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.
Friday, May 1, 2015
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
On Million Megabytes
The Hard Taco song for April is a richly textured bedtime story called, "Grandfather Bluebird." It's a long song, but I promise that its length will not decay with time. Thousands of years after you and I are gone, when all of the world's compost piles have turned into crude oil and heart-shaped diamonds, this song will still be nearly 6 and a half minutes long.
The Time I Hit Someone In Anger
They say you don't really know yourself until you've been in a fight. I never have, but I like to imagine what that kind of self-discovery will feel like.
Wow, I will tell myself afterwards. I never knew I could curl into a fetal position that tightly! I mean, when things got tough, I really reached down... and pulled my knees much closer to my chest than I thought I could. I guess when the adrenaline kicks in and instinct takes over, I can really squeeze my eyes shut and cover my face with my hands!
Until that day comes, I can only draw on the closest experience I've had. This is the story of the only time I ever hit someone in anger.
All of the violence in this story stemmed from this:
Darren Bodner, a second tier friend who sat next to me in Sunday school, drew this problem out for me one day. "You're good at math," he said, "so this should be easy for you."
No problem. I'll just move one of the matchsticks diagonally across the equals sign so it says 6 is not equal to 1.
"No. That's not it," he said, an infuriating giggle building up behind his words. "Why aren't you getting it? It's super easy!"
Rather than acknowledging that my answer was perfectly acceptable, he started punching me lightly in the shoulder and repeating the same maddening question. "Why aren't you getting it? Huh? Huh?"
My tormentor was not a traditional bully... he was more like an annoying ventriloquist. Whenever Darren needled someone, he would get this huge grin and squinty eyes. Somehow, the more insulting his words were, the less his lips would move. "Why aren't you getting it? Aren't you good at math?"
In the appropriate context, this young man's ability to say "math" without his lips touching could have been a powerful ally in the war on terror. He could have handed off a flash drive to an undercover agent and whispered, "It has one million megabytes of memory," in full view of the security cameras. The greatest ventriloquists in the world would have faltered in that scenario, but not Darren Bodner. Up in the control room, the terrorists watching the footage would just see his Cheshire Cat grin and unmoving lips. They would conclude that he was an irritating schmuck, but they would have no idea how much memory was on the flash drive.
So perhaps, in another life, Darren's talents could have been leveraged for good. But on that day in Sunday school, his lipless derision and rhythmic blows to my shoulder drove me to thoughts of murder.
And I snapped.
I leapt onto the desk, howling wildly and punching him in the chest. To be clear, I wanted to hurt him very badly, but my flailing didn't seem to bother him at all. He just kept laughing and repeating those painfully accurate questions... Why wasn't I getting it? Wasn't I good at math?
Eventually, the teacher pulled me off him. Mercifully, before sending me to the principal's office, she made Darren tell me the answer to the question. He was right... it was easy. And at that moment I hated myself and everyone I had ever met. Most of all I hated matchsticks.
Maybe I didn't learn much about myself during that "fight," but I like to think that the experience shaped Darren's future. That was the day he discovered how much he enjoyed mathematical grandstanding. Perhaps that is what drove him into a career in accounting rather than, for instance, espionage.
That said, if you're still trying to solve the brainteaser, I assure you it has nothing to do with tax preparation.
With warmest regards,
Zach
Sunday, March 1, 2015
21 mg Transdermal
Dear Friends,
It takes an astute doctor to distinguish a touch of the winter doldrums from a case of the winter blahs. Both cause mopeyness, that draggy feeling, and episodes of down-in-the-dumps. Whichever you have, the treatment of choice is the latest Hard Taco song, “Surfing Instructor from the 1960s.” This drop of concentrated sunshine will alleviate all but the most intractable eruptions of the winter ho hums.
Biographies of Vice, Part A:Trysts with Tobacco
A recent study suggested that the human nose can distinguish one trillion odors. If we took a moment to arrange these smells from most pleasant to least pleasant, cigarette smoke would fall towards the bottom of the list.
Okay, fine, Memoir Police. Maybe I didn’t have three girlfriends in high school. The person I’m counting as number two portrayed my girlfriend in a play. She smoked, and I’m counting it.
Anyway, Smoker GF#1 enjoyed the fact that I was the last tobacco-naive person in our friend group. Before high school graduation, she hatched the following plan: She would spread a rumor that I was planning to smoke my very first cigarette at a friend’s graduation party. Then, the day before, she would teach me how to smoke, first with a twig, and then with a genuine secret practice cigarette. I would show up at the party, casually burn through my alleged first cigarette without coughing, everyone would be amused and impressed, the girlfriend and I would never fight, and we would go to college together and/or elope.
And what a plan it was! Seamlessly it worked, up to and including the “without coughing” part.
Smoker GF#3 was the real deal. Not as a girlfriend, but as a smoker. Her brand was Marlboro Reds.
We were both summer camp counselors. Most Friday nights, after the kids were asleep, we would go down to the storage area with one her friends. The three of us would sit on an overturned rowboat, and I would watch the two of them smoke. Sometimes (but no more than once a week), I would take a single slow drag and tell them how high I was. I was being funny, and they appreciated that, but this is one of those things that was funny because it was true. To someone accustomed to nicotine-celibacy, a Marlboro Red might as well be speed.
“They’re funded by the KKK, you know,” she told me one night, pointing to the red chevrons on the Marlboro box. Sure enough, they looked like the letter K, and if you rotated the box, there were three of them.
"It's true," said the friend.
I was skeptical. I didn’t know much about the Klan or their 501c3 status, but I suspected that they were primarily donor-funded. It just didn’t seem fiscally responsible to funnel their limited assets into subliminal advertising on cigarette boxes. Plus, smokers were not really the KKK’s target demographic... the masks didn’t even have mouth holes.
“And check this out,” she said, “If you turn the Marlboro logo upside-down, see what it says?”
I didn’t.
“It spells out OROBLJeW. It’s HORRIBLE JEW without the H.”
"It's true," said the friend.
Holy cow, they were right. Orrobl Jew! There’s absolutely no way that could be a coincidence. “Then why do you still smoke them?”
Both of them just rolled her eyes at me. “I’m addicted, you idiot.”
Oh, my poor summer fling. I knew I would be out of the picture during her (yet inevitable) battle with lung disease, but it was still sad. What made it worse was that the CEO of Philip-Morris was apparently some kind of cockney bigot, who took pleasure in the infirmity of my people. He probably had a giant projection TV in his office that would cycle through a morbid slideshow of my cancer-stricken ex-girlfriend and her co-counselor. I imagined him prancing back and forth in front of the screen, pointing and howling with delight.
‘Orrible Jew! ‘Orrible Jew!
A few years later, I had my last memorable cigarette-related incident, and it didn’t involve tobacco. I was a first year medical student, and we had a lecture about how to discuss smoking cessation with patients. The speaker brought a sample box of nicotine patches, and passed them out for us to look at. I decided to try on a 21 mg patch, the highest available dose.
Real smokers know that 21 milligrams of transdermal nicotine confers absolutely no benefit. I have since seen patients with a patch on each limb running out of the hospital, dragging iv lines behind them, so they could get back to their smokes.
That was not my experience. By the 1-minute mark, I was frankly lightheaded. By 5 minutes, I felt like there was a wind tunnel running between my eyes and my throat. I started pacing. I started grabbing my classmates' wrists and telling them that they were my best friends and that I really meant it. When I would turn my head, the their faces had vapor trails. By 7 minutes I was kneeling in front of the toilet.
That was my last nicotine high, and I haven't missed it at all. By then, I was dating the love of my life, and coffee breath had replaced smoky sweatshirts as my olfactory turn-on.
With warmest regards,
Zach
It takes an astute doctor to distinguish a touch of the winter doldrums from a case of the winter blahs. Both cause mopeyness, that draggy feeling, and episodes of down-in-the-dumps. Whichever you have, the treatment of choice is the latest Hard Taco song, “Surfing Instructor from the 1960s.” This drop of concentrated sunshine will alleviate all but the most intractable eruptions of the winter ho hums.
Biographies of Vice, Part A:Trysts with Tobacco
A recent study suggested that the human nose can distinguish one trillion odors. If we took a moment to arrange these smells from most pleasant to least pleasant, cigarette smoke would fall towards the bottom of the list.
- (998 billion smells....)
- Primordial cesspools
- Infected glands
- What it would smell like if an egg farted
- Cigarette smoke
- Cigar smoke
- Cat poo that makes you run outside and scream because you smelled it
- When you find a hiker who has been dead for a month and light her hair on fire
Okay, fine, Memoir Police. Maybe I didn’t have three girlfriends in high school. The person I’m counting as number two portrayed my girlfriend in a play. She smoked, and I’m counting it.
Anyway, Smoker GF#1 enjoyed the fact that I was the last tobacco-naive person in our friend group. Before high school graduation, she hatched the following plan: She would spread a rumor that I was planning to smoke my very first cigarette at a friend’s graduation party. Then, the day before, she would teach me how to smoke, first with a twig, and then with a genuine secret practice cigarette. I would show up at the party, casually burn through my alleged first cigarette without coughing, everyone would be amused and impressed, the girlfriend and I would never fight, and we would go to college together and/or elope.
And what a plan it was! Seamlessly it worked, up to and including the “without coughing” part.
Smoker GF#3 was the real deal. Not as a girlfriend, but as a smoker. Her brand was Marlboro Reds.
We were both summer camp counselors. Most Friday nights, after the kids were asleep, we would go down to the storage area with one her friends. The three of us would sit on an overturned rowboat, and I would watch the two of them smoke. Sometimes (but no more than once a week), I would take a single slow drag and tell them how high I was. I was being funny, and they appreciated that, but this is one of those things that was funny because it was true. To someone accustomed to nicotine-celibacy, a Marlboro Red might as well be speed.
“They’re funded by the KKK, you know,” she told me one night, pointing to the red chevrons on the Marlboro box. Sure enough, they looked like the letter K, and if you rotated the box, there were three of them.
"It's true," said the friend.
I was skeptical. I didn’t know much about the Klan or their 501c3 status, but I suspected that they were primarily donor-funded. It just didn’t seem fiscally responsible to funnel their limited assets into subliminal advertising on cigarette boxes. Plus, smokers were not really the KKK’s target demographic... the masks didn’t even have mouth holes.
“And check this out,” she said, “If you turn the Marlboro logo upside-down, see what it says?”
I didn’t.
“It spells out OROBLJeW. It’s HORRIBLE JEW without the H.”
"It's true," said the friend.
Holy cow, they were right. Orrobl Jew! There’s absolutely no way that could be a coincidence. “Then why do you still smoke them?”
Both of them just rolled her eyes at me. “I’m addicted, you idiot.”
Oh, my poor summer fling. I knew I would be out of the picture during her (yet inevitable) battle with lung disease, but it was still sad. What made it worse was that the CEO of Philip-Morris was apparently some kind of cockney bigot, who took pleasure in the infirmity of my people. He probably had a giant projection TV in his office that would cycle through a morbid slideshow of my cancer-stricken ex-girlfriend and her co-counselor. I imagined him prancing back and forth in front of the screen, pointing and howling with delight.
‘Orrible Jew! ‘Orrible Jew!
A few years later, I had my last memorable cigarette-related incident, and it didn’t involve tobacco. I was a first year medical student, and we had a lecture about how to discuss smoking cessation with patients. The speaker brought a sample box of nicotine patches, and passed them out for us to look at. I decided to try on a 21 mg patch, the highest available dose.
Real smokers know that 21 milligrams of transdermal nicotine confers absolutely no benefit. I have since seen patients with a patch on each limb running out of the hospital, dragging iv lines behind them, so they could get back to their smokes.
That was not my experience. By the 1-minute mark, I was frankly lightheaded. By 5 minutes, I felt like there was a wind tunnel running between my eyes and my throat. I started pacing. I started grabbing my classmates' wrists and telling them that they were my best friends and that I really meant it. When I would turn my head, the their faces had vapor trails. By 7 minutes I was kneeling in front of the toilet.
That was my last nicotine high, and I haven't missed it at all. By then, I was dating the love of my life, and coffee breath had replaced smoky sweatshirts as my olfactory turn-on.
With warmest regards,
Zach
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Roll Out the Pork Barrel
Dear Friends,
Look, we've talked about this before, but if you're determined to have a baby in the 2010s, there are only two acceptable methods for choosing a name.
1. Your child may one day stumble upon an enchanted time shaft and wake up in 19th century England. Studies show that if he is named after one of the contemporary professions, it will be easier for him to find meaningful work. With that eventuality in mind, you should name him Cooper, Thatcher, Hunter, Mason, Tanner, or Wayne (which is short for Waynewright.)
2. Most traditional names evoke a specific gender, but what if your child is born with ambiguous genitalia? Or what if it's completely unambiguous, but you're too embarrassed to look? No probs! Keep its pants on, paint the nursery yellow, and give it a name that celebrates its androgyny.
Examples include Jaden, Jaylen, Dalen, Bayden, Calen, Graylen, Braden, Bralen, Galen, Hayden, or Baleen.
Now that you know what to type on the birth certificate, it's time to select a pet name for your child. This month's Hard Taco song, "Big Guy," is about finding the perfect moniker for your cutie wittle babykins.
The London House Rules
Not to toot my own kazoo but (TooOOT! TooOOT!) Lauren and I are better parents than you will ever be. Our kids have survived in this horrible world for an aggregate of 15 person-years, and neither of them tortures worms or screams "I hate you!" at the mirror while dying their eyebrows.
The secret to raising prosperous, natural-browed children is to be very strict about a limited number of rules. Too many rules will drive children away, only to be found five years later in the Sudanese Sacred Army of Brainwashed Child Machine Gun Holders. If they have too few rules, they will grow up and become King Joffrey.
We maintain a happy medium with the London House Rules. We printed this eloquent list of tenets in an austere font and taped it to the kitchen wall at the children's eye level.
1. Be kind. Always.
2. No screen time until you've finished your homework.
3. No chanting (i.e. "Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!") because that's f**ing annoying.
Strictly speaking, there are 11 other London House Rules, but we don't even attempt to enforce the other eight. They are just Styrofoam peanuts to cushion the Big Three. That may seem like a low ratio of wheat to chaff, but it's better than the 10 Commandments. How many of those do we actually enforce? Two... no killing and no stealing. What about no coveting your neighbor's crap? Styrofoam peanuts.
There's actually a cute story there. When Moses first presented the two tablets, he talked them up as "all killer, no filler," but nobody bought it. A bunch of the Commandments were last minute riders, an ingenious tactic to pass controversial provisions by the Hebrews. This was a political masterstroke on God's part. He predicted that nobody would ratify "Thou shalt have no other gods before me" unless it was tied to the popular clause prohibiting murder.
And since he was all-knowing and all-powerful, God was well aware that the line item veto wouldn't be invented for nearly 4000 years.
Biblical scholars have deduced that some of the Hebrews were kvetchy about having to bend to special interests. The High Priest, Aaron, publicly blasted The Almighty for enacting pork-barrel legislation, leading newspapers to run the headline: High Priest Denounces Pork.
So that's how that happened, probably.
With warmest regards,
Zach
Look, we've talked about this before, but if you're determined to have a baby in the 2010s, there are only two acceptable methods for choosing a name.
1. Your child may one day stumble upon an enchanted time shaft and wake up in 19th century England. Studies show that if he is named after one of the contemporary professions, it will be easier for him to find meaningful work. With that eventuality in mind, you should name him Cooper, Thatcher, Hunter, Mason, Tanner, or Wayne (which is short for Waynewright.)
2. Most traditional names evoke a specific gender, but what if your child is born with ambiguous genitalia? Or what if it's completely unambiguous, but you're too embarrassed to look? No probs! Keep its pants on, paint the nursery yellow, and give it a name that celebrates its androgyny.
- Consonant or consonant sound
- A or AY
- L or D
- EN
Examples include Jaden, Jaylen, Dalen, Bayden, Calen, Graylen, Braden, Bralen, Galen, Hayden, or Baleen.
Now that you know what to type on the birth certificate, it's time to select a pet name for your child. This month's Hard Taco song, "Big Guy," is about finding the perfect moniker for your cutie wittle babykins.
The London House Rules
Not to toot my own kazoo but (TooOOT! TooOOT!) Lauren and I are better parents than you will ever be. Our kids have survived in this horrible world for an aggregate of 15 person-years, and neither of them tortures worms or screams "I hate you!" at the mirror while dying their eyebrows.
The secret to raising prosperous, natural-browed children is to be very strict about a limited number of rules. Too many rules will drive children away, only to be found five years later in the Sudanese Sacred Army of Brainwashed Child Machine Gun Holders. If they have too few rules, they will grow up and become King Joffrey.
We maintain a happy medium with the London House Rules. We printed this eloquent list of tenets in an austere font and taped it to the kitchen wall at the children's eye level.
1. Be kind. Always.
2. No screen time until you've finished your homework.
3. No chanting (i.e. "Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!") because that's f**ing annoying.
Strictly speaking, there are 11 other London House Rules, but we don't even attempt to enforce the other eight. They are just Styrofoam peanuts to cushion the Big Three. That may seem like a low ratio of wheat to chaff, but it's better than the 10 Commandments. How many of those do we actually enforce? Two... no killing and no stealing. What about no coveting your neighbor's crap? Styrofoam peanuts.
There's actually a cute story there. When Moses first presented the two tablets, he talked them up as "all killer, no filler," but nobody bought it. A bunch of the Commandments were last minute riders, an ingenious tactic to pass controversial provisions by the Hebrews. This was a political masterstroke on God's part. He predicted that nobody would ratify "Thou shalt have no other gods before me" unless it was tied to the popular clause prohibiting murder.
And since he was all-knowing and all-powerful, God was well aware that the line item veto wouldn't be invented for nearly 4000 years.
Biblical scholars have deduced that some of the Hebrews were kvetchy about having to bend to special interests. The High Priest, Aaron, publicly blasted The Almighty for enacting pork-barrel legislation, leading newspapers to run the headline: High Priest Denounces Pork.
So that's how that happened, probably.
With warmest regards,
Zach
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Auld Ang Syne
Dear Friends,
The Hard Taco song for January is called, "Attack Ads." I hope listeners know me enough to recognize that this is not simply a send-up of our political system. Nor is it a style-parody of songs that mimic political farces. Rather, it is a lyrical pasquinade that deconstructs the recipe for lampooning pastiches that impersonate parodies of political spoofs. In other words, it is a Gobstopper of satire, with so many layers that no one is cultured enough to appreciate it on the level it was intended.
Conversely, the most popular songs in the English language have only one layer. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, and they are:
1. Happy Birthday To You
2. For He's a Jolly Good Fellow
3. Auld Ang Syne
One cannot mention these three songs without, in the same breath, discussing their discrepancies in copyright status. Warner Communications claims that it holds all rights to "Happy Birthday To You" until 2030. As a result, a live performance of this song costs $700 in royalties, and inclusion of the song in a movie costs $10,000. Thus, birthday parties in film often culminate with a sing-along of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," a song that is so asinine that no one has confessed to any part of its authorship.
"Auld Ang Syne" is also in the public domain, and thus free. It notable for being the third most popular English language song, despite the fact that it clearly is not in English. The lyrics were written by the Scottish military leader, William Wallace, of "Braveheart" fame. In 1305, King Edward found Wallace guilty of violating a number of intellectual property laws and sentenced him to public disembowelment. Witnesses to the execution transcribed the nonsensical Scottish interjections that Wallace mumbled during his disembowelment, and later cobbled them together to make the lyrics to "Auld Ang Syne."
According to legend, as his final intestine was removed, Wallace shouted, "I immediately revoke all personal or corporate rights to this song or any derivative thereof, pronounce it to be forthwith in the intellectual commons, will seek neither injunctions nor monetary damages, and without duress grant freedom to all parties for its reproduction for any purpose in perpetuity!!!"
This, of course, is the remarkable quote for which William Wallace is best remembered. It is carved into the cornerstone of Edinburgh City Chambers. Scottish children recite it each morning before class, and again whenever someone sneezes. In the filming of "Braveheart," Mel Gibson screamed the whole line with Oscar-winning intensity during the disembowelment scene. Unfortunately, the theatrical release was already pushing three hours, so the editors trimmed it down to, "Freedom!"
That Mr. Wallace sacrificed his viscera to promote the free use of "Auld Ang Syne" only throws into sharp relief the greed of a music industry that would do anything to enforce their dubious rights to the birthday song. Marilyn Monroe famously sang "Happy Birthday to You" to John F. Kennedy, and refused to pay the $700 to Warner Communications. Where was she three months later? Dead of mysterious causes! (Quite possibly public disembowelment.)
The Hard Taco song for January is called, "Attack Ads." I hope listeners know me enough to recognize that this is not simply a send-up of our political system. Nor is it a style-parody of songs that mimic political farces. Rather, it is a lyrical pasquinade that deconstructs the recipe for lampooning pastiches that impersonate parodies of political spoofs. In other words, it is a Gobstopper of satire, with so many layers that no one is cultured enough to appreciate it on the level it was intended.
Conversely, the most popular songs in the English language have only one layer. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, and they are:
2. For He's a Jolly Good Fellow
3. Auld Ang Syne
One cannot mention these three songs without, in the same breath, discussing their discrepancies in copyright status. Warner Communications claims that it holds all rights to "Happy Birthday To You" until 2030. As a result, a live performance of this song costs $700 in royalties, and inclusion of the song in a movie costs $10,000. Thus, birthday parties in film often culminate with a sing-along of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," a song that is so asinine that no one has confessed to any part of its authorship.
"Auld Ang Syne" is also in the public domain, and thus free. It notable for being the third most popular English language song, despite the fact that it clearly is not in English. The lyrics were written by the Scottish military leader, William Wallace, of "Braveheart" fame. In 1305, King Edward found Wallace guilty of violating a number of intellectual property laws and sentenced him to public disembowelment. Witnesses to the execution transcribed the nonsensical Scottish interjections that Wallace mumbled during his disembowelment, and later cobbled them together to make the lyrics to "Auld Ang Syne."
According to legend, as his final intestine was removed, Wallace shouted, "I immediately revoke all personal or corporate rights to this song or any derivative thereof, pronounce it to be forthwith in the intellectual commons, will seek neither injunctions nor monetary damages, and without duress grant freedom to all parties for its reproduction for any purpose in perpetuity!!!"
This, of course, is the remarkable quote for which William Wallace is best remembered. It is carved into the cornerstone of Edinburgh City Chambers. Scottish children recite it each morning before class, and again whenever someone sneezes. In the filming of "Braveheart," Mel Gibson screamed the whole line with Oscar-winning intensity during the disembowelment scene. Unfortunately, the theatrical release was already pushing three hours, so the editors trimmed it down to, "Freedom!"
That Mr. Wallace sacrificed his viscera to promote the free use of "Auld Ang Syne" only throws into sharp relief the greed of a music industry that would do anything to enforce their dubious rights to the birthday song. Marilyn Monroe famously sang "Happy Birthday to You" to John F. Kennedy, and refused to pay the $700 to Warner Communications. Where was she three months later? Dead of mysterious causes! (Quite possibly public disembowelment.)
That is why my wife and I have come to regret choosing the song, "Happy Birthday to You" as our safe word. Yes, it's sixteen words, and it's not always easy to carry a tune when someone is firing a squirt gun full of hot wax at your forehead. But the main reason I rarely use it is that I'm too much of a cheapskate. Who wants to forfeit $700 in royalties just to avoid a few stiletto marks on the lower back?
Or, um, $10,000 for that one time?
With warmest regards,
Zach
Or, um, $10,000 for that one time?
With warmest regards,
Zach
Monday, December 1, 2014
Prost Traumatic Stress Disorder
Dear Friends,
One of the best things about living in Ann Arbor is that we have signs, and one of the best things about signs is that some of them list our Sister Cities.
In the past, we have taken you on a whirlwind tour of Hikone and a whirlpool tour of Dakar. This month, we will embrace both inter-cultural discourse and distant cultural interccourse as we cyber-jaunt through our oldest urban playmate, Tübingen, Germany.
People of Tübingen, I offer you this month's Hard Taco song, "Ubble-a Dup Dup," which was so-named to give you a healthy American portion of the letter U the way we believe God intended it... without an umlaut.
Tübingen is a small college town in Southwest Germany, just a few miles from the German Alps. The first recorded mention of the city was in 1191, when it was besieged by Henry IV, King of Germany. He noted that the gentle Neckar River that runs through the city center was "ideal for kayaking and tubing," and called the town Kayakingenundtübingen. This was shortened to Tübingen in 1540 when Martin Luther exposed kayaking as a Papist pastime.
The University of Tübingen has a world-class reputation for cultivating innovative thought. Well-know graduates include Friedrich Holderlin, the hypochondriac poet, and Alois Alzheimer, who invented dementia. The most popular major among current students is German, although graduates find careers in everything from engineering to lederhosen engineering.
Tübingen, Germany - Quick Facts/Speculations
Population: 89,000
Old world values: Austerity, order
Liberal college town values: Frugality, tidiness
Emblem: David Hasselhoff carefully arranging Gummy Bears
Tree: The family tree of the Hapsburgs
Flower, and what one says to it: Edelweiss, every morning you greet me.
Statue in Town Square: A giant beer stein depicting images of scholars discovering that lunch is the most important meal of the day
Motto: Mut und Glauben, Aber Kein Augenkontakt, Bitte. ("Courage and faith, but no eye contact, please.")
Nickname: A Small Cog In Our Great National Cuckoo Clock
Exports: Train parts, curt nods, Popes who think it's okay to retire, BMV luxury cars (they can't pronounce W.)
Favorite Grimm Fairy Tale: A woodsman sells his children to an evil dwarf and lives happily ever after.
Second Favorite Grimm Fair Tale: A queen prays for a child, and a benevolent angel brings her one... in her soup. She immediately recognizes what it is, so she cries while eating it.
Most Popular Baby Clothing Store: Snugglers of Catan
Traditional angles for viewing Zungenwurst: From the front and in partial profile
With warmest regards,
Zach
One of the best things about living in Ann Arbor is that we have signs, and one of the best things about signs is that some of them list our Sister Cities.
In the past, we have taken you on a whirlwind tour of Hikone and a whirlpool tour of Dakar. This month, we will embrace both inter-cultural discourse and distant cultural interccourse as we cyber-jaunt through our oldest urban playmate, Tübingen, Germany.
People of Tübingen, I offer you this month's Hard Taco song, "Ubble-a Dup Dup," which was so-named to give you a healthy American portion of the letter U the way we believe God intended it... without an umlaut.
Tübingen is a small college town in Southwest Germany, just a few miles from the German Alps. The first recorded mention of the city was in 1191, when it was besieged by Henry IV, King of Germany. He noted that the gentle Neckar River that runs through the city center was "ideal for kayaking and tubing," and called the town Kayakingenundtübingen. This was shortened to Tübingen in 1540 when Martin Luther exposed kayaking as a Papist pastime.
The University of Tübingen has a world-class reputation for cultivating innovative thought. Well-know graduates include Friedrich Holderlin, the hypochondriac poet, and Alois Alzheimer, who invented dementia. The most popular major among current students is German, although graduates find careers in everything from engineering to lederhosen engineering.
Tübingen, Germany - Quick Facts/Speculations
Population: 89,000
Old world values: Austerity, order
Liberal college town values: Frugality, tidiness
Emblem: David Hasselhoff carefully arranging Gummy Bears
Tree: The family tree of the Hapsburgs
Flower, and what one says to it: Edelweiss, every morning you greet me.
Statue in Town Square: A giant beer stein depicting images of scholars discovering that lunch is the most important meal of the day
Motto: Mut und Glauben, Aber Kein Augenkontakt, Bitte. ("Courage and faith, but no eye contact, please.")
Nickname: A Small Cog In Our Great National Cuckoo Clock
Exports: Train parts, curt nods, Popes who think it's okay to retire, BMV luxury cars (they can't pronounce W.)
Favorite Grimm Fairy Tale: A woodsman sells his children to an evil dwarf and lives happily ever after.
Second Favorite Grimm Fair Tale: A queen prays for a child, and a benevolent angel brings her one... in her soup. She immediately recognizes what it is, so she cries while eating it.
Most Popular Baby Clothing Store: Snugglers of Catan
Traditional angles for viewing Zungenwurst: From the front and in partial profile
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| Zungenwurst from the front |
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| Zungenwurst in partial profile |
With warmest regards,
Zach
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Another Ick in the Wall
Dear Friends,
"There's a pit where bad guys have to dig up crystals all day instead of going to jail."
That is my son Malcolm's vision for the new Hard Taco song, "Chisels 'n Dust," which he co-authored. I enjoyed this collaboration, and hope it is the first of many. I look forward to breaking up over aesthetic differences and grudgingly reuniting after a decade of unsuccessful solo endeavors.
I always feel a bit embarrassed about posting a link to my songs on Facebook, but I do it anyway, just in case one or two people are curious. Other than that, I'm a pretty reserved Facebook poster.
We all know people that exist at the other end of the spectrum. One of my friends furnishes her timeline with new material five or more times a day. Most of the posts are just three letter interjections, such as Yay or Ick, but within minutes, each of these garners hundreds of Likes and Comments.
So what is her secret? Am I an unpopular person or am I just providing unpopular content? To find out, I took 24 hours and posted the same kind of stuff as everybody else. The results will shock you.
With warmest regards,
Zach
"There's a pit where bad guys have to dig up crystals all day instead of going to jail."
That is my son Malcolm's vision for the new Hard Taco song, "Chisels 'n Dust," which he co-authored. I enjoyed this collaboration, and hope it is the first of many. I look forward to breaking up over aesthetic differences and grudgingly reuniting after a decade of unsuccessful solo endeavors.
I always feel a bit embarrassed about posting a link to my songs on Facebook, but I do it anyway, just in case one or two people are curious. Other than that, I'm a pretty reserved Facebook poster.
We all know people that exist at the other end of the spectrum. One of my friends furnishes her timeline with new material five or more times a day. Most of the posts are just three letter interjections, such as Yay or Ick, but within minutes, each of these garners hundreds of Likes and Comments.
So what is her secret? Am I an unpopular person or am I just providing unpopular content? To find out, I took 24 hours and posted the same kind of stuff as everybody else. The results will shock you.
With warmest regards,
Zach
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