On the Future Of Taco Friday

We come at last, dear reader, to our conclusion. What have you learned?

Taco Friday, its mission aside, has been little more than a barely veiled expression of my own desires; it reflects my inner state in a direct, unconfused way. Yet, I sit on the stoop of The Future as confused as I ever was, except now my body has begun to decay appreciably and people expect things of me. The burning fire of Taco Friday has smoldered into embers, my own dangerous curiosities having been by and large satisfied.

There are several possibilities to explain this: the clock of time bringing me (YOU TOO) closer to death, outfitted with a guaranteed malaise to last until I die; a dire spiritual collapse, independent of age, leaving me doomed to run a fatalistic path determined purely by momentum and external forces.

I reject the second possibility on sassy, personal grounds. I admit that the first possibility, my own age reducing my desire for loud noises (AKA maturity), is a determining factor, but not the exclusive one. I offer a more hopeful alternative: I have simply reached the finish line of this particular Taco Friday™ brand of inquiry. I have done the same thing for years, and therefore have learned the conclusion of such actions. Further experiments are no longer necessary.

What does this mean to you, enjoyer of tacos and presumed friend of Adam?

 I'll tell you the craziest part first and it might well just drive you bananas. Taco Friday, purveyor of spicy sandwiches from the south, will no longer be a strictly taco-exclusive format. Tacos, being well and good and convenient and delicious and oh god don't blame me, it's not you, it's me -- their regime as the exclusive entrée of the eponymous Friday night celebration will come to an end. Will there be tacos? Yes. Will these tacos be the primary offering on most nights? Yes. Will there be... enchiladas? Fritters with a sauce? Sometimes.

Less crazy than non-tortilla-based food items is that life will go on essentially unchanged. All I want is people in my home, eating food and drinking (preferably) whiskey. The major difference is in the shades, my own admission that the kernel of Taco Friday has been solidly established. It hopefully dwells inside of you, a malignant cancer that will come to light in ten years in the form of your very first divorce.

You can thank me later.