The Weekly Portion

Dear Friends, 

The Hard Taco song for June is called "Our Time Together." No matter what you think of it, I'll still probably do another one next month. So stop acting like you're the one in control here. 

I attended a couple of bar and bat mitzvahs in the last few weeks. 10/10 would recommend. The less you know about Jewish services ahead of time, the better. Sit through a bar mitzvah and you will feel like a transfer student at a Martian preschool. The room is full of books, but they are backwards and inside-out, and the head Martian is the only one who can read them. He or she keeps motioning for you to stand up, sit down, bend your knees, kiss a book, or get on your tiptoes. Sometimes, the head Martian covers their own eyes for a few seconds, and then shouts "Amen," which I assume is Martian for "peekaboo." 

And then there is the endless chanting; lilting nonsense, often with a call-and-response element.  The words are gibberish, but they are repetitive. Or almost repetitive, like they are saying "One, two, three, eyes on me," and the room responds, "One, two, eyes on you."

Okay, let's leave that analogy behind for a minute. The real reason to attend a bar mitzvah is to hear what the kid has to say in English. There's a section toward the end called the D'var Torah, where the 13-year-old tries to explain how a paragraph in a 2500-year-old text relates to their life as a modern American middle-schooler. They don't get to pick which part of the Torah to deconstruct... the passage is chosen for them based on an ancient algorithm that accounts for their birthday, the lunar calendar, the birthdays of other kids who might host competing parties, and, in Ann Arbor, the college football schedule.

The luckiest bar mitzvah kid is the one assigned to a well-worn bible story, such as the exile of Adam and Eve. That D'var Torah practically writes itself.

"In my Torah portion, Bereishit, Eve and Adam eat the fruit, which was against the rules, and God kicks them out of the garden. This applies to our lives, because growing up means making choices and taking responsibility. For me, the forbidden fruit is not doing homework. Even though I hate homework, doing it keeps me from getting kicked out of school, which is a lot like Eden, except that we wear more clothes. Rabbi Blumenstock showed me that when you really think about it, homework is actually important, even though I would love to never do any of it ever." 

The first third of the Torah is full of parables and familiar names, covering topics like the creation of the world, Noah's ark, Abraham and his family, baby Moses, Egyptian plagues, the Red Sea, and wandering in the desert. These are chock full of modern lessons. 

But after the Golden Calf bit, the Torah kind of loses the plot, and starts to read more like the minutes to a homeowner's association meeting. Highlights include exhaustive instructions about priesthood and tabernacle-building, footnotes about census-taking, and detailed inheritance laws. And this is where the speeches get really interesting.

The bat mitzvah I attended this week had a Torah portion about the appropriate protocol for accusing your wife of adultery. This stuff was unsettling, to say the least. If the husband suspects his wife and has no proof or corroborating witnesses, he brings her to the priest. The priest writes a curse on a scroll, soaks it in some water, adds some dirt from the floor, and makes her drink it. If she is innocent, nothing happens. But if she is guilty? Her thigh will sag and her belly will distend. This is actually what it says... her thigh will sag and her belly will distend. 

So how does the eighth-grade student apply all of this to modern life? It usually comes out sounding something like this: 

"In my Torah portion, there is a husband who becomes suspicious. Even though I have never accused someone of adultery in a formal priestly setting, suspicion still exists in our modern lives. For example, this reminds me of when my younger brother Evan says he didn't destroy my Minecraft house, even though the lava is still there and he is the only other person on the server. Like the priest in Naso, I want proof. But the priest doesn't just say, "She seems guilty." There is a thing to do to figure it out. In modern life, this means you should not necessarily scream, "You stole my diamonds!" until you check if you accidentally used them to make a hoe, which I have done, and which is also a tragedy. 

So I guess the lesson is that when we feel suspicious, we shouldn't jump to conclusions. We should check the server log and maybe build the next base farther away. The Torah reminds us that it's okay to feel upset when Evan gets praised for doing one chore while I have been unloading the dishwasher for years. But becoming a Jewish adult means not letting the jealousy control me and choosing communication over curse water. And Evan, if you did what I think you did, the guilt you feel will be worse than a sagging thigh. 

Shabbat Shalom."

Quality Shtick!

Dear Friends,

This month's Hard Taco song, "Wilt Chamberlain" is fire. It is a certified bop. Behold, this phat track is a crackdown thunderclap bootyknocker hot ass thumper beat-clapping neck-slapper jam. 

The opening salvo of this song, in which we repeatedly sing the titular basketball player's name, has been stuck in my head for over 30 years. The line was originally written for (and performed by) a group of prepubescent boys when I worked as cabin counselor at Camp Interlaken JCC in the mid-90s. 

Being staff at Interlaken was hands-down the best job I ever had. I spent four weeks with friends Adam Bilsky, David Butlein and a gaggle of insane sixth graders in Cabin Naphtali. (Interlaken has a delightfully mysterious tradition of naming cabins after ensemble characters in Andrew Lloyd Weber's "Joseph and Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat." Nobody remembers why, but I love it!)

Back row, from left to right: Adam, David, Zach, an insane sixth grader

Every weekday before dinner, the whole camp assembled on a cement rectangle outside the dining hall for a ritual flag-lowering ceremony and the greatest of camp traditions, the evening shticks. One-by-one, each cabin group recited, in unison, an original joke, sketch, song, or poem. Most of these were cobbled together in the minutes preceding their performance, but we in Cabin Naphtali knew the importance of quality shticks. Adam and I dedicated what little downtime we had to crafting shticks that were both whimsical and satirical. Shticks that encouraged growth and self-reflection. As the session went on, we increasingly left our third co-counselor David to handle the less consequential responsibilities, such as supervising and entertaining the campers. 

But it was David who inadvertently inspired the greatest shtick of the summer, when he mentioned that Wilt Chamberlain claimed to have had sex with over 20,000 women. I found this to be noteworthy and compelling. It centered around a topic that I thought about constantly when I was seventeen... math. 

"That comes out to 2.3 each day for 24 years," I told Adam. We sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to wrap our minds around the logistics.  

It must have something to do with that mustache.  

"That's really something," he eventually said, picking up a guitar, "So... should we make a shtick about it?"  I nodded solemnly. Kids love sports, so a crisp anecdote about a distinguished athlete could prove unusually engaging. We would keep the content pithy and informational. We would deliver it with a sticky musical hook to promote knowledge retention. From an educational standpoint, it was the perfect shtick idea, really. 

Except for the part about all the sex. A cluster of 12-year-old boys chanting about Chamberlain's unparalleled lechery to the whole camp would certainly be memorable, but was the camp director ready for that depth of journalistic integrity? Or would he impugn our lesson as mission creep?

So we decided, instead, to fabricate an alternative history for Wilt Chamberlain, in which his notable feat was slightly different. In our song, Chamberlain bragged about having consumed over 20,000 multivitamin tablets during his lifetime. I know what you're thinking... that would have been an equally impressive accomplishment. Furthermore, sharing this knowledge with math-enthusiasts would allow them to experience the same arithmetic that I had so enjoyed. Plus, it shone a spotlight on a topic that Jewish parents cared deeply about - the prevention of nutritional deficiencies.

The Wilt Chamberlain shtick was epic. Or at least I think it was. I don't remember the music or lyrics, just the feeling. The catchy refrain that I borrowed for this month's Hard Taco song ("Wilt Chamberlain" x 8) is the only sliver that has not been lost to time. And while this new recording has almost nothing to do with either promiscuity or nutrition, I take comfort in the knowledge that it is still a pelvis-shattering serotonin canon of a banger earworm. 

With warmest regards,

Zach

Byzantine Angst

Dear Friends,

Here at Hard Taco, we strive to bring you unique musical experiences. This month's song, "Welcome to the Placebo Arm," is the first recorded prog rock song about industry-sponsored pharmaceutical trials. 

For our 25th wedding anniversary, Lauren planned a secret trip for the family. We were told to pack for "normal weather," and when we got to the airport, the destination was revealed through the solution of this Strands Puzzle.  I found three words and correctly surmised that we were headed to Rome!

Except that we weren't, because the third word was supposed to be GYRO, not ORGY. Which makes a lot more sense for a family vacation. Update: We were headed to Greece!

I love rubble, so Greece has long been on my bucket list, but prior to this trip, I didn't know much about it. I grew up reading D'Aulaire's book of Greek Mythology, so I already knew that Apollo was the god of music, poetry, light, and motorcyclists who weave between two lanes of traffic. But I never got past the second chapter of D'Aulaire's book of Greek Reality. 

• Chapter 1: Socrates, Euclid, and Giannis Antetokounmpo team up to invent democracy and the triangle. 
• Chapter 2: Thousands of people stream out of a cruise ship and wander into traffic. 

Anyway, we're now four days into the trip, and it has been magical. I've seen so much rubble, and I've learned enough to be over-qualified to write this definitive guide. 

Quick Facts about Greece:

Symbolism of the flag: An overhead view of a stray cat impaled on a cypress tree.

Most common occupation: Headless, armless sculpture model.

National Flower: The hairy-chested peony.

Exports: Three-letter words that are processed overseas and reused as fraternity names.

Things that hang from clotheslines in alleyways: Laundry, octopus. feta slabs.

Width of two-way roads: 1 meter, including both sidewalks.

National anthem: A symphony of suitcase wheels over cobblestones,

Legendary battle: Thermopylae, where 300 Spartans kept 200,000 immigrants at bay by standing around on a street corner, smoking and complaining.  

How to say Cheers: Εβίβα, which means, "May your enemy's swords be melted down and used for Chobani lids."

Politics: Feuding city-states, hoplite brinksmanship.

Favorite Labor of Hercules: Subduing ten island-hopping yacht owners.

National pastime: Smashing an ancient urn that says APHRODITE and glueing it back together so it says HOT DIAPER. 

Celebrities Who Culturally Appropriated Greek Letters: Catherine Zeta Jones, PSY, Delta Burke.

National emblem: John Stamos sipping hemlock among toppled columns and marble ruins. 

Fashion aesthetic: Mosaic-core.

With warmest regards,

Zach

The Art of Pulling Your Hand Back In Time

Dear Friends,

Our youngest is starting his final semester of high school. So is he, like so many of his classmates, suffering from a case of senioritis? Nope, not my kid. 

The suffix -itis means inflammation or infection. Malcolm isn't red and swollen. The correct medical term for what he has is seniorosis, a diseased or degenerative state of the 12th grade with unclear pathophysiology. 

This month's Hard Taco song, "Boulangerie," is a braggadocio rap about French culinary prestige culture. Sadly, my public persona as a wildly self-confident baker is built on a lie born of my own seniorosis. 

In early 1993, with college applications behind me, I registered for a cooking course to close out my final semester. But it soon became clear that we would be discussing pot holders rather than braising short ribs. The class was about kitchen safety, not culinary art. 

There was a textbook, Labensky and Hause's On Cooking, but I never cracked it open. I internalized the core principles through real life experience: If milk smells bad, boil it to reset it. Point pan handles away from the stove and out into traffic. 

Leave items cooking on the stovetop unattended whenever possible. When washing a hot greasy pan, run cold water into it face first. Lean directly over it to inspect the splash radius. Use one cutting board for everything from raw chicken to fruit salad, to "season" it. 

There was no AP test, but I'm sure I would have aced it without studying. If a can is bulging, that just means you're getting more beans for the same price. Always cut towards your body, and if you accidentally drop a knife, catch it heroically. Wash mushrooms with dish soap. Guess internal meat temperatures confidently. If oil starts smoking, add water to calm it. Open steaming lids towards you. It's just common sense.

At the end of the semester, the instructor presented each of us with a signed credential card. Mine said, "Zachary London is certified to prepare simple foods safely and accurately." I carried this in my wallet for many years, flashing it when anyone questioned my kitchen credentials. But kitchen safety can't be laminated... it has to be lived. 

With warmest regards,

Zach

The Bestiary of the Unsaid

 Dear Friends,

 

The Hard Taco song for February is called, "Man, What a Terrible Scene." When you hear the smooth tones of lead singer Jonathan Barron, you will be a jealot. 

Much as an overly zealous person is a zealot, your overwhelming jealousy (and excessive jeal) will make you a jealot. 

Jealous is one of the many adjectives in English that appear to be derived from nouns that do not actually exist. And like all things that don't exist, they deserve to be the subject of a fantasy role-playing game. What follows is my Monster Manual of creatures from whom these words are secretly derived. See if you can follow along: 

Joll:
Rotund, rosy-cheeked, and perpetually humming, the Joll radiates cheer that can buoy even the weariest of travelers. 

Dizz:
The Dizz stumbles around in erratic spirals, moaning and vomiting. In some regions, this same creature is known as the Quease. 

Snazz:
A flamboyant trickster cloaked in glittering sequins and ornamental accessories. A group of them is called a Spectacle of Snazzes. +2 Spotlight Theft. 

Feist:
A small, sharp-toothed creature that picks fights with anyone larger than itself, darting in and out with fearless snaps and relentless energy.

Reck
A calculating creature that observes silently, cataloging risks and outcomes before committing to action. It never acts in haste, pausing before every movement to weigh consequences. (Note: Could be confused with the Feck, but the author of this manual never remembers what feckless means, so no description of that creature will be provided.) 

Bash:
A timid, soft-furred being that won't make eye-contact with adventurers. +1 blushing defense. 

Rowd
A boisterous and chaotic creature that moves in large disorderly packs, overwhelming spaces with sheer commotion. In the presence of a Rowd, doors slam and fragile objects shatter preemptively. 

Hein
This creature commits acts so vile, even the most hardened villains recoil. Often seen alongside a related creature called the Grue, that delights in gore and fear.

Measle
Small, meager, and frail, the measle has little to offer. HP: Technically non-zero. Often confused with the paltre, which is even more insubstantial. 

Awk
Gangly and mortifying, the Awk is characterized by dropped beverages, missed cues, and pants-wetting. In each group (called a Cringe of Awks), there is usually one Social Awk, who waits for a lull in the conversation before forcing an ill-considered remark. 

Leg (Rhymes with "hedge.")
A creature that takes the shape of large, clear, easy-to-read words.

With warmest regards,
Zach

 

Fortress Party 2025 - Midwest Max: Rural Road

My name is Max. My world is corn and propane.

In the time after the Great Dry-Out, when the coasts were swallowed by storms and the cities tore themselves apart, the last scraps of civilization drifted inwards to a Heartland that had become a wilderness of rust and potholes.

Out here, in the Midwest wastes, the powerful rule from atop customized riding mowers. Roaming clans fight over heirloom seeds and clipped coupons in the shadows of abandoned grain elevators.

I am the one who runs from both the living and the excessively polite.

Hunted by casserole scavengers, haunted by the squeak of the cheese curds I could not protect. A man consumed by a single thought...

Ope, sorry.  

 

Fortress Party 2025 - Fort Montreal 1701

Do we ever repeat room themes? Not exactly, but there are certainly overlaps. In 2014, we did The Bridge to Canada, which had plenty of great Canadian jokes. This year's room brought back the Canadian theme, but focused more on the rich history of colonial Quebec.

Guests had to follow signs attached to dead trees to find the room.

The decor could best be described as Fur Trapper-chic. Did you know that you can buy rolls of plastic tablecloths that look like old wooden planks? I can't think of another use for those other than turning a room into a Fort within a Fort. 

And the first centerpiece was a giant crockpot of poutine. Look, if animals were bigger in prehistoric times, it only makes sense that the French Fries would be four feet long and each cheese curd the size of a human head. 

The bear from 2023 Cocaine Bear Room made another appearance, this time holding a hockey stick and a wood-burned sign with the name of the room. 

This was the bar. We had three drink options: The French Canadian 75, the Maple Old Fashioned, and the Bloody Minky.