Dear Friends,
For the third consecutive month, the Hard Taco jingle focuses on levity and brevity rather than pensiveness and extensiveness. At 78 seconds, "Manchego" is so short, I will only need to spend $11.5 million dollars to play it over a blank screen during the Superbowl.
Two months ago, we treated you to an uncannily accurate prediction of the newest James Bond film. Today, I'm going to do that same breaststroke in a much more crowded pool, and offer heroic predictions about Star Wars Episode VII.
SPOILER ALERT: It's quite possible that I am going to tell it like it is, so read on only if you want the gospel truth and the no nonsense treatment.
What will happen now that Disney owns the rights to the Star Wars franchise?
As soon as The Force Awakens leaves theaters, Disney will make plans to re-release it in exactly 20 years. That's how long it will take for the technology to finally catch up with Walt Disney's original vision of the movie, in which a whistling Han Solo bobs up and down on his noodle-like legs and steers a steamboat.
Will the new Star Wars movie rely heavily on computer-generated graphics?
No. To appease the fan base, they will return to the tradition of implying awesome technology, rather than showing it. As in the original trilogy, characters will simply describe space vehicles as either "operational," "quite operational," or "fully operational," and let the audience imagine how cool they must be.
Why is Luke Skywalker not shown in the preview?
Some time in the last 30 years, Luke became a Sith. They can't show him in the preview without giving this away, because now he has one of the two stigmata of Sith-hood: Horns or a hoodie. (Also known as the "Sith Hood.")
If you watched the end of "Return of the Jedi," you may have had an inkling that Luke was destined for villainy. The most obvious clue is that he was unthinkably rude to his father's corpse. In one scene, he helped Vader remove his mask. In the next scene, he burned his father's remains, and the mask was back on! Let's not forget that removal of that mask was Anakin's dying wish. Luke waited until Anakin was dead, and then immediately put it back on his face! That's pretty damn disrespectful, if you ask me.
Imagine if a loved died after a prolonged ICU stay. Would you reattach the ventilator to the body and bring them both to the morgue to be cremated together?
That vent really helped Dad for a while, so I'm sure he'd prefer that its ashes be eternally intermingled with his own. And while we're at it, let's take his walker and his dentures and toss those in the fire, too. They were really part of his look there, at the end.
Is Leia also a Sith?
I predict yes! But in name only.
A voice change is typical when someone turns to the Dark Side. When Anakin became Darth Vader, his voice became lower and richer. When Luke gave into his hate, perhaps he chose to mark his transformation with a saucy lisp. In Episode VII, when he sees Leia for the first time in years, he shouts, "Hey, Sith! Join me and carry on the workth of Darth Sidiuth!"
Will Luke Skywalker finally die in this movie?
Definitely. In the interest of time, let's hope he's one of the Jedi who inexplicably disappears when he dies, like Yoda or Obiwan, rather than one of the ones who has to be burned on a pyre, like Anakin or Qui Gon.
Who is the adorable little droid in the preview that rolls around the desert on some sort of gyro-sphere?
Its name is BB-8, and it was built over 50 years after R2D2. Apparently, that's still not enough time for robot manufacturers to develop a friendly sidekick droid that can handle stairs.
With warmest regards,
Zach
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Halloween in Hawaii: The Legend of Sleepy Mahalo
Dear Friends,
Aloha from Oahu! It is November where you are, but here in Honolulu, it is still October 31, so I wish you a very happy Helewi! If you can't deduce the meaning of that word from context clues, just remember that Hawaiians treat their consonants like lazy teenagers: They never finish anything and aren't allowed to touch each other.
Goodnight Tushy
This month's Hard Taco song, "Can We Please Just Hang Out Now?" touches on the subject of Hawaii. Here's how it came to be:
Young Malcolm is a typical kid with a typical bedtime routine. He puts on pajamas, brushes his teeth, reads a story, and begs me to pile all of his stuffed animals in a different room because they are possessed by evil spirits. Then, I tuck him in, scratch his back, and turn the lights out. As I walk out of the room, I shake my butt like a Tahitian dancer, and he says, "Goodnight, Tushy." We have imparted a sense of finality to that statement. Once he utters those two words, the day is officially over and he is forbidden from getting out of bed until morning.
Not surprisingly, he has tried everything in his power to postpone saying goodnight to my butt.
"Daddy, I'm thirsty!" Sucks to be you.
"Daddy, I heard a creepy noise!" If you survive until morning, you can show me your scars during breakfast.
Then one day, he strung together a series of words that successfully deferred my rump-shaking. "Daddy, let's write a song together!"
Aw, how can I say no to that? The product of that procrastination session is this month's Hard Taco song, "Can We Please Just Hang Out Now?" Malcolm wanted to explore the subject of friendship. Specifically, the theme is the urgency of wanting to hang out with your friend immediately when he returns from vacation to Hawaii. Malcolm knew that we were planning this trip to the Aloha State, so perhaps he wanted to write a song that his friends could sing to him.
Get That Grizzly a Coconut Bra
This reminds me a comic strip I once read in the University of Wisconsin student-run newspaper, The Daily Cardinal. When I was a med student in Madison, The Cardinal was four pages long, and nearly 20% of its ink was wasted on feeble student-drawn comic strips. These strips consistently managed to be both disgusting and migraine-inducing, like a pile of poop in a strobe light. Here's an example:
Stick figure 1: Let's go to the mall.
Stick figure 2: Okay!
Stick figure 1: (Getting attacked by a bear) Aaaahhh!
Stick figure 2: I thought you said, "Let's go to M-A-U-L."
I remember reading this, and actually becoming angry at the young cartoonist who brought this strobe-lit dung into my life. The art, setup, and delivery were pathetic and the pun didn't even make grammatical sense.
But then, a miracle happened. A Labor Day Miracle, you could say, if we were to name miracles after the most proximate holiday.
With a few quick pencil strokes, the comic transformed into this:
Stick figure 1: Let's go to the mall.
Stick figure 2: Okay!
Stick figure 1: (Getting attacked by a bear in a grass skirt) Aaaahhh!
Stick figure 2: I thought you said, "Let's go to M-A-U-I."
Suddenly, this comic was ver funny. If it had been drawn this way in the first place, it may have been worth a chuckle. What made it sidesplittingly, life-alteringly hilarious was the net change in funniness, the humor delta, if you will. The transformation from a negative black hole of failure to something slightly whimsical was such an massive and dramatic shift, my system was unable to handle it.
I erupted in laughter, right in the middle of class. Pushing my lips together in hopes of suppressing the sound only led to mirthful, spasmodic snorting. I had never lost control of my diaphragm before, but I was out-of-control and I actually had to get up and leave the room because I was disrupting class.
Aloha from Oahu! It is November where you are, but here in Honolulu, it is still October 31, so I wish you a very happy Helewi! If you can't deduce the meaning of that word from context clues, just remember that Hawaiians treat their consonants like lazy teenagers: They never finish anything and aren't allowed to touch each other.
Goodnight Tushy
This month's Hard Taco song, "Can We Please Just Hang Out Now?" touches on the subject of Hawaii. Here's how it came to be:
Young Malcolm is a typical kid with a typical bedtime routine. He puts on pajamas, brushes his teeth, reads a story, and begs me to pile all of his stuffed animals in a different room because they are possessed by evil spirits. Then, I tuck him in, scratch his back, and turn the lights out. As I walk out of the room, I shake my butt like a Tahitian dancer, and he says, "Goodnight, Tushy." We have imparted a sense of finality to that statement. Once he utters those two words, the day is officially over and he is forbidden from getting out of bed until morning.
Not surprisingly, he has tried everything in his power to postpone saying goodnight to my butt.
"Daddy, I'm thirsty!" Sucks to be you.
"Daddy, I heard a creepy noise!" If you survive until morning, you can show me your scars during breakfast.
Then one day, he strung together a series of words that successfully deferred my rump-shaking. "Daddy, let's write a song together!"
Aw, how can I say no to that? The product of that procrastination session is this month's Hard Taco song, "Can We Please Just Hang Out Now?" Malcolm wanted to explore the subject of friendship. Specifically, the theme is the urgency of wanting to hang out with your friend immediately when he returns from vacation to Hawaii. Malcolm knew that we were planning this trip to the Aloha State, so perhaps he wanted to write a song that his friends could sing to him.
Get That Grizzly a Coconut Bra
This reminds me a comic strip I once read in the University of Wisconsin student-run newspaper, The Daily Cardinal. When I was a med student in Madison, The Cardinal was four pages long, and nearly 20% of its ink was wasted on feeble student-drawn comic strips. These strips consistently managed to be both disgusting and migraine-inducing, like a pile of poop in a strobe light. Here's an example:
Stick figure 1: Let's go to the mall.
Stick figure 2: Okay!
Stick figure 1: (Getting attacked by a bear) Aaaahhh!
Stick figure 2: I thought you said, "Let's go to M-A-U-L."
I remember reading this, and actually becoming angry at the young cartoonist who brought this strobe-lit dung into my life. The art, setup, and delivery were pathetic and the pun didn't even make grammatical sense.
But then, a miracle happened. A Labor Day Miracle, you could say, if we were to name miracles after the most proximate holiday.
With a few quick pencil strokes, the comic transformed into this:
Stick figure 1: Let's go to the mall.
Stick figure 2: Okay!
Stick figure 1: (Getting attacked by a bear in a grass skirt) Aaaahhh!
Stick figure 2: I thought you said, "Let's go to M-A-U-I."
Suddenly, this comic was ver funny. If it had been drawn this way in the first place, it may have been worth a chuckle. What made it sidesplittingly, life-alteringly hilarious was the net change in funniness, the humor delta, if you will. The transformation from a negative black hole of failure to something slightly whimsical was such an massive and dramatic shift, my system was unable to handle it.
I erupted in laughter, right in the middle of class. Pushing my lips together in hopes of suppressing the sound only led to mirthful, spasmodic snorting. I had never lost control of my diaphragm before, but I was out-of-control and I actually had to get up and leave the room because I was disrupting class.
In case you don't appreciate why this is funny, let me explain it to you: It is preposterous that someone would travel all the way to Hawaii because of a misunderstanding, only to be attacked by an animal that isn't indigenous to the area, but is trying to fit in by wearing the traditional costume of local...
Sorry, I can't finish that sentence, because I'm snorting again and have to excuse myself from the computer room.
With warmest regards,
Zach
P.S. During this trip, I learned a traditional Hawaiian Halloween joke. I don't remember the setup, but the punch line is, "The SPOOK-ulele."
With warmest regards,
Zach
P.S. During this trip, I learned a traditional Hawaiian Halloween joke. I don't remember the setup, but the punch line is, "The SPOOK-ulele."
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Special James Bond Preview
Dear Friends,
The Hard Taco song for October is called "Billowing Parachute Silk." If you have 97 seconds of free time today, you can listen to this whole song. Of course, it may be more manageable if you space it out through the day in 97 one-second increments.
A masked man chases 007 through the streets of Chennai. Bond leaps over a fruit stand. The masked man plows right through it, spilling plums on the cobblestone street.
Clutching a booby-trapped attaché case, Bond races into a petting zoo. The masked man chases him onto a hayride, just as it is pulling into the farm. The adversaries have a fistfight on the hayride, and Bond is outmatched. As the masked man prepares to deliver the decisive blow, the wagon goes under a low bridge. The masked man fails to duck, and is beheaded. The mask stays on. James Bond turns to a nearby goat and introduces himself, last name first.
Suddenly, two assassins approach on a tandem bike and snatch the booby-trapped attaché case. Bond springs from the hay wagon onto the back seat of the bike, dethroning the rear assassin. As the bike careens crazily down a winding suburban street, Bond wrestles with the other assassin for control of the front seat. He succeeds, forcing the man to the rear seat, where the villain is relegated to peddling while Bond steers.
Suddenly, the bike is overtaken by a duo of henchman on the back of a camel. They are sitting on separate humps. The rear henchman has his hands around the front henchman's waist to avoid falling off. Bond jumps from the tandem bike to the camel. He wrestles both henchmen, vying for position on the front hump. The combatants push each other's faces, but Bond does so more vigorously, and the henchmen are both consigned to the rear hump.
Finally, 007 catches up with the notorious El Chevre, a master villain with an eye patch, a soul patch, and a nicotine patch. El Chevre swipes the booby-trapped attaché case, handcuffs it to himself, and runs into an abandoned ice rink. Bond follows him, commandeers a pair of ice skates, and gives chase. Two flunkies and lackey, who have also rented skates, impede Bond's progress. James pirouettes evasively and the flunkies skate into a Zamboni. It explodes.
Bond returns his skates (so he can get his shoes back), and pursues El Chevre to a nearby dock.
"You're too late, James Bond," shouts the villain as he climbs into a paddleboat and starts paddling lazily across the pond. Bond climbs into another paddleboat, and paddles lazily in pursuit. Almost immediately, they are trapped in a strong current and dragged towards a 3000-foot waterfall. At the last second, Bond dives overboard as the two paddleboats lurch over the edge of the waterfall and burst into flames.
As he pulls himself onto the muddy shore, a weary James Bond looks across the pond and sees a courtesan in a yellow fur coat helping El Chevre into a two-rotor helicopter. As the helicopter takes off, El Chevre gazes arrogantly down and twirls his soul patch.
The scene fades to red. The familiar jungle trance surf rock music starts to play. Ian Fleming's name appears over a sequence of writhing nude silhouettes pushing each other's faces on paddleboats.
Bond Girls
Name: Viktoriya Sex-Vegetable
Role: Moldovan secret agent
Quote as she dies in James Bond's arms: "Meester Bund. I regret only I deed not keep last name when I get myarried. Feelling out forms when you have hypheenated last name is real pain."
Name: Bath Meat
Role: Danish double agent
Quote as she dies in James Bond's arms: "I trust no one, including the doctors who tell me to refrain from sexual activity until this cavernous abdominal wound heals."
Name: Lisa
Role: New Jersey insurance agent
Quote as she dies in James Bond's arms: "You're... in... good hands with Allstate."
Will 007's Aston Martin have a rear spoiler?
Spoiler alert: It will.
Closing thoughts
Everything that Q gives to James Bond is an In-SPECTRE Gadget. You're welcome.
With warmest regards,
Zach
The Hard Taco song for October is called "Billowing Parachute Silk." If you have 97 seconds of free time today, you can listen to this whole song. Of course, it may be more manageable if you space it out through the day in 97 one-second increments.
For Your Eyes Alone:
I can barely quell my excitement about the new James Bond movie. This one promises to have even more spying than the last five Bond films. I did a little armchair espionage and put together this preview from unauthorized interviews.
Movie Title
The Brand New Adventures of James Bond
Opening SequenceI can barely quell my excitement about the new James Bond movie. This one promises to have even more spying than the last five Bond films. I did a little armchair espionage and put together this preview from unauthorized interviews.
Movie Title
The Brand New Adventures of James Bond
A masked man chases 007 through the streets of Chennai. Bond leaps over a fruit stand. The masked man plows right through it, spilling plums on the cobblestone street.
Clutching a booby-trapped attaché case, Bond races into a petting zoo. The masked man chases him onto a hayride, just as it is pulling into the farm. The adversaries have a fistfight on the hayride, and Bond is outmatched. As the masked man prepares to deliver the decisive blow, the wagon goes under a low bridge. The masked man fails to duck, and is beheaded. The mask stays on. James Bond turns to a nearby goat and introduces himself, last name first.
Suddenly, two assassins approach on a tandem bike and snatch the booby-trapped attaché case. Bond springs from the hay wagon onto the back seat of the bike, dethroning the rear assassin. As the bike careens crazily down a winding suburban street, Bond wrestles with the other assassin for control of the front seat. He succeeds, forcing the man to the rear seat, where the villain is relegated to peddling while Bond steers.
Suddenly, the bike is overtaken by a duo of henchman on the back of a camel. They are sitting on separate humps. The rear henchman has his hands around the front henchman's waist to avoid falling off. Bond jumps from the tandem bike to the camel. He wrestles both henchmen, vying for position on the front hump. The combatants push each other's faces, but Bond does so more vigorously, and the henchmen are both consigned to the rear hump.
 |
| Daniel Craig defeats a henchman with a ferocious facepush while on camelback. |
Bond returns his skates (so he can get his shoes back), and pursues El Chevre to a nearby dock.
"You're too late, James Bond," shouts the villain as he climbs into a paddleboat and starts paddling lazily across the pond. Bond climbs into another paddleboat, and paddles lazily in pursuit. Almost immediately, they are trapped in a strong current and dragged towards a 3000-foot waterfall. At the last second, Bond dives overboard as the two paddleboats lurch over the edge of the waterfall and burst into flames.
As he pulls himself onto the muddy shore, a weary James Bond looks across the pond and sees a courtesan in a yellow fur coat helping El Chevre into a two-rotor helicopter. As the helicopter takes off, El Chevre gazes arrogantly down and twirls his soul patch.
The scene fades to red. The familiar jungle trance surf rock music starts to play. Ian Fleming's name appears over a sequence of writhing nude silhouettes pushing each other's faces on paddleboats.
Bond Girls
Name: Viktoriya Sex-Vegetable
Role: Moldovan secret agent
Quote as she dies in James Bond's arms: "Meester Bund. I regret only I deed not keep last name when I get myarried. Feelling out forms when you have hypheenated last name is real pain."
Name: Bath Meat
Role: Danish double agent
Quote as she dies in James Bond's arms: "I trust no one, including the doctors who tell me to refrain from sexual activity until this cavernous abdominal wound heals."
Name: Lisa
Role: New Jersey insurance agent
Quote as she dies in James Bond's arms: "You're... in... good hands with Allstate."
Will 007's Aston Martin have a rear spoiler?
Spoiler alert: It will.
Closing thoughts
Everything that Q gives to James Bond is an In-SPECTRE Gadget. You're welcome.
With warmest regards,
Zach
Bonus Activity:
Are you one of the 2% who can recognize these James Bond movie titles with one letter changed?
Are you one of the 2% who can recognize these James Bond movie titles with one letter changed?
- The Soy Who Loved Me
- License to Kiln
- Die Another Dad
- Shyfall
- Ontopussy
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
How to Argue with a Cop
Dear Friends,
You never know when you'll end up on a bus with the man your wife is having an affair with. When it happens, you'll need some fresh ice-breaker ideas to keep things from getting awkward.
Here's a good cop-themed ice-breaker: Do you remember the first time you witnessed an argument between a police officer and a civilian? My first time was almost 20 years ago, and it was exhilarating! Honestly, it is one of my most treasured memories. The suspect was my friend, Jeff, and his alleged crime was driving his car into a drainage ditch.
Let me set the scene. About ten minutes before the incident, Jeff declared, "The [Ford Bronco II] has four-wheel drive. Everyone knows that, right?" The other passengers and I agreed. Everyone did know that.
Thus, he explained, the police would not only condone him driving around in a dark field, but they would expect it of him. "When you've got an off-road vehicle," he pointed out, "never driving off-road is basically illegal."
I had to admit, that made a whole lot of sense.
Five minutes later, the Ford Bronco II was lodged in a ditch behind the JCC. Ten minutes after that, a policeman showed up and wrote Jeff a citation for reckless driving,
Jeff was not angry with the policeman... the poor officer was simply misinformed about the situation. Very graciously, Jeff provided a recap of everything that had transpired, none of which was reckless.
First, he pulled up carefully to the scene of he accident, got out of the car, and inspected the slope and lie of the ditch. He meticulously tested the soil firmness and erosion potential with his foot. Then he returned to the car, made sure all passengers were safely restrained, lifted his foot off the brake and idled carefully into the ditch. In this this sober and deliberate manner, the car was marooned hopelessly with it's rear wheels spinning in the air. We were able to corroborate this entire story, and assure the policeman that our driver had lodged the vehicle in the muddy trench with the utmost attention to safety. And as passengers, we found the experience to be not the least bit harrowing or interesting.
At this point, the policeman should have concluded, as I had, that driving directly into the ditch was the only rational decision that Jeff could have made in this set of circumstances. After all, everybody knows that the Ford Bronco II is a four-wheel drive vehicle.
Jeff said that his only regret was that he had miscalculated the aptitude of his three passengers in lifting the car out of the ditch. In conclusion, if he was given a chance to do it all over again, he would do it exactly the same way and change nothing. Everyone miscalculates sometimes, and you can't go through life beating yourself up about it.
The policeman had no rebuttal for any of this. I guess there isn't much to say when confronted with so many layers of shatterproof logic. The bastard just handed Jeff the citation and called a tow-truck for us.
A couple months later, Jeff disputed this ticket in court. He argued that reckless driving was a moving violation. How could he be guilty of a moving violation when his vehicle was NOT moving? If the Ford Bronco II had moved, at least so far as to extricate itself from the ditch, there would have been no problem! Apparently, the judge agreed, and reckless driving was reduced to trespassing, which carried a lower fine and no points. Justice.
Of course, if we really were trespassing, the JCC could have shot us or sicced their dogs on us. I'm sure Jeff would have been just as patient with an irate Dauberman* as he was with the cop. As it lunged towards him, menacing and frothy-mouthed, he would have calmly reassured it that there was nothing to worry about, because his car was an off-road vehicle. Everyone knows that.
With warmest regards,
Zach
* An imaginary guard dog only found at the JCC
The Hard Taco song for September is called, "Cops! Cops! Cops!" If you have to shout something three times in a row, Cops is much easier than Toy Boat, and much safer than Beetlejuice.
You never know when you'll end up on a bus with the man your wife is having an affair with. When it happens, you'll need some fresh ice-breaker ideas to keep things from getting awkward.
Here's a good cop-themed ice-breaker: Do you remember the first time you witnessed an argument between a police officer and a civilian? My first time was almost 20 years ago, and it was exhilarating! Honestly, it is one of my most treasured memories. The suspect was my friend, Jeff, and his alleged crime was driving his car into a drainage ditch.
Let me set the scene. About ten minutes before the incident, Jeff declared, "The [Ford Bronco II] has four-wheel drive. Everyone knows that, right?" The other passengers and I agreed. Everyone did know that.
Thus, he explained, the police would not only condone him driving around in a dark field, but they would expect it of him. "When you've got an off-road vehicle," he pointed out, "never driving off-road is basically illegal."
I had to admit, that made a whole lot of sense.
Five minutes later, the Ford Bronco II was lodged in a ditch behind the JCC. Ten minutes after that, a policeman showed up and wrote Jeff a citation for reckless driving,
Jeff was not angry with the policeman... the poor officer was simply misinformed about the situation. Very graciously, Jeff provided a recap of everything that had transpired, none of which was reckless.
First, he pulled up carefully to the scene of he accident, got out of the car, and inspected the slope and lie of the ditch. He meticulously tested the soil firmness and erosion potential with his foot. Then he returned to the car, made sure all passengers were safely restrained, lifted his foot off the brake and idled carefully into the ditch. In this this sober and deliberate manner, the car was marooned hopelessly with it's rear wheels spinning in the air. We were able to corroborate this entire story, and assure the policeman that our driver had lodged the vehicle in the muddy trench with the utmost attention to safety. And as passengers, we found the experience to be not the least bit harrowing or interesting.
At this point, the policeman should have concluded, as I had, that driving directly into the ditch was the only rational decision that Jeff could have made in this set of circumstances. After all, everybody knows that the Ford Bronco II is a four-wheel drive vehicle.
Jeff said that his only regret was that he had miscalculated the aptitude of his three passengers in lifting the car out of the ditch. In conclusion, if he was given a chance to do it all over again, he would do it exactly the same way and change nothing. Everyone miscalculates sometimes, and you can't go through life beating yourself up about it.
The policeman had no rebuttal for any of this. I guess there isn't much to say when confronted with so many layers of shatterproof logic. The bastard just handed Jeff the citation and called a tow-truck for us.
A couple months later, Jeff disputed this ticket in court. He argued that reckless driving was a moving violation. How could he be guilty of a moving violation when his vehicle was NOT moving? If the Ford Bronco II had moved, at least so far as to extricate itself from the ditch, there would have been no problem! Apparently, the judge agreed, and reckless driving was reduced to trespassing, which carried a lower fine and no points. Justice.
Of course, if we really were trespassing, the JCC could have shot us or sicced their dogs on us. I'm sure Jeff would have been just as patient with an irate Dauberman* as he was with the cop. As it lunged towards him, menacing and frothy-mouthed, he would have calmly reassured it that there was nothing to worry about, because his car was an off-road vehicle. Everyone knows that.
With warmest regards,
Zach
* An imaginary guard dog only found at the JCC
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Postcards From Panama, Part 7
Dear Friends,
The Hard Taco song for August is the named, "Worth the While," and I like to think it is aptly titled.
Meanwhile, here is the annual installment of "Postcards from Panama." If you need a refresher on the puzzling relationship of our heroes, you can find it here.
Postcards From Panama, Part 7
8/5/15
Dear Karen,
You will be pleased to know that I am a philanthropist now. I donated some of my hair to an organization called, “Locks of Lust.” They are a non-profit that provides used clumps of hair to very sick people. (Apparently, some of the sickest!) It’s not a big deal, except that now I am getting to be known for my beneficence and my large bald spot.
With warmest regards,
Michael
8/9/15
Dear Karen,
Would you like me to send you a picture of my new comb over? A growing number of people (mostly women our age or slightly younger) have commented to each other about how tasteful it is. I will send you some photos that showcase my comb over from different tasteful angles.
Unfortunately, there is only one place around here that develops film, and I don’t trust the suspicious-looking boy who works there. What if he makes extra copies of my comb over pictures for his own purposes? I know this photo is important to you, so I will risk it.
With warmest regards,
Michael
8/11/15
Dear Karen,
My neighbor, Dignidad, is in a support group for people who suffer from emotional eating. I sometimes eat when I am hungry. I assume hunger is an emotion, so perhaps I should join the group? They meet on Thursday afternoons at one of the mall kiosks. It is next to the place that develops film, so I can excuse myself from the support group every few minutes to spy on the suspicious-looking film boy.
With warmest regards,
Michael
8/14/15
Dear Karen,
What a night! You would be amazed to learn about all the different emotions that can lead to binge eating! Obviously, sadness is the big one, but tonight I met people who stuff their faces when they feel all kinds of things... timid, detached, trusting, or even indignant.
As you may expect, there was much less diversity in the type of foods involved. Everyone in the support group overeats the same traditional diet of plantains, root vegetables, and tropical fruits.
With warmest regards,
Michael
8/15/15
Dear Karen,
The woman who mediates the emotional eating support group is named Nobleza Moralidad, which means Nobility Morality. She is a recovering emotional eater, and she has a Panamanian Unibrow. This is different from the unibrows you see in the United States, where the two eyebrows meet in the middle of the forehead. Nobleza Moralidad’s eyebrows extend outwards around the sides of the head and meet in the back. It is very unflattering, but I won’t tell her that, because it might send her into a corkscrew of shame and cause her to relapse.
With warmest regards,
Michael
8/20/15
Dear Karen,
Nobleza Moralidad invited me to dinner at her favorite mid-scale restaurant, Chorizo on Skewers. I assumed she was vetting me to verify my status as a card-carrying emotional eater.
Over dinner, I mostly talked about you, and about how we agreed to get married after 20 years if both of us were still single. This made me a little emotional (4 on a 10 point scale), so I ate three chorizo skewers. I told her that you and I never got around to exchanging promise rings, but if we had, I wouldn’t be able to wear one anymore because my fingers had become fat from all of the emotional eating. After that, I cried for fifteen minutes and ate ten more chorizo skewers. Mostly, I ate them with my mouth open, so I could keep crying.
As we were leaving the restaurant, she informed me that she had not been vetting me for the support group. It turns out that our dinner had been a date! Either way, I think it went pretty well.
With warmest regards,
Michael
8/22/15
Dear Karen,
Oh no! There was an old mestizo woman selling photos of my comb over at the Farmer’s Market today! I don’t know how she got them, but I am positive that it has something to do with the suspicious-looking boy at the photo shop! The silver lining to this whole fiasco is that I was able to buy every copy she had, and I will send them all to you shortly. Would you prefer them in 12-panel frame or a more organic-looking photo collage?
With warmest regards,
Michael
8/25/15
Dear Karen,
I broke up with Nobleza Moralidad this afternoon. I could tell she was angry, because she immediately turned around and started gorging herself with plantains and root vegetables. The other clue to her anger was the furrowed unibrow on the back of her head.
Karen, I know that you and I have been “keeping it loose,” but I think I’m finally ready to take it to the next level with you. Please write back and let me know your daytime phone number and how you are doing. Also, please include detailed information regarding whether you think that taking it to the next level is something we should do this very minute, or if we should wait a couple more weeks. I am willing to wait two weeks so your co-workers don’t accuse you of being my rebound wife.
With warmest regards,
Michael
The Hard Taco song for August is the named, "Worth the While," and I like to think it is aptly titled.
Meanwhile, here is the annual installment of "Postcards from Panama." If you need a refresher on the puzzling relationship of our heroes, you can find it here.
Postcards From Panama, Part 7
8/5/15
Dear Karen,
Michael
Dear Karen,
Michael
Dear Karen,
Michael
Dear Karen,
Michael
Dear Karen,
Michael
Dear Karen,
With warmest regards,
Michael
Dear Karen,
Michael
8/25/15
Dear Karen,
Michael
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Fievel Goes West
Dear Friends,
The Hard Taco song for July is called, "Brady." It's about this guy, whose owner was savvy enough to beat the rest of high society to commissioning a Hard Taco song. If you have designs on appointing a splendid Court Composer, I am now available.
Placid Teenage Hormones
McDonald's once had a promotion that anyone who bought a sandwich would become eligible to purchase An American Tail: Fievel Goes West on VHS for $3. I was 16 years old, and although I had not seen this movie or its predecessor, An American Tail, I found myself spending down my allowance savings so I could have four copies.
I was in a phase, I suppose, and it probably had to do with hormones. Not the ordinary teenage hormones often portrayed as raging, but the lesser-known glandular secretions that drive young men to purchase impractical and obscure things as a means of self-expression. For Chanukah, I gave my parents and sister the autobiographies of different Star Trek actors, even though none of us were Trek-heads. I tried to explain that the memoir of a still-closeted George Takei was the campiest and most bizarre thing in the bookstore. Thanks to hormones, my developing teenage brain concluded that this randomness made it relevant. So relevant, that asking for a gift receipt would have been sacrilege. Why couldn't my family appreciate that?
These same hormones left me indifferent to mediocre movies, but furiously obsessed with REALLY bad ones. That was why I had no choice but to buy four copies of Fievel Goes West.
I was surprised to discover, then, that Fievel Goes West was actually a wonderful movie. It had a strong cast, beautiful hand-drawn art, and a gorgeous score (R.I.P. James Horner). Notably, by changing one letter in the titles of both the original movie and the sequel, one could make a series of perfectly acceptable porn parodies... IN American Tail and Fievel Does West.
(Of less interest is that by changing just a couple more letters, one could make an archaic religious propaganda brochure... Fie, evil! God's Best.)
I've seen Fievel Goes West over 30 times. Hands down, it is my favorite movie. I transcribed the whole script and memorized every line. I scoured eBay for Fievel-themed trading cards. I wrote fan fiction. I spent hours at the library looking up old newspaper reviews of the movie, photocopied them and compiled them into a three ring binder. I even wrote a Rocky Horror-eque script for audience participation, in which there is a great running gag about Fievel's father having no neck. Here are some examples:
Papa: Fievel's birthday is coming. And we don't even have enough money (FOR A NECK!!!) for presents.
Cat R. Waul: Now for my part.
(We can't see your part because you're wearing a @&*$! HAT!!!)
Chula: Hey Boss, what's a (MAYFLY???) subversive?
Cat R. Waul: Someone who doesn't have very long to live.
Papa: Ha! Our little Fievel is not so little no more!
(BUT YOUR NECK IS!!!)
I recommend joining me for a screening. It's one of the few socially acceptable forums for screaming obscenities at immigrants.
Amblin Entertainment made one serious mistake that doomed Fievel to humdrum box office mojo. The movie appeared in theaters on November 22, 1991, the exact same day that Disney released Beauty and the Beast. It's hard to fault the holiday moviegoers for choosing Princess Belle over Fievel Mousekewitz.
In contrast, I'm sure the XXX Fievel parody fared better than Booty and the Yeast, which was admittedly intended for a niche market.
With warmest regards,
Zach
The Hard Taco song for July is called, "Brady." It's about this guy, whose owner was savvy enough to beat the rest of high society to commissioning a Hard Taco song. If you have designs on appointing a splendid Court Composer, I am now available.
 |
| Sorry for the delay, Flemish duchesses. I've been working on this. |
Placid Teenage Hormones
McDonald's once had a promotion that anyone who bought a sandwich would become eligible to purchase An American Tail: Fievel Goes West on VHS for $3. I was 16 years old, and although I had not seen this movie or its predecessor, An American Tail, I found myself spending down my allowance savings so I could have four copies.
I was in a phase, I suppose, and it probably had to do with hormones. Not the ordinary teenage hormones often portrayed as raging, but the lesser-known glandular secretions that drive young men to purchase impractical and obscure things as a means of self-expression. For Chanukah, I gave my parents and sister the autobiographies of different Star Trek actors, even though none of us were Trek-heads. I tried to explain that the memoir of a still-closeted George Takei was the campiest and most bizarre thing in the bookstore. Thanks to hormones, my developing teenage brain concluded that this randomness made it relevant. So relevant, that asking for a gift receipt would have been sacrilege. Why couldn't my family appreciate that?
These same hormones left me indifferent to mediocre movies, but furiously obsessed with REALLY bad ones. That was why I had no choice but to buy four copies of Fievel Goes West.
I was surprised to discover, then, that Fievel Goes West was actually a wonderful movie. It had a strong cast, beautiful hand-drawn art, and a gorgeous score (R.I.P. James Horner). Notably, by changing one letter in the titles of both the original movie and the sequel, one could make a series of perfectly acceptable porn parodies... IN American Tail and Fievel Does West.
(Of less interest is that by changing just a couple more letters, one could make an archaic religious propaganda brochure... Fie, evil! God's Best.)
I've seen Fievel Goes West over 30 times. Hands down, it is my favorite movie. I transcribed the whole script and memorized every line. I scoured eBay for Fievel-themed trading cards. I wrote fan fiction. I spent hours at the library looking up old newspaper reviews of the movie, photocopied them and compiled them into a three ring binder. I even wrote a Rocky Horror-eque script for audience participation, in which there is a great running gag about Fievel's father having no neck. Here are some examples:
Papa: Fievel's birthday is coming. And we don't even have enough money (FOR A NECK!!!) for presents.
Cat R. Waul: Now for my part.
(We can't see your part because you're wearing a @&*$! HAT!!!)
Chula: Hey Boss, what's a (MAYFLY???) subversive?
Cat R. Waul: Someone who doesn't have very long to live.
Papa: Ha! Our little Fievel is not so little no more!
(BUT YOUR NECK IS!!!)
I recommend joining me for a screening. It's one of the few socially acceptable forums for screaming obscenities at immigrants.
Amblin Entertainment made one serious mistake that doomed Fievel to humdrum box office mojo. The movie appeared in theaters on November 22, 1991, the exact same day that Disney released Beauty and the Beast. It's hard to fault the holiday moviegoers for choosing Princess Belle over Fievel Mousekewitz.
In contrast, I'm sure the XXX Fievel parody fared better than Booty and the Yeast, which was admittedly intended for a niche market.
With warmest regards,
Zach
Monday, June 1, 2015
The Bureau of Taco-hol, Tobacco, and Fire Sauce
Dear friends,
The Hard Taco song for June is called, "Cute As a Button." It's a Taco-rific Taco-gasmic Taco-palooza.
See what I did there? I started with an ordinary word (taco) and treated it to three bastard suffixes in the same sentence! This is not to say that words ending in -rific and -gasmic are not legitimate English. Quite to the contrary, these words are so pleasant and utterly NOT ANNOYING that babies born out of wedlock should be honored by the comparison.
I have this idea for a children's show called "Tards." It sounds offensive, but it's not what you think... Tards is actually short for Bastards. The main character is Bastard, a complete bastard who is always making up excuses for not doing his chores. His obstinate half-sibling, Conservatard, is also a complete bastard. You can tell just by looking at his smug face. The premise (which gives the title its rich double meaning), is that the two of them primarily talk in words with bastard suffixes. Here's the opening scene of the pilot.
Tards - Episode 1
"The Shirk-monger"
Bastard: It must be May. The melting snow always sets off my May-dar.
Conservatard: It's melt-astic.
Bastard: It's defrostacular. But it's happening at an alarming rate.
Conservatard: Thawmageddon.
Bastard: Exactamundo... Thawpocalypse!
Conservatard: Check out the ground now. Stick-o-rama.
Bastard: Twigtopia?
Conservatard: Twignarok. No time for a May-cation. We're going to have a Spring Cleanupalooza this weekend.
Bastard: Sorry. Can't help out with the yard-workathon.
Conservatard: Why are you always such a slack-omatic shirk-aholic?
Bastard: I was a yard-workaholic, but I've been on the wagon since I got caught at school with an elevated blood yard-workohol level.
Conservatard: I remember that. It was scandalicious. Everyone was talking about yard-workgate.
Bastard: Bastards.
My second idea for a children's show is slightly more controversial. It's called "Three Litt7e Pigs." In it, my family wears fake animal noses and reenacts fairy tales. We will never explain why there is a 7 in the title.
The first episode is a totally straight rendition of the Three Little Pigs story.
Once we've secured our contract with PBS, we'll start filming the more obscure and morbid fairy tales, like "The Merry Headsman and the Randy Beggar," or "FrankenKeller: The Zombie Who Mastered Braille."
With warmest regards,
Zach
The Hard Taco song for June is called, "Cute As a Button." It's a Taco-rific Taco-gasmic Taco-palooza.
See what I did there? I started with an ordinary word (taco) and treated it to three bastard suffixes in the same sentence! This is not to say that words ending in -rific and -gasmic are not legitimate English. Quite to the contrary, these words are so pleasant and utterly NOT ANNOYING that babies born out of wedlock should be honored by the comparison.
I have this idea for a children's show called "Tards." It sounds offensive, but it's not what you think... Tards is actually short for Bastards. The main character is Bastard, a complete bastard who is always making up excuses for not doing his chores. His obstinate half-sibling, Conservatard, is also a complete bastard. You can tell just by looking at his smug face. The premise (which gives the title its rich double meaning), is that the two of them primarily talk in words with bastard suffixes. Here's the opening scene of the pilot.
Tards - Episode 1
"The Shirk-monger"
Bastard: It must be May. The melting snow always sets off my May-dar.
Conservatard: It's melt-astic.
Bastard: It's defrostacular. But it's happening at an alarming rate.
Conservatard: Thawmageddon.
Bastard: Exactamundo... Thawpocalypse!
Conservatard: Check out the ground now. Stick-o-rama.
Bastard: Twigtopia?
Conservatard: Twignarok. No time for a May-cation. We're going to have a Spring Cleanupalooza this weekend.
Bastard: Sorry. Can't help out with the yard-workathon.
Conservatard: Why are you always such a slack-omatic shirk-aholic?
Bastard: I was a yard-workaholic, but I've been on the wagon since I got caught at school with an elevated blood yard-workohol level.
Conservatard: I remember that. It was scandalicious. Everyone was talking about yard-workgate.
Bastard: Bastards.
My second idea for a children's show is slightly more controversial. It's called "Three Litt7e Pigs." In it, my family wears fake animal noses and reenacts fairy tales. We will never explain why there is a 7 in the title.
The first episode is a totally straight rendition of the Three Little Pigs story.
Once we've secured our contract with PBS, we'll start filming the more obscure and morbid fairy tales, like "The Merry Headsman and the Randy Beggar," or "FrankenKeller: The Zombie Who Mastered Braille."
With warmest regards,
Zach
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