Neck Oil Holbrook, Gunner Knox the Cow Chip Hustler, Maverick Ford and the three Jebs, Lyndon Montana "Black Biscuits" McGrady, Slapjack Hayes, Go Fish Jones, Amarillo Jed Crowley, Link "Sutton County Chili Cook-off Second Place" Waller, Fletcher Skunk Eggs Ketchum, Mose Bareback, Leaky Amos Franklin, Austin Hoopskirt Bridger, Crowbait McGinny, Chester Prairie Dew Pecos, Man-hug Crosby, Sonny Last-Nameless, Spur-Lickin' Buddy Williams, Doc Barbecue Calhoun, Rowdy "Holy Heck" Chavez, Loping Tom Kinney, Asswhip Laredo, Deadeye Wiley Graham, Pants-down Oakley, Boone Giant Belt Buckle Nolan, Too Fancy William Crane, Linus Bootsingravy Connors, Whistlin' Jethro Harrison, Dusty Clem Snakehide, Soapy Briscoe, Jasper Hogg, Stagecoach Jim, Appaloosa Jim, Jesus Christ Jim, Nine-toes and That's All on One Foot Jim, Much Too Tall Hank, Cactus Crash Hardy, Brown Gargle Van Zandt, Red "Bad Balls" Redmond, Jericho Bull Moose Durant, Decatur Quint Burgandy, Dreamy Cleve Jefferson, and Kid Slim Kit Doc Duke Tex Sly Jones.

No, Pard.  Getting away with rustling cattle in Culberson County is harder than catching a weasel asleep. Oatmeal is out there somewhere, biding his time for the big roundup, and he won't rest until he sees you and your kind hanging on the Texas Cakewalk.

Best turn your diggers, put on your best bib and tucker, and make for the sunset, Pardner. You might be fixing to say something you'll regret, so remember: The bigger the mouth, the better it looks when shut. All I want to know from you is one thing... What holds up a train?

Bad men.

Get it? Bad men. That there's a joke, Son, so you better start laughin' lest you want to get your plow cleaned directly.

With warmest regards,
Zach

I Do Not Use Drugs, I Have Not Used Drugs...

Dear Friends,

If romantic things make you gag, you may asphyxiate completely when you hear "Sweetly Sleepy," the charmingly saucy new Hard Taco song. Remember that you can always pierce your own larynx with a pen to maintain your airway, although I suppose you could substitute a fork for the pen, and a chicken tender for your larynx.

...And I Will Not Use Drugs Until Elected
For the first couple years of high school, the only retailer other than Taco Bell that wound up with a healthy percentage of my spending money was Wax Stacks, a tiny used record store on the north side of Milwaukee. The checkout counter at Wax Stacks rested on an elevated platform, from which the owner could look down on the customers like a benevolent deity or guy playing Sim City.

One day, my friend Daniel pointed out that the owner was always sniffing. He wasn't sniffling, but sniffing, and that was an important distinction. He's on the nose candy, Daniel told me. Coke heads are always sniffing and rubbing their noses. I walked over to the register where I had a direct sight line into the owner's nostrils. I lingered a bit too long gazing up into his snout, so when he looked down at me from his platform, I felt obligated to say something.

Me: Um, hi. Do you happen to know something for me? Where can I find Supertramp?
Owner: The rock section (sniff) is right behind you. It's alphabetical, so look (sniff) under S."
Me: Okay! Great! So, um, which album is the best? I've got a cool record collection already, but I'm, you know, just starting to get into Supertramp.
Owner: (Shrugging) (Sniff)
Me: Okay, well, I'm going to go take a look. (Pause) I'm mostly interested in first pressings.

I can't remember exactly what I saw inside that nose, but I know it was convincing. Yep, cocaine for sure. I turned back to my friend with my eyes bulging, and we nodded knowingly at each other. I had just talked to a real live junkie! What's more, by buying records from him, I became an enabler... an accomplice! Whoa.

It occurred to me that the owner might have thought we were people like him... drug-doing people. We certainly were not! Still, I was quite curious about what he thought. Because maybe after I said I was primarily interested in first pressings, maybe that appealed to his sensibilities as a music aficionado. And maybe that helped him start to see me in a new light, like I was the kind of customer who might peruse Zeppelin records in the afternoon and go home to do some drugs in the evening. If it was a quiet night, maybe he pictured me doing a single serving of drugs and curling up with a good book. If there was a good party or some kind of function that night, maybe he figured I was taking drugs by the handful. Wait, can you actually touch cocaine with your hands or are you supposed to use some kind of standardized scoopula? Anyway, he probably even thought we were bigger cokeheads than him... vicious dope fiends with great music taste and enormous willpower to suppress our own sniffs.

Well, if that's what he was thinking, he was dead wrong. Sorry to disappoint, but no thanks! I'm just a music junkie, and that's it. I'm strung out on life.

Later that day at Taco Bell, Daniel and I talked about the fact that the sniffing guy had watery eyes, as well, a sure indicator that he was a regular user of other drugs besides just cocaine. He probably mixed them together, Daniel postulated, which you're never supposed to do unless you don't give a crap about anything.

Damn, I thought, shaking my head slowly. That would explain why he didn't seem to have a favorite Supertramp album.

Years later, when I heard that Wax Stacks went out of business, a thousand scenarios ran through my mind. DEA raid? Some kind of dealer-initiated violence? Maybe the owner OD'd on his polysubstance cocktail, and his heirs had to sell off the whole record collection to pay for their drug habits! Yeah, or maybe he just went out of business because no one was buying records anymore, and the sniffing was because of seasonal allergies.

No, no, that's not it, because he was definitely sniffing, not sniffling. It's an important distinction, you know.

With warmest regards,
Zach